“If you want to shoot a film for USC,” Kelsey had said. “It’s not ready for the big screen.”
Harper had wished in that moment that Kelsey wasn’t quite so candid.
“I’ll be your friend until the end of time or I can be your Hollywood connection,” Kelsey told her. “But I can’t be both.”
Harper had thought long and hard about Kelsey’s ultimatum. She needed someone to open doors into the film industry, but in the end, she’d chosenfriend. And she’d never regretted it. Kelsey still listened to her many ideas and read a few of her recent scripts, but she’d stopped critiquing her work.
“One time,” Tony continued, “someone pounded on my window as I pulled into the lot. He kept shouting that he held the ticket to my success.”
“Maybe he did,” Chet said. “Missed opportunity.”
“I didn’t lose any sleep over it, especially after the many names he pelted at me before security escorted him away. Desperation carries a stench of its own.”
“That’s Tony Bates,” Kelsey whispered, and Harper knew him as one of Evan’s favorite associate producers.
“Like you’ve never been desperate,” Sissie said.
“We’ve all been desperate,” Tony conceded. “But we can’t show it. And we would never, ever send a screenplay with flowers or in a pizza box or... I was going to saychocolate, but I was glad to eat the entire box before I tossed the script.”
Brutal, all of them. They had no idea how difficult it was for a screenwriter to find an actual director or producer willing to read their work. Any decision-maker in the industry, for that matter. No wonder aspiring writers tucked their pages under windshield wipers or pitched their idea in the form of a telegram.
“They’re the desperate ones,” Kelsey whispered. “Dad’s going to have another meltdown if they don’t propose revisions to at least one of those scripts by tonight or come up with a better idea on their own.”
Harper wished she had the courage to barge into the discussion and tell them about Miles, but she hadn’t even prepared the essential elevator pitch—an entire movie in sixty seconds or less. Besides, there wasn’t much difference, really, in her knocking on a producer’s window or accosting them with an unsolicited idea when she was supposed to be serving lunch.
“Are there any pigs in a blanket around here?” Tony called as if a platter of finger food might appear.
Harper stepped out from behind the case. “That’s my cue.”
Kelsey followed her. “I’m going with you.”
And she had no reason to protest. It was Kelsey’s house, after all. She could go wherever she liked.
The two women jogged down the steps, into the family kitchen that was now cluttered with plates, espresso cups, and tumblers. Evan had told Wendi not to let anyone interrupt the creative flow except for the delivery of food and drink, but someone needed to clean up the mess soon.
Harper pulled on oven mitts and opened the oven to check the croissant-covered hot dogs. They needed another minute or two to bake, so she pulled out bags of pre-cut veggies and cheese to replenish an empty plate.
“I think today is your day,” Kelsey said as she helped Harper arrange the veggies.
“It’s really not.”
“Carpe diem!”
“You’re my friend, Kelsey, not my agent.”
Kelsey studied her for a moment, and Harper knew she was replaying the same conversation from four years past. Then her friend turned toward the open living room. “Harper has an idea for you.”
“Kelsey,” she hissed. This would not,could not, happen. Sissie, Chet, and Tony were not merely beached. They were killer whales. And killer whales, the skilled dolphin hunters of the sea, didn’t just eat smaller prey. They ate other whales!
Kelsey nudged her forward like she’d been tossed the last ring on a sinking ship. “Come on, Harper.”
And she had no choice. It was up to her now to swim.
Tony eyed her skeptically. “You’re not going to sing your pitch, are you?”
Harper tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a cackle.
“What’s your concept?” Chet asked, catching and releasing the tennis ball.
