Page 31 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

Chapter Fifteen

Harper

Harper and Stan sat opposite the two studio executives in a modern conference room that looked out onto a sprawling production campus.

Harper wet his dry throat with an expensive gulp of glass-bottled mineral water.

He had just laid out his new direction for the Unfinished Business sequel as “a Black St. Elmo’s Fire meets Broadcast News movie with the Unfinished Business characters.

” Mark, the lead studio exec, nodded as he looked up to the ceiling, presumably running the concept through in his head.

After taking another sip to calm his nerves, Harper sat in awkwardness, waiting for his answer.

Mark was an executive vice president of production or something like that.

White, thin, great hair. Probably could have been an actor himself.

The personification of “a suit.” His colleague Cynthia waited for his response, as was appropriate for their hierarchy.

“That sounds fantastic,” he said finally, returning his focus to the room.

“You’re right, another college story does feel passé.

What else can we really say about these characters in college? ” he asked rhetorically.

“This generation doesn’t have a St. Elmo’s or a Breakfast Club, ” Stan added. “I loved those movies.”

“Who didn’t?” Cynthia chimed in. Harper didn’t remember her title, but it was clear she was doing the heavy lifting with this project. She was unremarkable looking. Tall, thin, and blond. Clearly smart and leading withit.

“So what are we talking? Five or six years removed from the Unfinished movie?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harper replied, encouraged by the follow-up. “We’ll set it in DC. Johnson plays for the Bullets. He and Casey are married with kids and Jackson covers sports for the local television affiliate. Flave is spending his dad’s money….”

“Right, right. So it’s still period. Nineties,” Mark said with a tinge of surprise ( or was it apprehension? ). “Mmmm.” Harper noted his response. Had he forgotten the movie—and more importantly the book—took place in the nineties? Harper soldieredon.

“Well, it could be the early 2000s, turn of the century, I suppose. They’d be the Wizards by then, but the Prince George’s County area in Maryland is one of the most affluent areas in America for Black people—”

“I’m asking because, you know, nostalgia is one thing—” Mark said, cutting him off.

“And we love it,” Cynthia added.

“But we also need for people to be able to relate. Period pieces don’t always work. We got lucky with the last one,” Mark argued.

“Big hit though,” Stan reminded them.

“Huge. But to be completely transparent, one of our leads hasn’t really taken off since the movie,” Mark continued. “He’s been in a couple of flops. And he’s been in the tabloids getting some unwanted attention.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of polarizing,” Cynthia seconded.

Harper had heard about the young man who played Flave in the movie.

He had been caught by TMZ saying some questionable things, something to do with pink cocaine, a gun, and some sex workers.

Hollywood shit. It was fitting that he embodied the character Quentin was modeled after.

Life was sometimes stranger than fiction… .

“Do you know who we love? Damson Idris,” Mark continued.

“ Love, ” Cynthia declared.

“Do you know him?” Mark turned to Harper directly. Does he think that all Black people know one another? He briefly contemplated dropping a joke, but they don’t know him like that. Plus, doubtful that’s the context in which he was asking. Instead, Harper shook his head while answering plainly.

“I don’t know him personally. He’s a Brit, right? He wrote me a nice note through a rep or a manager or something about Pieces Of Us. That was kind.”

“Riiiiight. And what’s going on with that? Has someone optioned that?” Cynthia perked up, interjecting excitedly. “Phenomenal book. Phenomenal.”

“Thank you. Thanks. That’s nice to hear. Ummm…” Harper wasn’t sure how much to reveal to them about his latest book.

“We’re considering a number of offers right now,” Stan said, saving him.

The truth of the matter was that Harper had had several meetings and offers to option his Pulitzer Prize–winning novel, but he was feeling particularly overprotective of it.

He had always been an artist, but he really didn’t want that work that had been so hard to birth put in someone else’s hands again.

Sometimes a book should just be a book, he’d said to Stan more than once.

Does Hollywood have no new ideas? Where’s the integrity?

he wondered. But he already knew the answer to that, even sitting in the studio offices on this day: lost with the promise of a big-ass check, that’s where.

It was another reason Harper wanted his crack at this Hollywood thing.

If he could prove he could do it himself, he could cut out the middleman and protect his work.

And his fans echoed that. “Please don’t let Hollywood fuck this one up @harperstewartwriter.

” “…they don’t know what #Blacklove is…” Whether online, in the blogosphere or the day before at his book signing, Harper Stewart’s fans always appreciated his artistry.

So Harper wasn’t going to let Hollywood co-opt his shit if he could help it. Not this time around. Pieces Of Us was not going to the highest bidder. At least not yet.

“Well, keep us in mind.” Cynthia smiled from Stan to Harper, Harper to Stan.

“Of course,” Harper assured her, offering his own tepid smile.

“Anyway,” Cynthia continued. “We love Damson and perhaps it could be set closer to now?”

“Or even now.” Mark’s suggestion sounded like more of a request or maybe even…a demand?

“Yeaaah, but isn’t he younger than they would be now…?” Harper countered.

“We could always adjust,” Mark said. Adjust?

“For sure,” Cynthia added. “What you’re proposing can still be called Unfinished Business. Makes it really juicy…”

“Juicy…sure, I guess…” Harper tried his best to sound open-minded.

“We don’t want to have to deal with period cars and costumes and such. Your characters are so rich and sophisticated,” Mark offered.

“Grown and sexy,” Cynthia echoed Mark. Again.

“Exactly. So, let’s embrace that. You know? Get some great music, stylish clothes. Can you imagine Damson Idris and like, Coco Jones?” Mark offered.

A gasp came from Cynthia’s direction. “Oh my God. Love, ” she gushed.

“Well,” Harper said, “I suppose….”

“Look, I know we’re hitting you with a lot, but we love your direction and it’s generating thoughts for us.”

“Right. Exciting thoughts. But just thoughts. If you hate them, we can do something else. Stick to what you feel….” Cynthia said.

“No, no I’m open…” Harper shifted in his seat, unsure of what that would mean.

“Very open,” Stan volleyed. They were beginning to sound like the suits.

“Great.” Cynthia was enthusiastic. “You can set it in New York. Very sexy.”

“But we’d shoot it in Toronto. Or Atlanta,” Mark informed them as he looked at Cynthia before returning to Harper and Stan. “Tax incentive.”

“We get it,” Stan said. Do we? Harper wondered. He’d opened the door to the liberties the studio could take, so all he was able to do was buckle in for the rest of the meeting.

“Listen, it could be the same cast, could be older. And we certainly could recast the Flave actor.” Cynthia turned to Mark for his passive approval. They’d started a back-and-forth volley, continually spinning their version of Harper’s story.

“Yep. Fans loved him, but we can find somebody great in the recast. No matter what, we gotta keep that Cleavon character.” Mark laughed and was quickly joined by Cynthia, as if what he’d just said was hysterical.

Stan did so to be polite. Harper didn’t.

He wasn’t laughing at all. All he could see was Murch’s face, irate and betrayed.

Cleavon… That’s the character that started all this bullshit.

“Well, you know, that character is different now.” Harper interrupted the raucous laughter with a note of gravity.

“He’s much more mature, not nearly as henpecked…

and he’s a lawyer and didn’t marry Darby…

” Harper was on a roll and starting to feel good about the redirect, just as Mark’s assistant entered the room to hand him a note.

“Oh really? Noooo,” Cynthia said. “Darby! Oh, well we have to keep her. Perfect casting. She has blown up. ” Cynthia emphasized the words with her hands.

“Could Jackson hook up with her?” Mark inquired as he communicated to his assistant something in some secret telepathic language they clearly both understood. Judging by his body language, Mark wasn’t long for this meeting.

Cynthia was right there with an enthusiastic volley to Mark’s suggestion.

“Oh my God. Darby and Jackson? Hot! And could be hilarious. He’s so uptight, right?

And so is she.” The blurred lines between the characters onscreen and the ones from his original novel, contrasted with who he and his friends were then versus now, were starting to give Harper a headache.

Picturing himself kissing Shelby turned his stomach into a knot and his face into a grimace.

He could feel the eyes in the room on him, but there was no poker face for this.

“He hates it,” Mark commented with a half laugh, sounding just slightly disappointed.

Harper immediately downshifted into shaking his head with a reassuring “of course not” coupled with a very forced, but pleasant smile.

He even mustered up a chuckle as he rubbed his temple. Thankfully, Stan intervened.

“Nooo, he doesn’t hate it. It’s just that Harper has a vision about the movie, that you seemed to respond to.” Good job, Stan.

“Oh, absolutely,” Cynthia said.

Stan continued, “And no one knows these characters like he does.”