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PART 2



Cody and I have known each other since other since elementary school and have, for the most part, always been opposites.  We also went to the same east coast college.  After graduation Cody moved out to Seattle and I went down to the Bronx. 

In school I was all about the liberal arts.  Writing and reading.  Cody was the technical freak.  Academically, he copied my English homework. I copied his math.  He can’t differentiate between weak and strong verbs because of me.  Because of him, I can’t factor anything not a prime number. (Math whizzes should smirk here.)


* * * * *


It about 8 AM Pacific time when we exit LAX and are out under the California sun.  It’s warmth feels amazing on my face.  I take in the sights and sounds with my chin toward the sky.  I’m standing on the cusp of realizing my dreams after 8 years of rejections.

I hear Cody whistling for my attention down the sidewalk but I’m wrapped up in the atmosphere.  Still, I can only ignore him for so long; he comes up from behind me and puts me in a bear hug.  He breaks my reverie. 

“Formalities first. You’ll get laid in time,” he says directing me to taxi he’s hailed. Vintage Cody.

We pick up a set of keys at an LA realty office and head down Route 1.  We turn up onto a series of mazelike roads dotted with gated villas.  The taxi pulls up to a gate.  Rose bushes sprawl over the top of the spackled ledge.

Cody unlocks the gate and in we walk. The garden is petite and organized.  Cody uses another key to open the front door.  There are no furniture, but the rooms look well kept.

FLOOR LAYOUT

Cody drops his bag and kneels on the floor.  He opens the bag and I catch a glimpse of the thick stack of papers that is my manuscript before he pulls out a yellow envelope.  He lays it on the bare floor and pulls the tops of the contents out of the envelope, checking them 

“What are these?”

He ignores me, “I have to go find you a casting director, so make yourself at home.  Look around. I’ll pick you up for dinner around 7.” He lets the pages back in and slides the envelope over to to me.

“The deed to your house,” he says.

I’m flabbergasted.

He grabs the bag off the floor, flings it over one shoulder, and tosses the set of keys my way.  I catch them defensively between my chest and my cupped palms. 

“Don’t say I never get you anything.” He walks out the front door.  This is the same guy that only hours before put me on a redeye flight in coach.

I freeze for a moment, then realize I need to run after him.  I catch him at the front gate.  The taxi is still running.

“Cody! Michaela Colstin!” My voice is rapid. My head is still processing everything.

“Huh?”

“Michaela Colstin,” I reiterate before continuing, “The story’s written with Michaela Colstin in mind as lead.”

Cody’s hands are pressing me for more details. For once he’s having to catch up to me. 

“She’s done a few off Broadway shows and a TV movie.”

“So she’ll be cheap and grateful. I like how you think.”

I think she has fantastic potential, but I don’t correct Cody’s assertion.

“Is the girl in L.A.?” he asks.

“No. New York.” Off Broadway generally means in New York but not on Broadway.

“Shit! Why didn’t you say anything before?  We could’ve picked her up last night.”

“It was 3 in the morning.”

“Like she’d have anything better to do!  What’s her number?”

I’ve never met Michaela. “No. Never actually met her.”

“All right.” He pulls out my manuscript, turns it over onto its back, and hands to me, “Write down her name.”

I oblige.

He reads the name over. “Michaela Colstin. Slightly masculine first name. Generic WASP last name.  Star in the making.”

“Dude, not condescending at all”

“I’ll have her fly over.” Cody tucks the script under his arm and gets in the taxi. He rolls down the window.  As the taxi drives off, he pulls his head out and yells at the top of his lungs, “Yo! Hook us up with some dinner, baby!”


* * * * *


Cody returns sometime after seven with a six pack of longnecks.  I’m lucky he comes when he does because right behind him is he pizza delivery car I have no cash on me.  It was early morning when Cody ran me out of New York.  I’m luck to have had the presence of mind to grab my cell.

Because of our lack of furniture and other amenities we toast in my patio as we sit on the rough spackled ledge overlooking my new garden.  The garden also provides an unobstructed view of a majestic twilight in the sky.  My longneck is set between us on the ledge, collecting condensation.  Cody rests his forearms on his thighs, holding his bottle by its very tip with three fingers.

“You know I can’t take this house, right?” I pick up my beer leaving a wet circle on the ledge.

“Fuck you.”

I ignore the profanity. “There’s a reason everyone’s rejected my work.”

Cody looks at me. His eyes glint and he lifts his shoulders half an inch, “They’re execs and speaking from experience they are not the smartest guys in the room.” He takes a sip. “Far from it.”

I set my bottle down on the ledge again.

“It’s a half million dollars, Cody. There’s no way I can pay you back.”

“Seriously, if I want to make you an indentured servant, I’ll get you a fucking yacht.  Then you’ll complain.”

We’re both silent for a moment as we bite into our pizza slices.  Then I say, “I wouldn’t mind a motorcycle though.”

He smiles. “Lot 23 at Warner Bros.” Not Brothers. Bros. “is ours.” 

“Since when?” My voice shows surprise and I turn my head at him.

“A couple hours ago.  And the Michaela broad’s coming this weekend.  Fucking twenty grand a day.”

I don’t know where to start.  My first inclination is: why does Michaela cost twenty grand a day?  Thankfully, I blurt out, “You spoke with her.”

“Her manager. Agent. Annie something.” He chuckles unprovoked. “Thought I was running a scam. She had me fax over details on our production company.  By the way, you’re co-owner.”

“How?”

“I signed your name a few times,” he shrugs.

“Cody,” I set my paper plate of pizza down and shake my head, “there are tax issues with these things.”

“If the IRS comes around just argue artistic license.” He tries in vain to not smile.

“This is not funny.”

“Yeah it is. And they give parole to first timers anyway.  More importantly though, we’ve got auditions early next week at the lot.  Do you want Michaela there?”

"I guess. I still want her to read for the part."

"What happened to 'Cody, she's meant for my movie.'" He gives a shitty impersonation of my voice.

"I think she's photogenic but I'm a homeowner now.  I have responsibilities." 

Cody clings his bottle to mine.  He finishes drinking and sets the bottle down between us on the ledge.

We spend the next few days at a local casting agency.  It’s a dull building with rather bland rooms reminiscent of high school classrooms without desks and blackboards.  We concentrate mainly on male lead. 

Leads need to play off each other’s energy.  I’m looking for someone who’ll mesh with Michaela.  Even for experts, it’s really a guessing game. 

Michael plays brooding and vengeance like no one before her.  And she’s got the killer looks to be sexy tough.  Long eyes and a round face. Defined cheekbones.  Full, generous lips.  A cleft shortens her jaw and gives her face a square profile.  Her hair - thick and curly – is chocolate dark color but turns to a golden brown in the light.  She is my  archetype for a woman.  Ferocious and elegant, she is beauty without remorse.

My antagonist is Nathaniel Branch.  I think it’s a great name. Especially Nathaniel.  Aristocratic.  Even biblical.  I have always pictured Nathaniel as a Sam Worthington with Cillian Murphy’s brand of mischievous intensity.

The turnout is higher than I expect.  Some bomb the part, others pass.  A few shine. 

The weekend closes in and I have a mind to start shooting immediately.  My thinking is to film a few shots of scenery, or touches as I call them, and maybe wrap ahead of schedule.

Thursday morning I coordinate set building.  Afternoon, I had back to the casting agency where the few actors that I like have been called back.  I have sent Cody off to make purchases because he can’t really stand in one place.  I got lucky that he managed to sit down for the preliminary auditions, but doubt I’d have the same luck this time.

I pick a young actor, Adam Annable, for the part. He’s skinner than Sam Worthington but has striking blue eyes and a flexible voice. 

Cody’s just rented a loft near the studio but shows up at my house for dinner.  My utilities are fired up and we watch Michaela’s TV movie. 

She’s running up the stairs of a light house in torn jeans and a beige tank.  She’s dirty and fatigued but makes it up.  Then on the main floor she spins around surveying the large room.  She runs her hand through her tangled hair and takes a stoic stance.  The camera closes in on her large, green eyes.  Naturally, a stormy night ocean serves as her backdrop.

Then she’s attacked by some being in a cape and a reflective, golden mask.  An orb. I find the idea ingenious.  The masked thing spins Michaela around flinging her at one of the large windows.  She breaks through and free falls toward the dark water crashing against jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff.  But she has the presence of mind to align her body in a diver’s position just as she hits the raging waves.

The movie climaxes in an abandoned warehouse decorated by sparse chains hanging from the ceiling.  Michaela wields a medieval axe and cuts off the masked entity’s head, effectively ending its reign of terror.  Picture this as the last scene: Michaela stands with her back to the camera.  The bad guy’s body is limp at her feet.  She holds her arm, which is gripping the axe, out to the side. On one side the axe is held at chest height.  The villain’s body is sprawled along the floor on the other side.  Michaela stands in between.  The frame freezes here a moment.  Then, Michaela lets the axe drop on the floor, where it rattle rattles on each side.  She walks away.  The screen fades to black.

“TV movie and all, but the girl’s got it,” I say as the credit roll.  Her name is second from the top.  The guy playing the villain is first.

“She’s all right.” His tone is flat.

My rebuttal, “Cody, you just watched her take a movie with no plot and make bearable.”

Cody holds out his hands defensively, “I believe you. I believe you. Has she done anything else?”

I flip the TV to my TiVo queue and scroll down a list of titles.  The movie we just watched is called Night Demon. “She’s got these but she’s not really a main character in any.”  Then I add, “She’s done a few plays, too.”

Cody doesn’t comment.  Maybe I am smitten with the girl.  But I should be, I think.  My future rests on her shoulders. 

He lingers around a bit longer.  After he leaves I go online and check out a few photos of Micheala.  There aren’t many images of her.  Still, from what I see she is physically appealing and shows tremendous emotional diversity.

In some pictures Michaela’s angelic almost. She’s dressed in a silk white dress with her hair brushed back and a bright, innocent smile.  In others, she is strong and cold.  In one picture she is dressed in cargo pants and a tank as she leans against a wall with a knife hanging by her side. Her eyes seem to almost pierce through my screen.


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PART 3

untitled 3  () short story part 3 #1815245 by Wrath.of.Khan