Filthy Beast(3)

We get past the offer, the deadlines, all that shit, and finally get to the part where it lists the crew.

“Okay, director is some German guy named Lionel, no last name apparently,” Mickey says. “Buncha other guys, you know what a crew looks like.”

He goes to turn the page, but I stop him. “Wait. Who’s the script girl?”

He blinks, surprised. “Script girl? I don’t fucking know, some kid. Who cares?”

“Read the name,” I say, trying to stay patient.

He sighs and skims through it. “Okay, let’s see… photography… gaffer… okay, here we go. Script girl.” He squints at the name. “Tara Austin.” He looks up at me, a confused look on his face. “That mean anything to you?”

I smile at him and nod. “That name means a lot to me, Mickey. Now let’s sign this shit.”

He looks confused, but he doesn’t press. I wouldn’t tell him the truth even if he asked anyway.

Truth is, I’m doing this movie for that script girl. She doesn’t know it, but I’m coming for her. I fucked up once upon a time, although I did what I did for a good reason.

But now I’m back and I’m going to make up for that one colossally stupid decision.





2





Tara





When I first came to LA, I hated it here. I hated the perfect weather, hated the perfect people, and really hated how fake everything felt.

But I was determined. I came to this town with a dream, and I’m not the kind of girl to give up just because I get a little homesick. And so over the years, I met people, made friends, built up a life, and landed the best job I could ever imagine working for one of the largest studios around.

But over the years, personal stuff kind of fell by the wayside. I’ve dated, sure, but never seriously. Guys never stuck around, and I guess I never cared all that much. I was dedicated to building my career.

And now here I am, twenty-eight years old, living with an awesome roommate, but totally, chronically, impossibly single. I haven’t met a decent guy in months, and I’m starting to feel like I never will.

There’s something missing in my life. I love working as a script girl, even though I despise that title. But basically, I’m the liaison between the writer, the director, and the script itself. I make sure that we’re following the plot, that things make sense, that we’re keeping continuity. If lines change, I mark the main script up, and I make sure it makes sense in the greater story. If a character says his name is Timmy, and later in the movie his name randomly changes to Tommy, well, that’d be my fault.

I love it. I love working with different directors, actors, and writers. I do a bunch of different things on set, and I’m like a jack of all trades on top of my usual script duties.

And I’m looking forward to this upcoming job. My roommate, Laney Lane, not her real name, is one of the best action writers in Hollywood. But because she’s a woman, it’s harder for her to sell her scripts. Fortunately though, I was able to get her script for Brutally Dishonest into the right hands at my studio, and the rest is history. Now I get to work as script girl for my closest friend’s film, and I can’t wait to get started.

I wake up early and roll out of bed. Our apartment isn’t the nicest thing in the world, but I like it enough. It’s basically a little bungalow at the edge of town. I head into the bathroom, do my usual morning routine, and find Laney already up, drinking coffee, and typing away.

“Your work ethic is inspiring,” I say to her, grinning.

“Gotta keep the grind going,” she says, a little bleary-eyed.

“Wait, did you sleep last night?” I cock my head at her.

She grins at me sheepishly and looks up from her screen. “How can you tell?”

“Well, the dead-eyed stare, the messy hair, and the general disheveled appearance kind of gives it away.”

She sighs and leans back, yawning. “I got sucked into this story and now I can’t stop.”

“What’s it about?” I ask.

“I think it might be the sequel to Brutally Dishonest. It’s about Brock Brockhard and his huge, ah, gun, you know.”

I grin at her. “Sure, I get it.”

“Anyway, he’s sent to deal with some Nazis down in South America, but when he gets there, he finds out that the conspiracy goes so much deeper.”

“Deeper how?” I ask. I’m already a fan. Nothing wrong with killing some Nazis.

“Aliens,” she says, her eyes a little wide.

“Laney,” I groan. “You can’t be serious.”

“Aliens,” she repeats. “Brock finds out that the Nazis are working with the aliens to overthrow the American government, but really, the aliens are just using the Nazis. They’ve already infiltrated the government to the highest level, and it’s up to Rick to root them out.”