Ralf suddenly raised a hand, smiling at someone further down the bar. A portly man with a dashing neck-scarf and a bouffant of dark hair nodded back and ambled over to him, whereupon they slapped their hands in an ostentatious handshake. After several moments of chat, the two men made their way over to me, Ralf bearing my water and another round of cocktails.
“Lucie Clifton,” Ralf announced. “I’d like you to meet Claude Melroy.”
I rose to my feet in awe. “Claude Melroy? Of the Melroy Group?” I shook his hand. “So nice to meet you.” I could barely believe I was meeting of the most prolific film producers in the industry.
“Call me Melroy.” His accent was thick and chewy, straight out of the Deep South. “I understand you’re RJ’s latest attempt at getting this script in order for the pitch.”
I blinked. He sounded more than a little hostile. “The script is great,” I said. “I’m just an extra pair of eyes, really.”
“Don’t let her total lack of experience fool you,” Ralf said. “Lucie has quite an eye.”
I tried not to let my distaste show; was Ralf actually throwing me under the bus? In fact, not just me, but RJ and Elliot too, for that matter? Talking about my lack of experience was the last thing he should be doing in front of a producer. “An eye for commerciality,” I said authoritatively. “RJ brought me in because I know what makes money.”
Melroy looked somewhat amused. “You do?”
“Absolutely.” I took a hefty swallow of my cocktail.
“Well, Ralf here seems to think the script needs an overhaul with some fancy-pants software,” Melroy said. “Which begs the question, why are you here?”
Ralf lifted his hands defensively at my alarmed glance. “I’m suggesting it as a tool, that’s all.”
“A tool we don’t need.” The gin had made me cocky, but there was no way I was going to let Claude Melroy know I approved of robot scriptwriting. “Elliot Fox is a talented writer and director whom RJ trusts implicitly with finalizing the script. And as for me? Well, I guess you could call me Quality Control.”
“Quality Control?” Melroy snickered. “For real?”
“What she means is, RJ felt like the project needed fresh eyes,” Ralf added quickly.
“Now, that worries me,” Melroy said, much to my dismay. “A key sell for this script is it’s the first written by RJ – now you tell me Elliot is actually writing it and we’ve had to bring in …” He turned to me. “Sorry, Lucie, what’s your title? Consultant?”
I opened my mouth to tell him but then stopped. At no point had any formal title been agreed. Luckily for me, Ralf was able to sweep in.
“Lucie’s a PA back in London,” he said. “She works for RJ’s rep.”
Melroy’s gaze darted between the two of us. “Is this a joke?”
“Oh, RJ is dead serious,” Ralf said smoothly, smiling at me as if nothing was wrong. But something was very wrong. I could see the doubt clouding Melroy’s eyes, and I could understand it. After all, how bad did things have to be that RJ was placing his faith in me, a PA of all things? And why wasn’t Ralf jumping all over this? Instead, he was flagging for a waiter to top up Melroy’s whiskey.
“I came on board to finance this because Janice Kittredge is RJ’s champion,” Melroy said. “It’s a safe bet, RJ told me. He said andSadiesaid, the green light is in the bag. But if that’s true, why is RJ bringing in … well, no offense, Lucie, but why is he putting his faith in you?”
“I get it,” I said. “But—”
“She’s not actuallywritingthe script,” Ralf breezily interrupted. “She’s just offering an opinion. Female, young – well, young-ish. She’s a key demographic. And Elliot’s editing is more like tweaking based on her feedback, so neither of them are writing over RJ’s work. You know Elliot, of course.”
I tried not to bristle at Ralf’s qualification of my age, but decided not to mention that Elliot’s editing was a little more extensive than Ralf was indicating.
“Sure,” Melroy said. “Great guy.” Was it my imagination or did Ralf’s face darken at that compliment? “To be clear though, I’m not funding anElliot and Luciescript, I want anRJscript and I want the green light I was promised.”
“You’re going to get it,” Ralf said. “Whatever I have to do to get you that green light, I will.”
“And that’s why you’re the future of film distribution,” Melroy boomed. “Following in your father’s footsteps!” The two men toasted each other, chests puffed like well-suited peacocks. I felt a little nauseous at the sight and took a (probably ill-advised) swig of cocktail.
“If I may …” I said.
The two men swiveled to look at me, as if they’d forgotten I was there.
“From the perspective of ayoung-ishwoman, I’d just like to add my thoughts.”
“Lucie,” Ralf said quickly. “If I offended—”
