studio wouldn’t do it?”
“Are you nuts? They won’t offend George Clooney. They wrote a check on the spot.”
I was so confused. None of this sounded like a reason a movie wouldn’t get made. “So . . . what happened?”
“They had a bigger budget, so they hired a new cinematographer. A buddy of George’s. They play basketball at George’s villa. Anyway, three days before they start filming, George and the guys are playing three-on-three. George steps on his friend’s foot. The cinematographer calls a foul. George says, ‘That’s no foul. I stepped on your foot; it was an accident, and even if it was on purpose, don’t be such a wuss.’ The cinematographer says, ‘I’m no wuss, but even if I am, at least I’m no pretty-boy prima donna.’ To which George says, ‘Oh yeah, well, if I’m a pretty-boy prima donna, then you’re fired!’ To which the cinematographer says, ‘You can’t fire me; I quit!’ ”
“So . . . no cinematographer, no movie.”
Josh scowled at me. “No no no. Those two guys have been friends forever. They calmed down, poured a couple of single malts, lit up a couple of Cohibas, and agreed they weren’t going to let any stupid movie spoil their friendship. They both quit. End of movie.”
I felt like I had just witnessed a train wreck. I felt so bad for Josh. “That’s incredible. I mean, that all those things would go wrong.”
“Nothing incredible about it. Stuff like that happens all the time. It’s a miracle anybody’s movie ever does get made.” Then a smile crept over his face. A very attractive smile, I might add. “But this time it’s my turn. That’s why I’m in Paris. They’re making my movie.”
“So that’s why you’re staying at that hotel,” I said.
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m a couple of blocks away, in this great little four-star I read about in the New York Times. I can’t believe they’re putting all that talent in a three-star hotel.”
“But everybody working on the movie is staying there. Why aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “I’m not exactly . . . working on the movie. Movie studios don’t pay writers to watch their scripts get made. I’m here in Paris on my own dime. But I’ve waited a long time for this. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
He looked awfully happy for a guy whose movie wouldn’t get made if the girl from Bumfuck—namely me—couldn’t find the perfect dress. I guessed he was trying to be optimistic.
Josh poured us both some more Chianti. He clinked my glass and took a big drink. “Everybody’s flying in. Kathy Bates is already here.” Then his eyes opened wide. He looked like a kid opening presents. I adored his enthusiasm. I could just tell he was the sweetest man. “Kirk Douglas is coming. Kirk Douglas is in my movie. How cool is that?”
I knew right away that Kirk Douglas must be playing old Harold Klein. Which was absolutely perfect. And by the way: Oh. My. God. I know he is an old man, but I love Kirk Douglas. Did you see him when he got that special Oscar? I cried.
“As soon as Kirk Douglas attached to the project, all these big names came running,” Josh said. “Jude Law is playing Scott Fitzgerald. Can you believe it?” He still had that endearing little-boy look on his face. He was not obnoxious or arrogant at all. He was smart and humble and, as I may have mentioned, very attractive, and I found myself wondering how I could have thought anything bad about him at that cash machine. In fact, he seemed quite perfect. “They’re all doing it for scale.” He was still talking about the movie. “That’s, like, next to nothing. Which is a good thing, because the budget is next to nothing. In fact, if it weren’t for that obnoxious slut, the movie wouldn’t be getting made at all.”
Slut? I knew he must’ve been talking about Nathalie. Totally independently, he and I had formed the exact same opinion of her. Our minds worked alike. We were compatible in every respect.
“Are you nuts? They won’t offend George Clooney. They wrote a check on the spot.”
I was so confused. None of this sounded like a reason a movie wouldn’t get made. “So . . . what happened?”
“They had a bigger budget, so they hired a new cinematographer. A buddy of George’s. They play basketball at George’s villa. Anyway, three days before they start filming, George and the guys are playing three-on-three. George steps on his friend’s foot. The cinematographer calls a foul. George says, ‘That’s no foul. I stepped on your foot; it was an accident, and even if it was on purpose, don’t be such a wuss.’ The cinematographer says, ‘I’m no wuss, but even if I am, at least I’m no pretty-boy prima donna.’ To which George says, ‘Oh yeah, well, if I’m a pretty-boy prima donna, then you’re fired!’ To which the cinematographer says, ‘You can’t fire me; I quit!’ ”
“So . . . no cinematographer, no movie.”
Josh scowled at me. “No no no. Those two guys have been friends forever. They calmed down, poured a couple of single malts, lit up a couple of Cohibas, and agreed they weren’t going to let any stupid movie spoil their friendship. They both quit. End of movie.”
I felt like I had just witnessed a train wreck. I felt so bad for Josh. “That’s incredible. I mean, that all those things would go wrong.”
“Nothing incredible about it. Stuff like that happens all the time. It’s a miracle anybody’s movie ever does get made.” Then a smile crept over his face. A very attractive smile, I might add. “But this time it’s my turn. That’s why I’m in Paris. They’re making my movie.”
“So that’s why you’re staying at that hotel,” I said.
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m a couple of blocks away, in this great little four-star I read about in the New York Times. I can’t believe they’re putting all that talent in a three-star hotel.”
“But everybody working on the movie is staying there. Why aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “I’m not exactly . . . working on the movie. Movie studios don’t pay writers to watch their scripts get made. I’m here in Paris on my own dime. But I’ve waited a long time for this. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
He looked awfully happy for a guy whose movie wouldn’t get made if the girl from Bumfuck—namely me—couldn’t find the perfect dress. I guessed he was trying to be optimistic.
Josh poured us both some more Chianti. He clinked my glass and took a big drink. “Everybody’s flying in. Kathy Bates is already here.” Then his eyes opened wide. He looked like a kid opening presents. I adored his enthusiasm. I could just tell he was the sweetest man. “Kirk Douglas is coming. Kirk Douglas is in my movie. How cool is that?”
I knew right away that Kirk Douglas must be playing old Harold Klein. Which was absolutely perfect. And by the way: Oh. My. God. I know he is an old man, but I love Kirk Douglas. Did you see him when he got that special Oscar? I cried.
“As soon as Kirk Douglas attached to the project, all these big names came running,” Josh said. “Jude Law is playing Scott Fitzgerald. Can you believe it?” He still had that endearing little-boy look on his face. He was not obnoxious or arrogant at all. He was smart and humble and, as I may have mentioned, very attractive, and I found myself wondering how I could have thought anything bad about him at that cash machine. In fact, he seemed quite perfect. “They’re all doing it for scale.” He was still talking about the movie. “That’s, like, next to nothing. Which is a good thing, because the budget is next to nothing. In fact, if it weren’t for that obnoxious slut, the movie wouldn’t be getting made at all.”
Slut? I knew he must’ve been talking about Nathalie. Totally independently, he and I had formed the exact same opinion of her. Our minds worked alike. We were compatible in every respect.
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