but
I don’t know if I let the handle go on purpose or out of shock. But either way, the door slowly swings open.
6’s head jerks up. Her eyes are wide and shocked. She stares at me for a long moment, and I stare back at her.
“Scat,” she says, and her voice is low and earnest, “I love you so much.”
Coquette
severance
I leave, then.
direction
It’s raining outside: the type of annoying drizzle that keeps LA cab companies in business. Although I’ve got my Coca-Cola credit card, I stalk along on foot and steadily soak through my jeans and sweater.
It takes me an hour to work out where I’m going.
shelter
“Scat!” Cindy says through the speaker. “Is that really you?”
“Yes,” I say. “It’s really me.”
The door buzzes and I push it open. Cindy meets me halfway down the stairs, wearing, I notice, the same cotton dressing gown as the morning she shut me out. “You’re soaked through, you poor thing.” She wraps her thin arms around me endearingly. “Come up and get out of those wet things.”
“Okay,” I say.
consolation
Cindy still has all my old clothes in a cardboard box, and while I towel off in the bathroom, she selects a few of my favorites and leaves them outside the door. By the time I’m dressed and snuggled up in front of the living room heater, it feels like I never left this place.
I tell Cindy why I was wandering the streets at one in the morning, and she responds appropriately. “I knew 6 was trouble. I’m sorry, Scat, but she’s just wrong for you. Everyone can see that but you.”
“I know.”
“She’s just using you,” Cindy says, shifting a little closer to me on the sofa. “She can’t see past the needs of her own ego.”
“I know,” I say again.
“You need someone giving,” Cindy tells me earnestly. “The exact opposite of 6.”
I turn to her. “Someone like you?”
“Well,” she says, looking down. Maybe she’s a little embarrassed, but I think mostly she’s pleased. “I was always there for you, Scat. You know that.”
I stare at the heater again. “You said I was no good for you.”
“Well . . .” She loops her arm around mine. “You have your flaws.” She smiles. “Sometimes you get a little self-obsessed. You can have trouble seeing past—” She stops.
“Seeing past my own ego?” My eyes narrow. “Like 6?”
“No,” Cindy says firmly. “Not like 6. Scat, you’re nothing like 6.”
“Maybe I am,” I say, despairing.
“Scat, look at me.” She takes my face in both hands and physically turns my head. She has been working out. “You are a good person. I believe you have a good heart.”
“Then why did you kick me out? Unless I was—”
“I realize now that I need to accept you for who you are,” she tells me. She sounds so sure of herself that I can’t help but wonder if this is rehearsed. “If you didn’t do stupid things sometimes, you wouldn’t be Scat.”
I stare at her. “And if 6 wasn’t ruthless, she wouldn’t be 6.”
Cindy’s smile drops about ten floors. “Scat, that’s completely different.”
“How?”
For a moment Cindy just stares at me. Then she laughs. “You know what this is? This is like a movie, where the hero is chasing this elusive, fantasy girl. And the whole time, the girl he really belongs with is right there with him, being his friend, supporting him when he needs it. Only he doesn’t realize, until right at the end, when they finally get together.”
“I can’t believe you’re using movie logic,” I say.
“Scat,” Cindy says, exasperated. “Look at what’s happened to you since you left. You’re two days away from being fired at Coke. The girl you moved in with has betrayed you.” She looks deeply into my eyes. “This is not a healthy lifestyle.”
“Hmf,” I say.
“You can move back in with me,” she offers gently. “Leave 6 and Coke behind. It’ll be just like it used to be.” Her eyes implore me. “My career could really use your help. And... so could I.”
And, strangely, it sounds tempting. It sounds really tempting. Could I just step out of all this? I think maybe I could. At worst, Coke would sue me, but unless they’re willing to accept my underwear as damages, they might as well not bother. I actually think it can be done: I can just walk away from all this, from Sneaky Pete and 6 and Jamieson and meetings in strip bars, and go back to managing Cindy’s modeling career. I’d even be good at it.
Of course, I’d never work in marketing again. I’d never rub shoulders with film stars. And I’d never be famous.
“No,” I say.
rebuff
“Oh,” Cindy says. “Oh, I see. Nothing’s changed. You’re exactly the same.” She pulls her arm away from me, climbing to her feet.
“Cindy,” I say, “I just can’t. It’s not who I am.”
“Sure,” she says, slightly hysterical. “Who you are. Of course. Don’t let me get in the way of your almighty goddamned quest to find yourself, or whatever the fuck it is.”
I blink. “What happened to accepting me as I am?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Cindy says.
“Cindy—” I start, but then her buzzer sounds. We both stare at it for a second.
“Oh, this is just great,” Cindy says.
“Do you, uh, want me to get that?”
“Why not?” she says, really starting to steam up now. “Since we both know who it is.”
“Are you sure?” I say, and I think I’m actually biting my lip.
“Sure,” Cindy says. Her arms are swinging dangerously. “Why don’t you invite her upstairs and I’ll just wait quietly in the kitchen while you two—”
“I’ll meet her downstairs,” I say quickly.
“You worthless shit!” Cindy yells.
I practically run out the door, shutting it hard behind me. Across the hall, the same old man who saw Cindy send me sprawling a few weeks ago is peering around his door. “Hi,” I say. He doesn’t react. I run down the stairs to where 6 is waiting in the rain.
reparation
The skies have opened up and 6, standing on the street in her red pajamas, is soaked through. She peers through the glass door at me, her hair hanging in thick, bedraggled locks, and she is absolutely gorgeous. She’s not wearing makeup, her hair is a disaster and she isn’t dressed, and she’s just beautiful.
I open the door but she doesn’t move. She just stands there as the rain dumps down and looks at me.
“Come in,” I say. “Come out of the rain.”
She shakes her head, biting her lip.
“Fine,” I say, and step out onto the street.
The door closes behind me, stranding us in the downpour, but I hardly notice. I only notice 6.
“I’m sorry,” she says. Although it’s hard to tell, I think there are tears mixed with the rain on her face. “I’m sorry, Scat.”
I consider. “Are you?”
She turns away, and for a second I think she’s going to run away. Then, so quietly I hardly hear her over the rain, she says, “Yes.” She turns back to me. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She takes a step closer, her eyes searching my face. “But I can’t lose now, Scat. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point to lose now.”
I nod. “I know.”
We stare at each other. And I just can’t help but wonder: Is this real? If 6 needs my trust so she can sell me out, could this be an act? It’s a cold, heartless thought, but I’ve been around 6 too long to avoid it.
She looks down at the road for a second, then up at me. “Am I too late for you, Scat?” Her face is pure misery. “Am I?”
“Come here,” I say, and she does; she practically falls into my arms. We hug tightly: two wet, soggy bodies clinging to each other. “I love you.”
“Yes.”
I have to ask. “Do you love me?”
“I—” 6 says. “I—really—” She buries her face in my shoulder.
It’s enough for me. It’s real.
resolution
“So,” I say. It’s four in the morning. The light from 6’s Barbie lamp plays across her face. “Are we going to finish this damn film?”
She regards me across the bed. “Oh yes.”
The Panic Plan
friday
We sleep until seven. This is pretty late, even though it’s only three hours’ sleep, but we have a sleepless night in front of us. When I wake up, I almost feel refreshed.
Then we start.
tina
I’m carrying bowls of cereal through to the office, so we can work and eat at the same time, when I hear 6 in the shower. I pause for a moment, listening, because it sounds very much as if 6 is on the phone.
“Tina, you have been amazing,” 6 is saying. The shower slips into one of its brief pipe-shuddering fits, and she takes a second to fix it. “Scat and I know how much you’ve done for us. And when Hollywood producers want to talk to us about how we did this and what we want to do next, we’re going to tell them all about you.” Pause. “Thanks, Tina. You know it’s just to get around Kline. I’d have you on location the whole time.”
I head through to the office.
kline
“Of course,” 6 says into the cellphone, then swallows a mouthful of corn flakes. I’m impressed by her dexterity. “Kline, this is your baby. We know what we want to achieve, but you know which shots will get us there. We’ve always said that.”
I nod approval, pulling on my jacket.
“No, Tina won’t be there. You don’t want her on set, she’s not on set.” She listens. “No, I don’t think you were harsh. You’re the director. If you find her distracting, then she goes.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Well, that’s very kind, and I’ll tell her that. Thank you. No, really, thank you.”
visuality
“Scat, I’m sorry,” Jerry says firmly, “but I told you before. No can do. I mean it.”
“I understand that,” I say. Sitting on my spaceship in the hangar, I’m Mr. Reasonable. Reasonable wouldn’t melt in my mouth. “But there must be something that means more to you than your game. Come on, Jerry. There must be something I can do for you that will change your mind.”
“Scat,” Jerry says wearily. “There’s not. Tonight’s our only opportunity to play the final. I can’t let down the guys. Understand?”
I sigh. “Okay. But I’ll call you later. When I think of something.”
“Whatever,” Jerry says, and hangs up.
talent
I head off for a coffee before trying California, and on the way I almost bump into Winona Ryder. I’m a bit of a Winona fan, so I take a moment to stop and gape. Her eyes flick over me and she keeps walking, carrying her scaled tail in her hands. It’s a beautiful moment.
While I’m standing there staring after her, I nearly get clobbered by a stage light. “Sorry, bud,” says the kid carrying it, and I hurry out of the way. There’s a lot of people working very hard today, courtesy of a rev-up speech Kline made while I was on the phone. I still don’t know if we’re going to make it, but everyone here is going to try.
I get a coffee for 6, too, and find her standing behind Kline. “Here.”
She glances at me, takes the coffee, then peers back at the stage. It’s set up for the final confrontation between Tom and Winona, and there’s weird mechanical junk strewn over the floor, alien goo oozing from the walls and a couple of battered Coke machines. “Thanks.”
“How are we doing?”
6 considers. “We’re doing okay.”
“Is that good enough?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “But it’ll be close.”
california
“California, you gorgeous thing.” I haven’t even met this girl but feel compelled to flirt with her. It must be the name. “How you doing?”
“It’s madness here,” she tells me. “You wouldn’t believe how much hand-holding the LAPD need to block off a few streets.”
“I’m going to give you lots more work,” I tell her. “Okay?”
“Aw, Scat.”
“But in return,” I say generously, “I will personally introduce you to Tom Cruise.”
“Hey,” California says brightly. “Deal. Anything for a celebrity.”
I freeze. “Oh, shit.”
chasing gwyneth
“Scat,” Gwyneth says, putting down her script. The makeup artist is doing something to her eyes, and bathed in the wattage of a dozen light bulbs she looks almost angelic. “I’m kind of busy. Can’t this wait?”
“Gwyneth,” I say seriously, “I’m about to ask you for a huge favor. It will be a major pain in the ass. You won’t want to do it.”
“Sounds tempting,” Gwyneth says.
“But I really need your help. I’m desperate.”
“Uh-huh,” Gwyneth says, as the makeup guy traces around her lips. “And why do I want to do this huge favor?” The makeup guy frowns at her.
I drop into the chair beside her. “You have to admit, your role has become a lot more interesting since 6 and I beefed it up. Strong female roles must be so hard to find—”
She eyes me suspiciously. “You didn’t do that for me.”
“Well, true. But—”
“Sorry,” she says, picking up her script.
“Oh,” I say, “so maybe you’re not interested in strong roles. Maybe next time I’m making a film and I need a female lead, I should just call up Julia Roberts and say—”
“You might never make another film.”
“True,” I admit. “But then again . . .”
Gwyneth looks at me for a long time. Finally she sighs. “What is it you want me to do?”
visuality [2]
“Scat,” Jerry says tiredly, “it’s kind of hard to work with you interrupting all the time.”
“Jerry, I have an offer.”
“Save it, all right? I’ve already—”
“You don’t want to let down your buddies, right? With Warlords tonight?”
“That’s right.”
“Well,” I say, “the thing is, Gwyneth Paltrow is a bit of a Warlords fan, too.”
Silence. “Really?”
“Sure. I was talking over our little situation with her, and she said she’d love to play. If it’s all right with you.”
A long pause. “You’d let her play with us? Even though we can’t do your film?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” I say. “See, you only get Gwyneth if you do the film. Tonight.”
“Oh,” Jerry says, “oh, I see. You’re blackmailing me. Is that it?”
“Well,” I say, “yeah.”
“Oh.” He thinks for a second. “So while I’m working on Backlash, Gwyneth is playing Warlords with my friends?”
“That’s right,” I say. When he hesitates, I add, “You’ve got to think they’d be impressed.”
“Boy,” Jerry says, “you don’t have to tell me.” He pauses, and I can almost hear him biting his fingernails. “Gwyneth Paltrow.”
“So,” I say, hardly daring to hope, “do we have a deal?”
A long sigh from Jerry. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll finish your damn film.”
it’s a wrap
We’re meant to finish at six, and if anyone wanted to be difficult, they could walk off the set right then. But they don’t. We go until ten, and no one, not even our multimillion-dollar talent, says a word.
Finally, Kline says, “Okay. That is it. We are done.”
It’s strange: a hush falls over the hangar. There’s no cheering, no slapping of backs, or even mutterings of Thank God for that. Everyone just falls silent.
“I would like to thank every one of you,” Kline says. He stands up in his crane, looking over the sixty or so people present. “You have all performed exceptionally well under considerable pres
sure. This could not have been done without you.”
Then they cheer.
post
When 6, Gwyneth and I arrive at Visuality, there are a half dozen young, sweaty men in the lobby. When Gwyneth enters, a low ahhhh emanates from them.
“Oh, God,” Gwyneth says.
I take charge. “Hi guys. Is Jerry here?”
“Here,” Jerry says, emerging from the hallway. I notice he’s freshly shaved.
I nudge Gwyneth. She takes a deep breath, then says, “Uh, hi, Jerry.”
“Ohhh,” Jerry says.
workload
So we do it: Gwyneth sits down with a coven of war gamers to a table laden with miniature ogres and dragons and aliens or whatever the hell they’re meant to be, and 6, Jerry and I get to work on Backlash. Every time Gwyneth tries to make a move, guys rush to explain why that’s not legal, but despite this, she seems to be doing pretty well. I’m not sure if this is because she has innate Warlords talent or because all the other players are trying to ally with her.
Around one, we order a couple of monster pizzas and sit around on the floor—there’s no disturbing the table, of course—and munch them down. Revitalized, we work solidly on Backlash until dawn: coloring laser flashes, painting aliens, tweaking Winona’s extra teeth. The warlords don’t last so long: they’re all done by two. Gwyneth is on the winning side: a skinny guy with a big grin and a propensity for declaring “Now is the time of the Orcish clan” has struck down anyone who dared attack her. Everyone tells Gwyneth how good she is for a beginner, and they’re genuinely sad when she calls a cab. Gwyneth just looks exhausted.