He immediately blushed.
She smacked his knee with a copy of his latest assignment. “Why am I just finding out about you now? Right as you’re graduating!”
“This is a hard class to get into.” He kept on blushing. He wasn’t good at accepting compliments not based on his looks.
“What are your plans?”
“I’m moving to LA in September.”
“That’s fantastic!” A wistful smile slipped on her lips, carrying her away. “Do you know where you want to live?”
“I have a place lined up in Santa Monica.”
“I love Santa Monica! They have this farmer’s market every Sunday with the best omelet you will ever have in your entire life.”
Cameron pictured himself in Santa Monica, passing a palm tree, on his way to this brunch. These details made LA feel more and more like a real place. A real future.
“LA was a blast. It’s like a new Ellis Island. Everyone’s new. Everyone’s fresh. All they have is a dream. Some people are going to soar, some will crash. There’s so much ambition and energy coursing through that town. It’s a roller coaster ride.” She laughed to herself. “And now it’s your turn.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Of course you can’t.” Mackey came alive. She rubbed her hands together. “I had never driven before I moved to LA. I had a license, but only so I could drink. You will become a pro at making lefts at yellow lights.”
Cameron had a twinge of pity for her. She obviously missed Hollywood. The woman had a screenplay produced! That was the definition of making it. Out of all the people who arrived at the glitzy Ellis Island, she was one of the few who soared. And now she was in the middle of Pennsylvania, stuck reading crappy writing all day and having to put a positive spin on it. No ocean, just the Susquehanna River. Cameron appreciated having her as a professor, but didn’t understand why she gave it all up.
“I think this script you’re working on for class, if you polish it up, can be a viable sample for agents.”
Cameron’s stomach somersaulted. “How do screenwriters find agents? It’s all so nebulous. I can’t send my script directly to an agency.”
“Of course not. No agent in Hollywood reads anything that’s unsolicited. Or anything period. Kidding.” She flipped her hair off her shoulders. “It’s all about creating a link to an agent, knowing someone who can pass your script along.”
“So what do writers do until then? Starve?” Cameron asked with a laugh. There was always a gap in a successful person’s Hollywood story. In the articles and interviews he’d read of screenwriters, they all loved talking about a vague “struggle” before making it, but rarely gave specifics. The screenwriter ofLittle Miss Sunshinewas Matthew Broderick’s assistant in the ’90s, but never said what he did or how he survived for the years between then and selling his script.
“A lot of writers take office jobs or wait tables. But you should try to get a job as an assistant somewhere. You’ll be able to see how the movie development process works, and you’ll make some great connections. I was an assistant to a producer for a few years until I sold my script.”
Cameron sparked to the idea immediately. “What do assistants do exactly?”
“It’s not just getting coffee, although that is a part of it. You read all the scripts that come across your boss’s desk. You’ll find out what projects are being set up around town. Screenwriting isn’t just about writing. It’s a business, and being an assistant is like film graduate school. And working in development means you see things from the buyer’s side. They have the power.”
Cameron tapped his fingers together Mr. Burns style.
“One of my old students works in development at Mobius Pictures. Arthur Brandt.” She went behind her desk, put on her glasses, and logged onto her email. Cameron’s ears perked up. He’d read that name in a few articles in the trades. He could never remember geography or historical facts, but Hollywood names stuck to his brain like magnets.
Mackey ripped a Post-it from her stack and wrote down Arthur’s email address. Cameron’s heart may have stopped for a second. He was about to receive the email of a guy who made movies.
“Arthur was in my screenwriting class. Not the best writer, but he always had great comments for everyone else. Whether they wanted to hear them or not.”
The Post-it slid into Cameron’s hand like Willy Wonka’s golden ticket.
“Feel free to shoot him an email, say you’re in my class. Maybe he can give you some advice or meet you for coffee once you move.”
“That would be…” a million adjectives screamed for attention in his mind. “great.”
“Arthur may seem like one of those Hollywood assholes. He kind of is, but he’s a good guy at heart. He’ll write back.”
“Thank you so much, Professor Mackey. I’m really happy I took this class.” She made him believe that his crazy LA dream could be a reality. Hope was the best gift you could give someone. He wanted to give her a hug, but didn’t know professor/student protocol. He held out his hand, and she swallowed him in her arms.
She pulled away and looked him in the eyes. “And whatever you do, just keep writing. Don’t fall into the assistant trap like I saw happen to other people. Promise you’ll keep writing, Cameron. Even if only for fun. Don’t let that creative muscle go to waste.”
