and flecked with gray and he forked it from his eyes.
“My god, we’ve got so much to talk about. This pilot you’ve written is fucking brilliant! Let me just pick something here and we’ll get right to it.”
Alan watched Hector absorb the menu and sensed something decent about him. He liked the passionate eyes. The warm zeal he used for conversation. Even felt himself wanting to forgive him, for all his storming adventures and strange choices, if they were true. He wanted to believe this troubled, recovering man wasn’t responsible for a girl being murdered on camera and even agreed to share a small bowl of raspberries with Hector, who said he was a vegetarian.
By the time Jordan had returned, Alan and Hector were laughing. Hector told Alan he loved the pilot script for “The Mercenary” more than anything he’d read inten years. His notes were well presented, thoughtful, and made Alan realize Hector understood his vision.
Hector suggested they find a strong second-unit director to do the action stuff so Hector could concentrate on the character shades and Alan agreed. Hector alluded to several small changes. They were perceptive and positive. Alan instantly agreed to them all.
“… the trick to making this pilot genuinely overwhelming, is to play it
absolutely
real,” said Hector with massive enthusiasm.
Alan nodded. “And it should have a kind of moral ambivalence … the audience must question their own morals about violence and sexual frankness …”
“Oh, absolutely! Absolutely!” Hector was nearly yelling. “This has to be tough. But it must explore values and social assumptions about violence. If it’s a stunt show … or a bloodbath … it becomes dim-witted … becomes, I don’t know … sort of pornography. Same with the sexuality, don’t you think?”
“… no, that’s right. It really has to look and sound and feel dangerous. But it must comment all along … have an editorial conscience, just as the script does.”
Yes. Hector agreed. He even said he thought Alan was a brilliant talent and that didn’t hurt relations. At one point, as Jordan caught Alan’s eye and winked, liking the way things were going, Hector used Visine and shut his own eyes, tightly.
He rubbed them hard and they remained shut for a minute or so. As the closed lids trembled, Alan sensed Hector was thinking about odd things. Things Alan didn’teven want to imagine. But despite himself, he liked Hector.
For so brief a meeting, things felt unusually good. Except with everything Alan knew about his background, he didn’t really trust him.
Maybe it was the faintly sharpened teeth.
zoom
A lan locked his door, gripped the wheel.
What was the fucking problem? He’d accidentally cut him off and this nut was jacked, flipping him off; a six-pack jammed in a Stetson. Alan took a breath; scared. Looked into his rear view; the huge pickup was on him, lights flashing angrily. A signal ahead changed and Alan ran the red. The truck followed, primered body tanking through intersection, ignoring horns.
Alan raced through Malibu Canyon, toward the beach and the truck hung tight; filling mirror. It moved to pass, ran alongside him. The fat face looked over, grinning I-really-want-to-hurt-you deadness. He tried to swerve into Alan’s Porsche and Alan turned the wheel to the right, dodging. The face looked over, furiously, teeth bared. Tried again. Alan floored it, raced ahead, scared.
The canyon tunnel was just beyond the next curveand he could see it as the big tires of the truck wailed alongside. It pressed closer, bullying the Porsche to the shoulder, wanting him to go over the side.
“… suck
me,” Alan hissed.
What next? Was the guy ready to whack him over a mistake? Alan tried to dial 911 to get a cop, trying to watch the road. Fast busy signal. Canyon; a coffin.
The tunnel was ahead and Alan was out of shoulder, road, time. He slammed on the brakes, skidded through dirt. Sat in exhaust and
“My god, we’ve got so much to talk about. This pilot you’ve written is fucking brilliant! Let me just pick something here and we’ll get right to it.”
Alan watched Hector absorb the menu and sensed something decent about him. He liked the passionate eyes. The warm zeal he used for conversation. Even felt himself wanting to forgive him, for all his storming adventures and strange choices, if they were true. He wanted to believe this troubled, recovering man wasn’t responsible for a girl being murdered on camera and even agreed to share a small bowl of raspberries with Hector, who said he was a vegetarian.
By the time Jordan had returned, Alan and Hector were laughing. Hector told Alan he loved the pilot script for “The Mercenary” more than anything he’d read inten years. His notes were well presented, thoughtful, and made Alan realize Hector understood his vision.
Hector suggested they find a strong second-unit director to do the action stuff so Hector could concentrate on the character shades and Alan agreed. Hector alluded to several small changes. They were perceptive and positive. Alan instantly agreed to them all.
“… the trick to making this pilot genuinely overwhelming, is to play it
absolutely
real,” said Hector with massive enthusiasm.
Alan nodded. “And it should have a kind of moral ambivalence … the audience must question their own morals about violence and sexual frankness …”
“Oh, absolutely! Absolutely!” Hector was nearly yelling. “This has to be tough. But it must explore values and social assumptions about violence. If it’s a stunt show … or a bloodbath … it becomes dim-witted … becomes, I don’t know … sort of pornography. Same with the sexuality, don’t you think?”
“… no, that’s right. It really has to look and sound and feel dangerous. But it must comment all along … have an editorial conscience, just as the script does.”
Yes. Hector agreed. He even said he thought Alan was a brilliant talent and that didn’t hurt relations. At one point, as Jordan caught Alan’s eye and winked, liking the way things were going, Hector used Visine and shut his own eyes, tightly.
He rubbed them hard and they remained shut for a minute or so. As the closed lids trembled, Alan sensed Hector was thinking about odd things. Things Alan didn’teven want to imagine. But despite himself, he liked Hector.
For so brief a meeting, things felt unusually good. Except with everything Alan knew about his background, he didn’t really trust him.
Maybe it was the faintly sharpened teeth.
zoom
A lan locked his door, gripped the wheel.
What was the fucking problem? He’d accidentally cut him off and this nut was jacked, flipping him off; a six-pack jammed in a Stetson. Alan took a breath; scared. Looked into his rear view; the huge pickup was on him, lights flashing angrily. A signal ahead changed and Alan ran the red. The truck followed, primered body tanking through intersection, ignoring horns.
Alan raced through Malibu Canyon, toward the beach and the truck hung tight; filling mirror. It moved to pass, ran alongside him. The fat face looked over, grinning I-really-want-to-hurt-you deadness. He tried to swerve into Alan’s Porsche and Alan turned the wheel to the right, dodging. The face looked over, furiously, teeth bared. Tried again. Alan floored it, raced ahead, scared.
The canyon tunnel was just beyond the next curveand he could see it as the big tires of the truck wailed alongside. It pressed closer, bullying the Porsche to the shoulder, wanting him to go over the side.
“… suck
me,” Alan hissed.
What next? Was the guy ready to whack him over a mistake? Alan tried to dial 911 to get a cop, trying to watch the road. Fast busy signal. Canyon; a coffin.
The tunnel was ahead and Alan was out of shoulder, road, time. He slammed on the brakes, skidded through dirt. Sat in exhaust and
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