Page 14 of Second Act
“What did your parents do?” she asked, curious about him, just as he was about her, and he smiled at the question.
“They were movie stars,” Andy said simply. “I’m a Hollywood brat. They were way before your time, and a big deal in the States. My father was in Westerns, John Westfield, and my mother was a glamour queen, Eva Lundquist. She was Swedish.”
“Oh my God, my father was addicted to your father’s movies. He made me watch them all. He said they were the greatest movies of all time, and he had a huge crush on your mother. I’ve seen some of her movies too. My father was a banker, he was president of a bank, and my mother was a kindergarten teacher and loved it. Prettynormal stuff. I had a very traditional British upbringing and a happy childhood. We didn’t have a lot of money, but we were comfortable. I was an only child, and neither of my parents had living relatives. It was just the three of us and we were very close, which made it that much worse when they died. I was totally alone. Your childhood must have been incredibly exciting. Did you have movie stars come to your house all the time?” Violet looked fascinated by what he’d shared with her. It sounded very exotic compared to her early life.
“My parents’ movie star friends dropped by just about every day. I thought they were regular people, until I grew up and realized how lucky I was. My parents were good people. That was the best part. They’ve been gone for a long time. I still miss them.” She nodded, as though she understood what that was like, but didn’t comment.
When they finished their fish-and-chips, Andy dropped Violet off at her place with her bike. She lived in the tiny village at Winchelsea Beach, not at the inland town, which was Winchelsea. She lived in a little one-room cottage that looked shabby and slightly battered. One of the shutters had fallen off and was on the ground. The house was at the end of the village.
Then he drove home, thinking about her. Something told him that she was a brave woman, and she was certainly a talented one. He was happy he’d met her and that she’d come to work for him.
When Andy got home, he settled into a chair in the library and read the rest of Violet’s manuscript. It was every bit as good as the first three chapters, and maintained the tension throughout until the very end of what she’d given him. He could hardly wait until the last chapter she was working on. He had enjoyed dinner with her.He hoped that if she had some success with her book or movie, she’d get back to London. She didn’t belong in this tiny place off the beaten track. He thought she deserved a husband and children, not the loneliness of a beach town in winter, living from hand to mouth, relying on tourists like him and the summer renters. She needed a better life than that. He felt fatherly toward her.
When Andy got home that night, he placed a call to Dirk Howard, a producer/director he knew who was famous for using young talent, and often bought book properties from unknown writers. He was young and brash himself, but talented and successful. It was Andy’s first call back into Hollywood, but he wanted to do it for Violet. Howard took the call immediately. Andy hadn’t lost his touch yet. It was slightly reassuring.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Dirk said as he came on the line. He was cocky and full of himself. “What are you up to now?” he asked Andy, as though he had the upper hand. He had no grace at all, but some very good films to his credit.
“Enjoying myself for a change,” Andy said calmly, in his best imitation of his father, to give him patience.
“I hear you’re living in London.”
“Close enough.” He wondered who had talked. Maybe a member of his house staff. No one else knew, and Frances would never talk. “I’ll get to the point. I read a manuscript I’m impressed with. The woman who wrote it is going to need a screenwriter, and a producer, to turn it into a screenplay. How do you usually package that with someone brand-new with a ton of talent? It’s one of the best manuscripts I’ve read.”
“Are you playing agent now?” Dirk asked.
“No, more like godfather. I want to open some doors for her. She’ll take off like a rocket after that.”
“New girlfriend?” Dirk asked with a sneer in his voice. “You have time to play now. How old is she? Twenty-two, twenty-five? I saw Alana the other day with the new head of Global, by the way. Rumor has it she’s working on breaking up his marriage.” Dirk was so sleazy he made Andy’s skin crawl, but he ignored the rude comments. He hadn’t called him as a friend, but as a connection for Violet.
“No, not a girlfriend, just a very talented writer.”
“Well, if you’re serious about it. I’ll tell you what I do. You can do it with writers, they’re insecure, it’s harder with on-screen talent, and they all have agents. Does she?” Dirk asked.
“No,” Andy said bluntly.
“Good. Better yet. First I tell them that what they’ve written is complete shit and I couldn’t give it away if I tried, then I make them an outrageously low offer. A thousand, two, at most five. They cave because most of them are starving and don’t have agents yet. I buy it for less than I pay for a leather jacket, and then I own the rights, and I make a fortune on the front and back end if the picture is a hit. You have to pick them right. Whatever you do, don’t pay a bunch of money for it, or you’ll lose money on the deal. It works like a charm every time.”
Andy felt sick as he listened to him, if that was what they were doing to young writers in Hollywood these days.
“Listen, if you think the material is that good, send it to me. If I like it, I’ll split it with you, and we’ll both make a killing.” Dirk had made several killings and now Andy knew how.
“Thanks, Dirk. I’ll take another look and get back to you.” Andydidn’t want to tell Dirk what an utter piece of garbage he thought he was, exploiting new talent to his own benefit. It was why some people in Hollywood hated producers, the sleazy ones. Andy hated the thought of Violet falling into hands like Dirk’s. He was filth, without honor or morality, Andy knew now.
“Anytime, Andy. Hell, you never know, we could produce a movie together sometime. With your connections, if you go into production, you could clean up.” Andy wasn’t about to ruin his reputation with the likes of Dirk Howard. He had thought he was just a jerk, he hadn’t realized how profoundly dishonest he was too. There were some great producers in Hollywood with integrity. Dirk Howard wasn’t one of them.
“Thanks, Dirk.”
“It was great talking to you, good luck!” Dirk said. Andy hung up and stared into space for a minute. He’d been a fool to call Dirk Howard. He was going to call Dash Hemming in the morning and should have called him in the first place. Dash was an honest man, and Andy trusted his judgment. Dash had made some very powerful movies. They were all independent, so he wasn’t beholden to anyone, and wasn’t under the thumb of a studio, which was how Dash wanted it. If an independent movie was a big box office success, there was real money in it. It was a very different game from a big blockbuster made with a studio. You didn’t have the same protections and guarantees. The quality of the production could suffer if a producer wasn’t careful. But Andy wasn’t worried about quality or reliability if Dash took the project on. He would play it straight with Andy. Andy had deep respect for Dash, and none for Dirk Howard after talking to him.
Andy went to bed that night determined to call Dash in the morning. He would know what to do with Violet’s manuscript and if it was viable for one of his movies. Andy wanted to deliver good news to her. She deserved some good luck. Someone did. His had run out, but he hoped that hers was just beginning. And he could sense that underneath her good manners, British reserve, and quiet dignity, she desperately needed it.
Chapter 8
Andy called Dash as soon as he was dressed the next morning. He didn’t want to call too early and wake him. He waited politely until nine o’clock, and called him on his cell. Dash’s schedule was always erratic.
“How’s life in Winchelsea Beach? Ready to give up your beach life and come to London? What do you wear on the beach there? A ski parka?” Dash loved to tease Andy.
“We’ve had very fine weather.”
