Page 5 of The Cut
Max opened his eyes and stared at the blank screen under the heading: final draft.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard as a long shadow lurched across the table, the candlelight flickering over the red brick of the low vaulted ceiling in the wine cellar.
She was late. The traffic on Santa Monica on a Friday evening was always hell on earth.
‘Same again?’ The cute waiter had been flirting with Max from the moment he’d arrived.
He closed his laptop and twinkled back at the wannabe actor’s white teeth, gleaming for tips. ‘Trying to get me drunk?’
His eyes looked to the wrought-iron gates framing the modest entrance to ‘Pace’. His favourite Italian, midway up Laurel Canyon buried under the shabby Country Store, was like some illicit speakeasy. He returned to the waiter. ‘Sure, why not. Make it a double.’
Moments later, two crystal highballs hit the table, ice clinking in the glass, as she slumped into their booth, out of breath.
‘Sorry I’m late, the 405 was a nightmare.’ She loosened her ponytail and tousled her white-blonde hair over her shoulders before taking a sip of her Tito’s and tonic with a dash of lime. 26
‘So … Did they bite?’ Karine Mickelsen picked up the menu. ‘I am starving.’
‘Just pinning down the last few investors …’ Max slid his laptop into his bag and caught the eye of the waiter. ‘But we’re in good shape.’
‘Studio?’
‘Probably one of the big streamers.’ Max lowered his voice. ‘Nordics are obviously chomping at the bit because of you.’
‘Obviously.’ Karine popped an olive into her mouth and glanced up to the waiter, who had reappeared to take their order. ‘The rib eye please, rare.’
Max sat back and folded his arms. ‘Karine …’ He paused for a second. ‘He’s coming out, that’s the only reason your financier finally came through. We have to ride this wave … it’s now or never.’
‘Just give me the green light and I’m on that plane.’ Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinised his face. ‘I’ll need full access, and to be left alone.’
‘Of course.’ Max chewed his lip and inhaled, bracing himself. ‘There is just one condition.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘I want you to shoot on Hi8.’
Karine blew out through her lips. ‘You’re joking, right?’
Max stared at her.
‘Video.’ She snorted. ‘Why?’
Max sipped his drink. ‘You know why.’
Karine paused, pursing her lips. ‘What’s the budget for post?’
‘Don’t you worry about that.’ Max glanced up as the scampi piccanti appetiser floated down on to the table.
‘It’ll be difficult to find any Hi8 film stock.’ Karine shook her head and dipped a shrimp into the sauce. ‘But I guess I can trawl eBay for some cassette tapes. I think I have an old Panasonic I can dig out from my kit.’ 27
‘No.’ Max was sharp, abrupt even. He checked himself, then lowered his voice. ‘There’s a very specific camera that I will need you to …’ He paused, eyes drifting to the middle distance.
Karine raised her glass to her lips. ‘To … what?’
‘To source.’
Karine took a long slow draught of her drink, draining the glass. ‘And where will I acquire this “very specific camera”?’ Her soft Danish precision accentuated his choice of words.
Max stared into Karine’s eyes, his face softening.
‘You’ll find it.’ His mouth curled into a smile. ‘I have every faith in you.’ He raised his glass to hers. The crystal chinked in a toast and glittered in the candlelight.
‘That’s why I hired you.’ 28