"It isn't because we showed too much female skin," he said.
"No. But it is, I believe, because instead of a movie that is supposedly for women, aimed at women, we ended up with a movie that caters to the men who wrote it and directed it. The impression I got from the marketing campaign was that, frankly, it's misogynist crap."
"Misogynist is a very strong word to throw around, Ricki."
I let him have that point, jokingly adding, "Hey, you hire an Ivy Leaguer, you're going to get some Ivy League words," and he smiled. Good. Time to hit him with the actual point. "But here's the thing. You want to compete for women's dollars? You have to at least make the thing look like it might be relevant to them. Just because something has a love story and some emotions in it, or more than one female character, doesn't make it a 'women's movie.' I can give you a very long list of Hollywood flops with female leads and I can tell you every time it wasn't that 'movies about female characters don't sell.' It was that these movies were made by men for men and utterly failed to interest the female audience."
"Like what?"
"Like the Mariah Carey movie Glitter. She was at the peak of her fame, yet it flopped. Why?"
He tapped his fingers on the desk. "You didn't ask to speak to me privately so you could harangue me about films we didn't even make."
"No. I'm here to harangue you about the films we're going to make." Here we go. Time to sell him on my dream. "I want to start a new development initiative focused on women's films. That is a huge cash chunk we're leaving on the table if all we concentrate on is the teenage boy market."
"And how do you propose we keep these films from having the same problems as every other arm of Blue Star?"
"Put a woman in charge of the development team, first of all." Crown on my head, crown on my head, I thought.
"Aha." He nodded like he had suspected something like that was coming. "Well, Ricki, I'll take it under advisement."
"You'll be wanting this, then." I pulled out the sheaf of papers I'd carried with me to the meeting. "That's a blueprint for structuring the team and a proposed budget."
He took the papers and put them in the middle of his desk, glancing briefly through the first two pages before he stood to dismiss me. "Well, you certainly did your homework."
That MBA had to be good for something, I thought, but instead of saying it, I smiled in what I hoped was an appreciative way. I stood, too. "Thanks for your time, David. I know you're crazy-busy."
"You're quite welcome, Ricki. You've given me some food for thought. Let's talk about this again next week? You can leave the door open on your way out."
I gave him another smile and then sailed out the door thinking, at last, I'm getting somewhere.
And once again ran practically smack into Grant, who appeared to be on his way into a meeting with Meyers. "Ricki. So good to run into you."
Ha. "Grant." I moved to go around him.
He put a hand on my arm. "I haven't seen very much of you outside of meetings. And I, um, just wanted to apologize for my conduct a couple of weeks ago. I was on a medication; I didn't realize it reacted so strongly with alcohol! But that's no excuse for what an ass I made of myself. I especially apologize if I embarrassed you in front of your guests."
After all that had happened that night, Grant falling down drunk now seemed barely worth remembering. Here we were two weeks later and I wondered what had spurred him to bother to say anything about it now. "Apology accepted, Grant. Now if you'll exc-"
His hand on my arm pulled at me, though. "Just quickly. Sorry. I know you're in a rush. I wanted to clear it up before … you know."
You know? I blinked at him blankly. What on earth was he talking about?
"Oh, ha-ha, I know, shouldn't mention it, but Saturday is coming up quickly."
Oh. The BDSM party. I tried to keep my face completely neutral. Who invited him? Gwen? Or Schmitt? It had to be Schmitt. My stomach sank even as my slow-lit anger fuse began to burn. Did he really not know this was a completely inappropriate place to mention it? Utterly against club rules.
Maybe he didn't know yet. "This is a highly inappropriate forum for such a discussion," I said, my eyes sliding to look at where his hand was still holding my arm. Full-on lizard eye.
He pulled his hand back as if my skin had suddenly become burning hot. "Oh, ah, of course, but you know I didn't mention anything unmentionable!" He grinned smugly, gave me a smarmy "gotcha" salute, and beat a hasty retreat.
It almost wasn't fair to think "what an ass" when Grant Randolph wasn't really any worse than most of the men in the industry, but I thought it anyway. What. An. Ass. I went directly to my office, which was small but private, and texted Paul. Did Schmitt ever send an agenda?
No. He still wants a private meeting. But I gave him your terms and he brushed me off.
I tamped down my annoyance. Tell him he can have a phone meeting with me tonight, while I'm on my way home.
Will do!
The exclamation point at the end of Paul's texts always seemed chipper, like him. I wished I could bring him to the office with me, but that would be weird. He was my employee, not Blue Star's.
Just like it would be weird for me to be chauffeur-driven to and from the office when I wasn't at that level yet. I might be Hollywood "royalty" but I could do without the coach and footmen. I drove myself to prove some kind of a point.
I debated what exactly that point was when, that evening, I was stuck in traffic on the way home. As I crept along, I hoped it wouldn't hurt my chances of keeping cool with Schmitt. When his call came through, my whole car rang. I loved that. It felt like something out of a science fiction movie whenever a phone call came through the car stereo. I had controls on the steering wheel for answering and hanging up the phone, as well as voice commands.
Schmitt's voice was more condescending than ever in stereo. "Rickanna, I'm so glad to have this chance to talk with you."
"Schmitt, sorry to cut right to the chase, but the reason I need to talk to you is named Grant Randolph."
"I'm under the impression you're quite familiar with Mr. Randolph?"
"You bet I am, which is why I am trying to find out who invited him to The Governor's Club this Saturday."
"And you think it was me? I don't much like the tone you're taking, young lady."
"And don't you 'young lady' me, Schmitt. I'm not five. Or even fifteen. I'm in charge of membership."
He cleared his throat and the subwoofer in the car made the floor vibrate. "Well, this brings me to the subject I wanted to broach with you. Speaking quite sincerely, my dear, I'm well aware of your discomfort over the position which has been thrust on you. I hesitated to bring this up at our initial meeting over the will's terms, but now that I see your reluctance, I would like to mention that there is ample leeway in the wording for you and your sister to remain titular heads of the club, but leave its administration to a member, such as myself."
I gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to muster an answer. Was that a good idea? Wasn't that what I wanted? I didn't really want to be running a BDSM club …
But that meant giving Schmitt the power to invite total strangers to come have wild sex in my home. Yeah … no. Not if he was going to invite asshats like Grant Randolph.
I didn't think it would gain me much traction with Schmitt to use the word asshats, though. "Well, thank you for your offer, but of course I should talk it over with Gwen first."
"Oh, of course, of course."
"After all, maybe I'll feel differently once I get the first party out of the way. Perhaps some of my reluctance is simply nerves."
"Perfectly understandable, my dear. Don't hesitate to call on me for anything you need to make the evening go more smoothly. Anything at all."
"Will do!" I said, trying to sound chipper rather than anxious. Traffic looked like it was breaking free for a little while and I tried to focus my full attention on the road.
AXEL
Life is not fair. That much I know. But did it have to be so freakin' lopsided sometimes? I know everyone thinks rock stars are knee-deep in horny groupies 24-7, but the truth of the matter is that most of the time the opportunity isn't there. On the road sometimes there simply isn't the time, or you can't get the privacy, or whatever, even when there are copious willing participants. Or you're worried the girls are underage. Or various other things that might stop a man from acting on temptation, at least when that man is me.
But in the weeks since that limo ride with Ricki, I had plenty of opportunities. I wasn't just knee-deep, I was waist-deep in fans with the tide still rising thanks to all the exposure the awards ceremony-and subsequent talk show appearances-gave me. For the press junket I was solo a lot of the time, in hotels, with ample time to spare. So why didn't "America's new heartthrob" (according to USA Today) enjoy the spoils of my fame?