“Bob’s dead,” Pablo told me over the phone. “He was garroted in his garage. Cut his head clean off. Yakuza is suspected.”
“Horrible ordeal. Anyways, a new producer has been assigned, Kathleen Kennedy. Not THAT Kathleen Kennedy. She wants to meet with you ASAP.”
So Pablo and me returned to Burbank to meet with this new hotshot producer. When we arrived, the guard stared blankly at us and said, “Elevator’s broken. You’ll have to climb up the old fireman’s pole.”
So we climbed up to the fourth floor where Mrs. Kennedy was waiting on us.
“Call me Kat,” she said. “Can I offer you a water or soda?”
“No thanks,” I replied. “I’ll take a scotch. Just started drinking again.”
She handed me the drink and sat down behind her desk.
“Let’s get down to business gentlemen,” Kat said. “Bob was a visionary. He knew what he wanted and went after it. I intend on carrying on that vision.”
Pablo and I nodded.
“The studio supports this project and will give us the resources necessary to see it through,” she continued. “That being said, we have some notes about your second draft.”
“What kind of notes?” I asked.
“The studio feels that we need to establish a plot, characters with motivation, sensible dialogue, and cut back on the violent gay sex,” she replied.
“So just make it regular gay sex then?”
“We’ll revisit that question when we see the third draft,” Kat said. “In the meantime, I want to meet one on one with you.”
Pablo looked over at me then exited the room. Kat poured a scotch for herself.
“So what took you so long?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a middle aged man. Divorcée. Never held a job for longer than 2 years. You’re balding, overweight, and heavy drinker. You’re probably a diabetic and won’t live to see 70. Now you’re in Hollywood. So why now?”
“I just put one foot in front of the other ma’am. Better late than never.”
“This is a tough business,” she said. “Everything’s changing and we need fresh minds to keep us one step ahead. And to me, you’re a dinosaur. So listen to me and listen good: stick with me and I’ll take you to heights you never thought possible. And if you stray one bit, you’ll be just another washout that litters this town.”
I just shrugged.
“All I want is booze money.”