Chapter Nine
Vivian threw her hands up in the air and stomped out, muttering something murderous under her breath.
Ralf chuckled. “I don’t know what you’ve been smoking today, but her name is Lucie, not pastry.”
Caramel syrup guy’s jaw hardened. “Thanks, Ralf.”
“This adorable ray of sunshine is Elliot Fox,” Ralf said briskly. “He and I were buddies at NYU, isn’t that right?”
Elliot. RJ’s assistant. The guy I was supposed to be working alongside to finish the script was the same guy who’d reduced me to a gibbering wreck in public with his devastating hotness.
“It’s half right,” Elliot growled.
“You’re Elliot Fox?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Well, I’m certainly not Ruben James,” he replied.
“Yes, no, obviously.” God, I couldn’t not babble in this man’s presence. “I don’t mean to sound rude, it’s just you’re in RJ’s seat and I expected to see him, not you, and then I realized you were the man I spit pastry on earlier, so sorry for that by the way—”
“You spit on … so, wait, you two met already?” Ralf interjected.
“At Have a Java,” Elliot told him. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything.”
Ralf turned to me. “Good luck with him. He’s a riot.” And with that he left.
I half wished I could call him back. Ralf was a little obnoxious, true, but he had at least treated me with a measure of decency unlike several of his colleagues. As soon as the door closed behind him, the expansive office immediately felt that much smaller. Elliot walked round the desk.
“I should introduce myself formally.” I offered my hand. “Lucie Clifton.”
“I know who you are.” Elliot’s handshake was strong yet gentle, but also very brief. He withdrew his grasp and leaned against the desk with folded arms to regard me in stony silence.
After several excruciatingly long seconds, I realized he wasn’t going to elaborate. “I’m here to—”
“I know precisely why you’re here,” he said.
I laughed nervously. “Well, it’s not to spit any more food at you, I promise you that.”
Elliot’s face remained impassive. “Right.”
Okay … Where had that cheerful, flirty man from the coffee shop gone? Perhaps this was him attempting to regain some professional ground now he knew I was a colleague. “I wish I’d known who you were when we met in the coffee shop,” I said.
“Why?”
God, he was so serious. “Um, then this would be less awkward?” I said with a nervous laugh.
“Oh, so you think this is awkward?” he said archly.
“Well, yeah.”
“See, awkward to me is a year of writing and editing an intricate piece of art that’s making an important statement about the illusion of society, alongside my boss whom I’ve worked with for ten years,” he said.
“Awkward is a year of collaboration and late nights and research. Awkward is me fitting all that in around the rest of my job only for RJ to recruit a total stranger, completely out of the blue, to assess my work, who, it turns out, doesn’t even write? ”
Ah. His demeanor made more sense now. “You didn’t like my report.”
“Oh, I loved it,” he said sharply. “Especially loved the part where you said the female lead was thinly sketched and the dialogue was too indulgent.”
“Some of the dialogue,” I corrected him. “And RJ wasn’t offended.”
“I wrote the dialogue.”
“Oh.” No wonder he was taking this personally. “But if you recall, I actually said in my report that the dialogue is beautiful, there’s just too much—”
“RJ seemed pretty happy with it just days ago,” Elliot huffed.
“Yet it all changed on the word of an assistant. But me? I came top of my screenwriting class at NYU. The short film I directed won first prize at Tribeca Shorts two years after I graduated. I’d like to think that by now RJ trusts my word but no, apparently not. ”
“I get it, my presence here is ruffling feathers,” I said. “And I’m sorry if it upsets you.”
“Upset?” He made a pffft sound.
“I think—”
“I know you traveled a long way,” he steamed on. “And my attitude probably seems unfair.”
Was this guy ever going to let me speak? “RJ said—”
“RJ says a lot of things,” he interrupted yet again, looming over me. “I’d lay money on you not being able to handle the pace of things here and being back on the plane to London before this week is out.”
I drew myself up to my full height. “Well then, watch me.”
“Watch you do what?” Elliot snickered. We stood toe-to-toe, so close I could detect the clean detergent smell of his shirt.
“Not back down from a challenge.”
Elliot’s eyes flared in response, but the office door opened, jarring us from our standoff.
In walked a familiar figure – Ruben ‘RJ’ James, larger than life and beaming from ear to ear.
RJ was known for having a Steve Jobs approach to his wardrobe in that he wore the same thing every day, no matter what.
Always a white T-shirt, a Mets baseball cap and a thin scarf in Mets blue.
Even his trainers were that same shade of blue and always with crisp white laces.
“El, Tree Harper is calling me about fucking fabric again,” he barked, as his mustachioed mouth simultaneously worked a bubble-tea straw.
“Hey, she’s a stickler for detail.” Elliot wrenched his gaze from me and I felt like I could breathe again. “Exactly what you need from a costume designer on your flagship TV show.”
“Remind me why I’m working with her again?” RJ continued as he rolled towards his desk.
“Because not only has she got like ten Emmys for costume design, she’s also an expert on late sixties-era fashion,” Elliot said. “And Woodstock just so happens to be set in, gosh, what era now?”
“Well, if you will be a goddamned voice of reason,” RJ said stonily, fixing with his assistant with a stare.
Elliot lifted his chin and met his boss’s gaze, while I eyed the doorway longingly.
Now this was awkward. “I would quite literally be lost without you.” RJ let out a warm guffaw and I relaxed; it had just been a bit.
He turned curious eyes to me. “Okay, so, Lucie. Hi.” The change in conversational tone added to the utter surrealism of the moment.
Until now, RJ had been a name on a screen, someone I’d seen on TV accepting a Golden Globe – the trophy itself was up on a shelf behind him – and here he was sipping bubble tea, a smear of tapioca trapped in his graying stubble.
I spluttered some kind of nonsensical greeting and then he invited us both to sit on the couch.
As I took a seat, I couldn’t help but notice that Elliot placed himself as far away as possible from me.
I did my best to force the unpleasantness of our conversation from my mind and focus on the man before me, the one who really mattered.
“Thank you for coming out here,” RJ said, settling himself against his desk. “I suppose you’re wondering why I brought you over to New York in a world where Zoom calls and email exist.”
I was uncomfortably aware of Elliot’s antagonized stare. “I did wonder, yes.”
“I’m sure.” RJ gestured around the room. “What do you see?”
Oh God. I hadn’t been expecting a test. The office was a statement in quiet luxury, with the plush modular sofa and glossy black and white prints on the wall. I began to quietly panic; what he did expect me to say? “I see … someone with exquisite taste?”
“Look harder.” He seemed to be nodding towards the long wooden shelves adorning one side of the room, which were laden with multiple trophies and certificates. I saw the Palme d’Or from his second movie, All the Brides, as well as several Spirit Awards and, of course, his Golden Globe.
“You’ve got an impressive collection of awards,” I said.
“Yes,” he preened. “But … what isn’t there?”
I noticed a foot-long gap in the center of the shelf, directly behind his desk. It was clearly earmarked for something significant, but what? I took a punt. “Um, no Oscar?”
“No Oscar!” he repeated savagely, his cheeks reddening. “You and I are about to change that.”
“You and … me?” I gulped.
“We’re going to make the perfect script.” RJ beamed. “Your savvy, Elliot’s poetry, and my vision? We’re going to create magic. It’s not only going to be my biggest film yet, but it’s also going to get me that statue.”
I felt all the blood rush to my head, like I was going to float away. “You … brought me in to edit a potential Oscar script?”
“If ever there’s time for a Hail Mary.” RJ’s expression turned foreboding and he walked towards the window. “I gotta beat Rian.”
“Rian?” I asked. “As in … Rian Johnson? The director Rian Johnson?”
Behind RJ’s back, Elliot subtly rolled his eyes. “RJ, you need to get past the Rian Johnson thing.” He turned to me. “They went to USC together and RJ sees him as something of a rival. That and they have the same initials.” He shrugged. “It’s personal beef, I wouldn’t pull at this thread.”
“Knives Out?” RJ spat the movie title out as if it were poison. “More like knives in my back!”
“Okay, message received,” I told RJ. “We’re on an Oscar hunt.”
RJ leaned against the window and sipped his bubble tea pensively. “I think this script could be what clinches it.” He looked at me and snickered. “You think I’m crazy,” he said. “Elliot sure does.”
“I’ve never said that,” Elliot retorted.
“Not to my face,” RJ said.
“Of course not to your face, I kept it to myself like a true professional,” Elliot said.
“Ah, you’re not far wrong,” RJ said with a sigh, ambling back over to us.
“Look, Lucie, when I saw your report, it felt like a sign. Like, I didn’t care who this person from London was or wasn’t, as the case may be.
That was the voice I needed to hear, the type of voice I’ve not been hearing so far. ”
“I thought you just wanted me to do some polishing, an edit here, an apostrophe there.” Damp patches of anxiety sweat were already forming. “Lin didn’t mention that this is your shot at an Oscar.” I might as well return home to Lin now and beg her not to fire me.
“Sadie worked night and day to get me a chance to pitch,” RJ went on, seemingly unaware of my minor breakdown. “We’ve got just over a month to go and I’m not happy.”
“It’s close enough,” Elliot said. “Janice is a huge fan of yours, she’ll buy it as is.”
“You’re talking about Janice Kittredge,” I realized. Janice Kittredge was an iconic studio head, famed for her ability to nurture new talent while keeping a tight hand on the purse strings. She’d overseen some of my favorite movies.
“Yes,” RJ said. “Her studio is distributing my movie All Kinds of Killing, which premieres in a matter of weeks. She’s been a rock.
Which is why I want to blow her away.” RJ came up behind Elliot and slapped him on the back.
“You’re in good hands. This kid. Saw his film at Tribeca and knew he was on track to be something special. ”
“And a mere ten years later …” Elliot rumbled.
“Ha! He’s also really funny,” RJ said, slapping Elliot’s back again, but this time so hard Elliot skidded forward in his seat. “So you and El are about to become best buddies, because you are going to be joined at the hip for the next few weeks.”
I looked at Elliot expectantly, only to see his face darken with irritation. I cleared my throat. “Best buddies? Really?”
“Absolutely,” RJ said. “Co-writing is all about trust. It’s logical; if the writers don’t see eye to eye, then the creativity doesn’t flow.”
“That makes sense,” I said meekly. Given the welcome Elliot had shown me, I was more than a little apprehensive about being able to see eye to eye with him.
RJ pointed at Elliot and me. “I want you tight. You need to be eating, living, breathing each other until the script is word perfect. Do you think you can manage that?”
I tried not to think about how I would eat Elliot. Or breathe him, for that matter.
“It’s not like I have a choice now, is it?” Elliot muttered.
RJ’s eyes narrowed and Elliot cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “But I’m going to give it a shot.”
“Glad to hear it,” RJ said, his visage back to its formerly happy display.
I raised my hand. “When you say eating each other … ?”
There was a knock at the door and Vivian slunk in. “RJ, you have your meeting with Melroy Group now.”
“The film production group?” I blurted in excitement. They had funded some of the boldest, most exciting movies of the past few years.
“They’re financing this script. You see, we’re pitching for a negative pickup,” Elliot explained. “Do you even know—”
“I know what a negative pickup is,” I said, not in the mood for patronization.
It was one of several ways to finance a production.
A movie studio would agree to purchase the movie from the producer but only upon delivery of the final product, so private investors funded production with the promise of eventual payoff from the studio.
It was essential to have happy financiers, otherwise your funding was gone.
“Everything’s in place,” RJ said. “Sol Rodrigues has agreed to play the role of Marla. After seeing her work on All Kinds of Killing, we knew she’d be perfect.”
“Big get.” Elliot nodded in approval.
My stomach swooped in excitement. Sol Rodrigues was an icon, one of the top talents of her generation.
Although only in her mid-twenties, she’d already garnered one Academy nomination and had serious fashion credibility after starring in Valentino’s latest campaign.
She’d worked with all the hottest directors and, from what I’d read in the trades, had begged to work with RJ. And I was working on a script for her.
“RJ?” Vivian looked pointedly at her watch then back up at him. “If we’re to make it to Zero Bond on time, we need to leave in ten.”
“Right, right.” RJ stood. “So, Lucie, let’s get you sorted out with everything you need.”
“IT have got your phone and laptop ready,” Vivian told me.
“Great,” I said. I turned back to RJ. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
He chuckled and pointed at Elliot. “You should be saying that to him as well.”
Elliot’s face was a mask. “Can I go?”
“Joined at the hip!” RJ barked. “Best buddies. Elliot, show Lucie where to go.”
“Lucky me,” Elliot snarled. But under RJ’s scrutiny, he pasted a smile. “For now, I’ll take you to IT.”