“He’s cute, huh?” Kelsey whispered from their hiding spot.
“If you like mops.”
“Rubbish is still rubbish,” Sissie spouted like a diva whale. “Where did Evan get this trash?”
Chet leaned forward on the chair, elbows on his knees. “Probably from the guy delivering his pizza.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Tony removed his clunky black glassesand cleaned them on the same T-shirt he’d worn Friday and Saturday. “Lame writer move.”
Harper cringed at his snark. Writers, she’d learned over the years, were considered a necessary evil in Hollywood. While a script was essential for every production, finding the right one with the right setting for the right budget was a daunting task. And many novice screenwriters would do about anything to watch their story on the silver screen. Like impersonating a pizza delivery guy, if necessary, to get on a set.
Then again, pizza might have been the writer’s full-time gig. Most didn’t work as a director’s housekeeper while waiting for their big break.
This dream of hers to become a screenwriter was part wonder, part albatross. But from the time she was a girl, she’d dreamed about writing something so remarkable that a director would find it compelling enough to put on a screen. And that viewers would want to journey with her and her characters until the credits rolled.
That was the magic of story—she could take moviegoers to a million places without ever leaving their seats— but at times like this, she hated the whole industry.
Sissie took a sip of her contraband cocktail. “At least the writer didn’t attempt to send it by singing telegram.”
Troy groaned. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. My assistant kicked out the messenger before he finished the logline.”
Chet leaned back and tossed a tennis ball into the air, catching it with the opposite hand. “Anyone that bold should be heard.”
“I heard plenty,” Sissie said, “and my office door was closed.”
“It’s a wretched business,” Chet replied.
And Harper agreed.
Chet picked up another stack from the pile of scripts. “There’s got to be a decent idea in here somewhere.”
Sissie laughed. “Decent won’t convince the man upstairs. We need something creative and compelling and...”
“Brilliant,” Chet said, holding up the stack.
“I’d take a diamond in the rough right now.” Sissie kicked the papers that she’d dropped. “Just the tiniest glimmer.”
“Maybe Evan should have invited an actual screenwriter to this party,” Chet said.
Sissie shook her head. “He doesn’t want to deal with actual writers.”
“Which makes our job practically impossible.”
Kelsey poked Harper’s arm. “This is your chance to wow them.”
Harper swatted her friend’s hand away. “Did you just hear what they said about writers approaching them?”
“But your ideas are brilliant.”
“Only because you’re my best friend,” Harper said.
“I told you that I’d always be honest with you.”
And she had. Four years ago, when Harper was a junior at USC, she’d asked Kelsey what she thought about one of her manuscripts. Her friend had grimaced before speaking. “It reads film school.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
