Page 17 of Second Act
“The industry needs you, Andy,” Dash said. “You’re one of the smartest guys in it, you’ve got more integrity than anyone in the business. You’re a class act. Don’t give it up, just change the game. Do what you enjoy for a change.”
“I enjoyed the power game,” Andy admitted, after half a bottle of wine.
“It’s not worth it,” Dash said. “It breaks your heart when it goes wrong. Come have some fun. Let’s make a movie together.” He desperately wanted to do a project with Andy and had wanted to since they met.
“See what you think of the manuscript I brought you,” Andy changed the subject. He liked Dash and didn’t want to turn him down.
“I will. I’ll call you in a few days, when I’ve read it. I’m jammed this week.”
“There’s no rush. It’s a beautiful piece of writing, though, and a great story. I think it could be a huge hit with a great screenwriter and the right cast, indie or not.”
“The screenwriter is always the problem. It takes six months to find one. They’re booked for a year, and they’re slow as molasses. They slow me down every time. I have a stable of them, and I still have to wait a year.”
“We had a lot more than you do, at Global, but they slowed us down too,” Andy admitted. “See how you like her story first, before you worry about a screenwriter.” Dash nodded, and they each had another glass of wine before they left the restaurant. Dash wenthome, and Andy went back to the hotel. He and Dash had had an honest conversation about the movie industry, and life. Andy was at a crossroads and still didn’t know which way to go. He was looking for answers, and couldn’t find them, groping his way along in the dark. He felt lost, and as though aliens had stolen his identity along with his job.
He had another drink when he got back to his suite and passed out.
—
Andy was dressed and ready to leave the hotel at ten-thirty the next morning. He had an appointment with his tailor on Savile Row at eleven, when Dash called him. Andy had paid for dinner, and he assumed Dash was calling to thank him. He was hungover and suspected Dash was too.
“You owe me one,” he said when Andy answered the phone, and laughed.
“What for? I think we were both overserved.”
“I was up all night. I finished the manuscript at six o’clock this morning. It’s a killer piece of work, you were right. She’s a fantastic writer. I love the story, it almost sounds real. I want to produce it with you. I’ll coproduce it if you will. We could have a ball with it, with a top-notch cast. Come on, Andy, let’s do it.”
“I’ll think about it. I’m glad you love it too. You don’t need me.” He didn’t want to hurt Violet’s chances, but he didn’t want to commit to making a movie in England either. Eventually, he wanted to go back to LA. “How long do you think it would take you?”
“If the stars line up right, with a good cast and director, we couldput it all together pretty fast. The plot twists are complicated, and the nuances, but technically it’s not. I think we could wrap it up in three months. That’s the beauty of an indie. And you wouldn’t have to be around for pre- and postproduction, that’s all mechanical stuff. You can come and go during the filming, you don’t have to be around all the time.”
“I know what it takes. It’s a big commitment,” Andy said seriously.
“Yeah, so what? And a lot of fun. More than you’ve had in years, probably.”
“You may be right.” Andy laughed. “Especially lately.”
“The problem is going to be the screenwriter, just like we said last night. I only know two people I’d want to give it to who would do it right, and they’re booked into the next millennium whenever I call them. I’d have to see who’s available. But I want to do it. If you’ll coproduce, you’ve got a deal.” Andy groaned when he said it.
“Now you’re trying to make me feel guilty. That’s blackmail.”
“Of course. This is still the movie industry.” They both laughed.
“I’ll think about it. What kind of money can we get her for the original story?” He cared about that. He knew Violet needed the money. He hardly knew her, but he wanted to help her, and do a good deed for her, if he could, without sacrificing himself.
“She’s hot. And she’s going to be big after this. Are you acting as her agent?”
“No, just her advisor.” Dash threw out a figure that sounded reasonable to Andy, and he suspected would sound like an enormous fortune to Violet, but this was her first manuscript, and professionally she was a novice, so it was fair in the world of films. She’d get even more for the next one, if she wrote another movie. “She’ll haveto get an agent and see what they say, but it sounds like a good ballpark figure to me,” Andy said. “I’ll talk to her. It’s a lot to think about.”
“I’ll see what screenwriters are available. Let’s talk in a few days,” Dash said. “And thanks, Andy, for bringing it to me.”
“Don’t make me sorry I did, holding a gun to my head to coproduce.” Andy was serious about that.
“You know, we can both afford to put the money in ourselves, and then we own it, and we don’t have to screw around with investors.” It was an interesting suggestion, which gave Andy even more to think about. “Talk to you soon,” Dash said, and hung up. He didn’t want to give Andy a chance to turn him down, at least not that fast. He wanted the idea to percolate for a while, and simmer on the stove.
Andy checked out of the hotel and went to his tailor. He ordered three suits, some trousers, and a summer blazer. He was finished at noon, and set off for East Sussex. He had a lot to tell Violet when he got back, and to think about himself. But did he want to coproduce an indie movie? He just wasn’t sure. He didn’t think so, but Dash made it so tempting. It was a first step back into life. Part of him still wanted to wallow for a while and feel sorry for himself. Producing would be new and fresh and very different. He could do it once, for the hell of it, to make an independent movie. He had nothing else to do. And he respected Dash. People would think he was crazy, producing an indie movie. They had thought his father was crazy when he directed his first picture, and the naysayers predicted it would fail. It had been one of his best films and a huge box office success and had launched a second career for him.
Andy turned the idea around and around in his head, and finally fell asleep in the car. He could hear his father’s voice in his head, when he was young, telling him to seize every opportunity with both hands but be smart about it. He wished he could ask him what he meant. Andy had been a screenwriter and then a studio head. And an independent producer of a small film in England? People would think he was nuts. Maybe he was. And maybe, just maybe, being nuts wasn’t so bad.
