Page 19 of All That Glitters
Chapter fifteen
Another Not-So-Bright Idea
For Plan D, Tony decided to try something less likely to get him electrocuted like Plan B, and less likely to get him shot at by crazy wives and chased by Dobermans like Plan C.
This plan involved a simple disguise to get inside an agency, and a bribe to get someone to read his script. His first stop would be the Starving Artists Agency, one of the agencies he mailed his script to earlier then never heard back from.
Inside the reception area, Amy was doing her daily ritual of client management, which once again meant listening to Carrie Thompson’s latest rant.
She rolled her eyes, holding the phone a safe distance from her ear, while across the lobby, Eli frantically waved his hands, mouthing the words “I’M NOT HERE” with the desperation of a man being chased by a bear.
“No, Carrie,” Amy said, her voice a strained, professional purr that masked the scream building in her throat. “Eli’s not back from Toronto yet.” She listened for a moment, her face growing increasingly pained. “Yes. Yes, I will definitely let him know the werewolf grabbed your butt.”
She shifted the phone further away from her ear as Carrie’s voice rose to a pitch that would shatter glass. Amy made silent talking motions with her hand while nodding mechanically, a skill she’d perfected over years of handling dramatic clients.
“Mm hmm, absolutely unacceptable behavior from a fictional character,” Amy agreed. “I’ll have Eli call you the second he’s back on U.S. soil. Have a good day, Carrie!” She hung up the phone with a quiet click and looked over at Eli, who was now straightening his tie as if nothing had happened.
“If I wasn’t married, I’d have sex with you right now,” he said, his voice laced with genuine gratitude as he emerged from behind a potted fern. “Or we can just do it anyway.”
Amy didn’t even blink. “Chocolates will be just fine,” she said. “The expensive kind. From that place on Robertson, not the drugstore ones you got last time.”
Eli smiled, blew her a kiss, and headed down the hall. “You’re a goddess among mortals, Amy. I’ll be in my office writing poetry about your excellence!”
“You’ll be in your office hiding from Carrie and her werewolf trauma!” she called after him.
Just as Eli disappeared, the glass doors swished open and Tony entered, disguised in a Domino’s Pizza uniform that was several sizes too large. He carried the pizza box over to Amy’s counter and set it down.
“Pizza delivery,” he announced.
“Who’s it for?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Tony said, shifting nervously. “You know someone I could bribe with a pizza to read my screenplay?”
He flipped open the lid. Inside it was his script, resting on a waxy paper liner on top of the pizza. The cover page was spotted in marinara sauce, with a slice of pepperoni clinging to the title.
Amy stared at the saucy manuscript. “You need a napkin?” she asked.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Tony said. She handed him one from a stack next to her phone.
“So you’re trying the pizza boy approach?” she asked, a note of amusement in her voice. “Interesting choice. Not original, but interesting.”
“Yeah, kinda. Did it work?” he asked, dabbing at the marinara sauce.
“Ask those guys,” she said, nodding toward the hallway.
Tony looked. Leaning against the wall outside of Eli’s office was a line of guys in uniforms from pretty much every pizza chain Tony ever heard of. They looked less like delivery drivers and more like the world’s saddest boy band. One of them was reading a copy of ‘Screenwriting for Dummies.’
Tony turned back to Amy. “They’re all writers?”
“Yup,” Amy said. “The Pizza Hut guy has been coming every Tuesday for three months.”
“Does it work?”
Amy shrugged. “Do you mean, are the pizzas getting eaten? Then that’s a definite yes.”
“But the scripts aren’t getting read?”
She shook her head. “That would be a definite no.”
“Ouch.”
Amy nodded. “Sorry.”
“What about you?” Tony said. “Can I bribe you with a pizza to read my script? And if you like it, pass it on to one of the agents?”
“I wish I could,” she said, and she sounded genuinely sympathetic. “But they won’t accept unsolicited material. It’s a legal thing. If I passed your script to Eli, and then he later represented someone with a similar idea, you could sue him.”
“Even if I promise I won’t sue?” Tony said. “I’ll even name my firstborn after him.”
“We had a Chinese delivery guy say the same thing,” Amy said. “Now he’s threatening to sue because Eli’s client wrote a similar script about fortune cookies that predict death.”
Tony looked at her oddly. “Two people had that idea?”
She nodded. “You’d be surprised how many people come up with the same corny ideas.”
“What about a fraternity of vampires?”
She studied him for a moment. “That’s actually not bad. Is it a comedy?”
“A horror comedy.”
Just then, her intercom buzzed, and Neil’s voice filled the air. “Amy, can I see you for a minute? I need help crafting a diplomatic email to a client who thinks he’s Hemingway but writes like a concussed orangutan.”
“Be right there, Neil,” she said into the speaker. She looked up at Tony. “Sorry. Duty calls.”
She slid from her chair and headed down the hallway, leaving Tony alone at the reception desk with his failed bribe. So much for Plan D.
He was about to pull the plug on this idea when he noticed a stack of papers behind the counter. They were pristine cover sheets, each one bearing the official ‘Starving Artists Agency’ logo. An idea sparked. A much better, much more devious idea.
He looked down the hall to make sure no one was watching, then quickly grabbed a thick stack of cover sheets, set his screenplay and pizza on the counter, then hurried off with a solid idea for Plan E.