Memphis Movie by Corey Mesler Page A

Somewhere near the college.
    â€œSee you in the a.m.,” he sang out.
    â€œOk, Dan,” Eric said.
    He had a bad feeling about Dan Yumont. The insurance policy on him was a pain, an expense that Eden Forbes balked at initially. Then relented. Eden Forbes knew Dan Yumont was the ticket, the money. The policy stipulated daily drug tests. Eric hoped they didn’t follow through on that.

29.
    Eric was nervous about meeting with Hope Davis. He felt as if he were dressing for a date, as if he were a high school swain with a crush on a cheerleader. Luckily, Sandy had vacated the premises prior to Eric’s preparations. God knows where she went.
    She missed him putting baby powder in his underwear. She missed the extra deodorant, a swipe down his sternum to his pubes. She missed the cherry Binaca.
    â€œGoddamn fool,” Eric said to the mirror. He wore a T-shirt that read, THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT BE ADVERTISED ON T-SHIRTS . And an expensive sport coat. Urban chic.
    When he knocked on the door to Hope’s suite, his heart answered the brief tattoo of his fist. She opened right away and Eric was caught in mid–deep breath.
    â€œH-hi,” he managed.
    â€œCome in,” she said, stepping gracefully back. Her face, so luminous on the screen, was more luminous in real life.
    Who builds his Hope in the air of your faire looks, lives like a drunken sailor on a mast.
    â€œI can’t believe we’ve never worked together. Never even crossed paths,” Eric said, entering.
    â€œI know, isn’t that strange? And we’re both so—Hollywood?” She tinkled a laugh. It was golden.
    â€œYes,” Eric said.
    â€œI loved Spondulicks , by the way,” Hope Davis said.
    â€œOh, Christ. Only you.” Eric groaned.
    â€œNo, no, the smart people loved it. The smart people are disappearing.”
    â€œYes,” Eric said, uncertainly. He thought it best to sit down and dropped into one of the stiff but elegant chairs in the room.
    â€œLet’s sit over here, can we?” Hope said, gesturing toward a table, on which sat her script.
    â€œRight,” Eric said. He groaned, standing. His back spoke harshly to his head.
    â€œDo you want something,” Hope Davis asked, “from the bar?”
    â€œYes,” Eric said. “Uh, gin and tonic?”
    â€œRight. I’ll join you.”
    Once he was seated at the table, so near her, Eric’s face burned. He sipped the drink, which hit his cortex like a jolt of moonshine. He smiled with half his mouth. God, she’s beautiful, he thought.
    â€œSo, my scenes,” Hope Davis said.
    Eric swallowed hard. Oh no. She hates the script. She hates the part. Why did she take it? Sandy will die if she hates the words. Why didn’t I make sure Sandy came?
    â€œYes,” Eric said.
    â€œI love them,” Hope Davis said.
    Music rises. Cymbals clash. There is balm in Gilead. There is Hope!
    â€œWonderful,” Eric said. He took a longer sip of his drink. It burned like school.
    â€œI’m having a stumble, though, in my scene with Paul.” She smiled, sweetly.
    Who the hell is Paul? Eric thought. Was he an actor that Eden had hired without telling him? Was Eric supposed to know Paul?Had they ever worked together, dined together? Oh, God, Paul is someone large, someone Eric, if he knew half of what his work was about, would know immediately and thoroughly.
    â€œYou know, Dan’s character,” Hope Davis continued. “The scene where Dan and I go to the adoption agency and he has to answer for his past, for his drug use. That is a sticking point with me. It’s a powerful scene, pivotal I’d say. I’m having a hard time—I guess, with Dan’s involvement .”
    â€œI’m not sure I follow,” Eric said. He was lost. Had he missed a meeting? Was this movie going on without him while he was left at the starting gate?
    â€œI just don’t see Dan playing this, I guess