They emerged from the office to find the young man pacing the reception area, typing into his phone as he walked. Regina smiled at Ian and said, “Danny, dear, you can stop sweating now.”
Danny’s head popped up. He stowed the phone and bounded over. “Did he agree?”
“Danny, no, of course not. I haven’t even asked . . .” Megan swatted at the young man’s shoulder. “Can you dial it down a notch?”
He started to reply, then noticed Regina’s grin. “Nice to know I’m entertaining somebody here.”
“Isn’t that your job? You being the big-time Hollywood producer and all.” The receptionist shooed them away. “Go play nice.”
Megan ushered them into a smallish chamber holding a pale-wood oval table and six chairs. When they were seated, she started, “Danny is a producer of medium-budget films. He has a problem—”
“Call it what it is.” Danny jerked his chair in tight little quarter circles, a drumbeat of nerves. “We’re in total crisis mode.”
“His current project is for CBS—”
“Correction. The CBS subsidiary Paramount Plus.”
“Excuse me. Who’s talking here?”
“It doesn’t do us any good if you tell it wrong.” But they were both smiling now. “Is it my turn yet?”
“Go ahead, then.” She pretended irritation. “I’ll be ready to interject when and where required.”
“Thank you so very not at all.” To Ian, he said, “We’ve been shooting a mystery romance in Vancouver. Which ran over time and over budget. First time that’s ever happened to me.”
“An old-fashioned flu bug swept through the shoot like Armageddon,” Megan said. “Except for the lad here. Who stayed irritatingly healthy throughout.”
“Too busy to get sick,” Danny replied. “The problem is, we’re pushing to meet a fixed airdate. Edits were going solid. Rough cut approved by the studio.”
“When disaster chapter two struck,” Megan said.
“Three days ago, our music director was felled by a heart attack.”
“He’s okay,” Megan said. “Which is a true relief. He’s a wonderful man. And a friend. But he’s almost eighty, so it gave us all a terrible scare.”
Danny continued, “The problem is, if I tell the studio, they’ll send in one of their in-house guys.”
“Totally last century,” Megan said. “Danny calls their idea of a good score ‘creamed strings.’”
“Think Lawrence Welk with attitude,” Danny said. “Thanks to our guy, we already have the primary musical elements in place. The opening score is completed, plus five great songs that perfectly suit the key scenes. Mostly old hits redone in a modern style. All unplugged. By that, I mean no electronic—”
“I know what unplugged means,” Ian said.
“Right. Sure. What we don’t want is the CBS idea of how to score the bridges, the spans joining the major musical moments.”
“Danny fears their replacement would serve up a huge helping of musical glop,” Megan said. “And because it’s okayed by his bosses, he’d have no choice but to use the mess.”
“The story’s pacing is very sparse, very light,” Danny said. “The music needs to match this.”
“It’s already a beautiful film,” Megan added. “When I saw the rough cut, I cried.”
“What we need are those musical bridges,” Danny said. “We’d like to have five, ideally six, but we can work with three. Link the story’s key moments where the anchor melodies play out. Amplify the tempo of these lesser scenes.”
“I know this is not what you were expecting,” Megan said. “If you need time—”
“I’ll do it.” Ian had no idea how he felt about the task itself. But against his own financial vacuum was Danny’s desperate urgency and Megan’s deep concern. This woman who wanted to take on his case. The man she clearly loved. They needed him.
Doing the right thing for his newfound allies was the perfect reason to agree.
