“It’s good to see you, old man,” Perry said with a grin, the familiar affection in his voice warming Ethan from head to toe as they slid into opposite sides of the booth.
He’d brought Perry to one of his favorite old haunts, a West Village gastropub famous for its decadent burgers. But when he mentioned it as they perused their menus, Perry dropped his eyes and shook his head.
“Can’t do red meat these days. Doctor’s orders.”
He was reluctant to elaborate, but Ethan eventually dragged it out of him: two years ago, after a heart attack followed by a double bypass, Perry had been forced to overhaul his lifestyle. Ethan found it hard to believe that Perry, who’d never met a vice he didn’t embrace wholeheartedly, no longer drank, smoked cigarettes, or ate meat. However, he did have to admit that Perry seemed more vital than he’d ever seen him. A brush with mortality would do that to a man. It also explained why someone who famously never watched his own films once the final cut was finished would allow his oeuvre to be so publicly and thoroughly celebrated—let alone agree to be part of it.
“It’s fucking bleak, is what it is,” Perry said cheerfully, digging into his Caesar salad. “This is it, I’ve done everything I’ll ever do that’s worth a damn. I can just wave to the adoring crowd and turn into a pile of dust.”
Ethan took a sip of his beer. This was the opening he’d been waiting for.
“Do you have anything lined up next?” he asked casuallybetween bites of a burger that was almost too big to fit his mouth around.
Perry shrugged. “Not sure. One of those streaming sites has been trying to get me to do something or other. Ten years ago I would’ve told them to go fuck themselves, but I guess that’s where everything interesting is happening now, right?”
Ethan nodded vaguely, then cleared his throat. “Did you get a chance to read through what I sent you?”
As soon as he saw the look on Perry’s face, he regretted asking. He regretted sending it. He regretted the whole fucking thing.
“I did,” Perry replied, unable to meet Ethan’s eyes. It didn’t seem like he wanted to say more, but the door had already been opened.
“What did you think?” Ethan asked, though he already knew the answer.
Perry sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know about this one, Ethan. I don’t think it’s there yet.”
“Well, what does it need?” The desperation in his voice embarrassed him.
“I’m not sure. I’d have to take a closer look at it, but my instinct is it’s doomed from the start. I just don’t see what benefit there is to remaking it; the original is damn near perfect. It doesn’t feel like you’ve found your own angle yet. You’re setting yourself up for failure. What’s more, you’re selling yourself short. I know you’re capable of more than this.”
Ethan knew Perry was trying to be kind, but the wad of meat he’d just swallowed felt stuck in his throat. He struggled to reply.
“I know. I know it’s not ready. But I really want—Ineedto make this work. For Sam.”
He didn’t have to say any more. Perry’s brow creased with sympathy. Ethan looked away, draining his beer.
When Perry spoke, his voice sounded far away.
“I can’t say I wouldn’t feel the same way if I were in your shoes. Here’s my advice, and you’re welcome to ignore it: try to divorce the project from your feelings about Sam. Finishing this won’t bring him back. You need to stop wallowing in the past, and figure out what your future looks like.” He attempted to spear a crouton with his fork, cracking it in half. “Speaking as someone currently being waterboarded by my own past, it’s not pretty.”
Ethan felt hot behind his eyes. He’d expected Perry to understand how important this was, how it was the only possible tribute to his and Sam’s legacy. If he were to abandon the project, that would be it. He would be fully alone now.
But that wasn’t true. He wasn’t alone. He had Grey. He suddenly regretted letting her go see her mother without him. He only hoped she was having a better time than he was.
—
“HI. HELLO?”
A woman approached their table with a wave. Grey was so destabilized by her mother’s company that she’d forgotten there were perfectly good reasons for a stranger to approach her. She expected the woman to tell her that Grey’s chair was on her purse, or that she’d accidentally dropped something on the way back from the bathroom.
“Sorry?” Grey said, smiling nervously.
“Can I get a picture?” the woman asked with what was probably supposed to be a smile but looked more like a grimace. Her Australian accent was so thick it took a moment for Grey to register what she was saying.Peeg-cha.She looked down and saw the woman’s phone brandished under her nose.
Grey’s smile turned apologetic.
“Sorry, it’s not a good time right now. I’m just trying to have lunch with my mom.”
The woman’s lips slid back down to cover her teeth and she slunk away without another word.
