Quicksilver Dreams(57)
Our food showed up, stopping the flow of conversation, and it took all of Reggie’s willpower not to snap at the waiter. Reggie had been under the impression that he was about to close a deal, but I sensed Paul was still on the fence. I could “feel” he was tired of doing meetings (ours, apparently, wasn’t his first), tired of feeling worked by Hollywood types and just wanted to be home working on his computer. Meetings weren’t his thing. Glitz and glam weren’t his thing. He was a T-shirt-and-jeans kind of guy who just enjoyed being a homebody and doing normal, everyday activities. He was feeling exasperated by the formalities and wished it was just the two of us having this meal so he could get to know me better.
I flushed.
I had a Caesar salad, Paul had a burger and Reggie had crab cakes. Conversation remained light and topical while we were eating, but toward the end of the meal, Reggie took a call from Frank and stepped away. When Reggie returned, Paul got right down to business.
“What can you do for me that one of the other agencies can’t?”
“At one of the large agencies, you will not be given the attention your work deserves, because they’re too busy catering to their high-profile clients. We are never too busy to serve your needs.” Reggie wiped his mouth with his white cloth napkin and tossed it lightly by his plate as he sat back in his chair. “I’m a partner in this firm, and we made a conscious choice not to overbuild our business in order to make sure our clients get full customer care. And still, if you look at our client list, which you’ve had a chance to do, you’ll see that we represent very successful people. We’re a boutique agency by choice, not necessity.”
Paul looked over at Reggie. “I’ve had a few other meetings this week with the Charles Louis Company, Adams Group and Morris Entertainment, which all have high-profile clients. They were all trying to be my good buddy, get me free tickets here or there, do me some favors, buy me a great lunch, et cetera, which is total bullshit. Their client lists are in the hundreds, which gives me the feeling of being part of a mill instead of a human enterprise. I have to say that this has been more real. So what’s next? What’s the next step if I sign with you?”
“Your work will get out to all the major studios when I think it’s good enough. Taylor and I read all scripts and take meetings on them before we send them out. We want to make sure we’re sending out the best product we can. In the end, it’s what makes this a winning situation for all of us. Your movie gets made, and it’s not just another piece of crap being thrown out to the public. Four of my writers have had major motion picture award nominations, and two took them home in the last five years. I’m looking for quality here. I don’t believe in making shit movies.”
“All right. I’m in.”
“Let’s draw up the contracts and meet later this week.” Reggie grinned.
“All right. Sounds good.”
“Taylor will take care of you. Ah, there’s Frank.”
I looked up in time to see the silver-haired man who’d been sitting by Reggie’s pool last Friday come through the picket fence in a casual summer suit. He was taller than Reggie by an inch or two.
Of course, my heart was pounding, wondering how he was going to handle our “misunderstanding,” which I was still confused about. But as it turned out, I didn’t have to worry. As we all stood to greet him, his eyes caught mine and he winked, which immediately worked to alleviate some of my residual stress from the other day. I’d actually believed he was going to kill me. Ludicrous, right? Here he was, hugging Reggie and shaking hands with Paul. He was the reason Paul had been able to get his work looked at. Connections. Pure Hollywood. Idly, I wondered what favors were owed and what this connection entailed, but there was nothing unusual about doing business this way. It was, after all, how things got done in Hollywood most of the time.