IV Jack
IV
Jack
Five Years Later
“Kurtz put it together over at Sony.”
“Kurtz and who? Have they confirmed a distribution plan yet?”
“It’s Kurtz and Ryman from that indie company Broken Glass Pictures. Nothing confirmed yet, but they’re looking at a limited run in theaters, then streaming.”
I groan.
“What’s that sound?” the voice on the other end of the phone asks.
“That’s just Jack. Sorry, Carmen, you’re on speaker with both of us.”
My agent, Delia Browning, sits next to me in the back of a black car, straight off a twelve-hour flight from Heathrow to LAX. I am exhausted, but Delia is a general ready to go to war. I reach for the eye drops in my jacket pocket.
“Who did the script?” Delia presses.
“The Patels—husband and wife couple, big in TV, making the jump to features. The studio asked for their take on The Great Gatsby .”
“They’re remaking that again ?” I whisper to Delia in disbelief.
She hushes me and continues on, unabated. “Who’s directing?”
“It’s Gray,” Carmen replies, keyboard clacking in the background.
“Wait, Gray has this?” Delia sits up even taller. Gray was a huge director in the ’80s, responsible for some of the decade’s biggest blockbusters and action flicks. Now, he only works sporadically, returning for a pet project or simply when he feels like it.
“If it’s Gray, it’s a no-brainer,” Delia says, more to me than to Carmen.
“Well, not that Gray. Gray’s son, Timmy. The festival-circuit darling. Longest standing ovation in Cannes history.”
Delia raises her brows at me, and I know how I’m meant to read this face. But I meet Delia’s excitement with reluctance. I have another movie starting production in a few months. If I take this on now, I will have almost no downtime between projects.
Carmen continues, typing away. “Listen, if Jack doesn’t want it, it’s OK. But we need to find our new Nick fast.” Then, she evokes her Hail Mary: “Alden Ehrenreich’s people are already circling.”
Delia arches her left eyebrow even higher. She presses mute.
“Well-known TV couple, director who isn’t afraid to take risks. A fresh take on popular IP. And Broken Glass has been selling movies for record prices at Sundance and TIFF. Given the timing, I suspect they’ll do a full-court press for this. I don’t really see a downside here, Jack.”
I chew my lip and assess Delia. Her jet-black hair is pulled into a perfect bun that somehow survived a transcontinental flight. I don’t even think she slept on the plane.
We first met nine years ago when she saw me in a production of Mother Courage and Her Children . Not one agent had ever offered me representation before, despite plenty of effort on my part. Delia was the one who got me the audition for Flames Flicker Eternal when casting wasn’t interested in seeing me. She hasn’t steered me wrong since.
She continues applying pressure with ease: “Do you really want Alden Ehrenreich stealing all your buzz?”
I roll my eyes and shake my head, grinning despite myself.
Delia doesn’t smile with her mouth, but I can see the delight of a deal in her eyes.
She unmutes the phone.
“Email me the script immediately,” she demands.
“One more thing,” I chime in. “Can we find out who’s on hair and makeup, costumes, and production design?” If a Gatsby remake looks cheap, I know how it will fare. I might not have the leverage to do anything about it, but I still want to know.
“Rachel Miles is on hair. Karen Sun for makeup.”
Delia nods. “All solid,” she whispers to me assuredly.
“And for production design CJ Ericson, just off The Bee’s Knees .”
“ Oh yes! ” Delia exclaims with recognition. “Haven’t seen it yet, but it was at South By and picked up a ton of word of mouth,” she adds for my benefit.
I nod at her, and she knows what to say.
“Send the contract over.”
She and Carmen continue their conversation, but my thoughts drift to the Sunset Tower Hotel, where my team has arranged for me to stay. All I can think about is closing the thick, cream curtains and crawling into the giant bed, waking up only to order room service until I come out on the other side of my jet lag.
All of my trips to LA have been short, oversaturated bursts. A few days here, a week there, never really enough time to see the city in any real way. The closest I’ve come to anything of substance was Tom’s bachelor party five years ago. My mind catches on the events of that weekend. The bar, the bartender. Even now, my eyes scan the credits of new releases to see if I might catch a “Cara” in the art department. A few years back, I looked up Swan Dive and was half relieved to see it had closed, preventing me from doing anything daft like showing up to ask after her.
I roll down the car’s tinted window, expecting to be met with darkness. We’ve been traveling for so long that the fact that it’s morning here comes as a surprise. I wince at the sun and the stream of cars inching along the freeway, but I soften at the palm trees that loom over it.
Now off the phone with Carmen, Delia turns to me. “How early can I set a meeting tomorrow? How wild are you planning on getting at the People’s Choice after-parties?”
I snort. My phone dings. Amid the sea of notifications, I spot a text that reads “See you tonight xx.”
“Ginny will be there?” I ask Delia.
She looks at me surprised, almost offended.
“I made sure of it.”