Page 1 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

JUNE

I know what you’re thinking. Most people go to the lounge at the start of the trip, not when they come back home. I swear I’m not a raging alcoholic. But I have time to kill and the lounge is as good a place as any to do it in.

I’m a producer-slash-partner for BenchMark Studios. You’ve never heard of us. BenchMark has no tentpole franchises, or huge stars under contract.

Our studio seeks out films that fly under the radar of the major players. Films that may not break box office records, but still garner plenty of awards buzz. Movies that inspire people, or crush their souls and break their hearts. Movies that matter.

As the Executive in charge of Acquisitions, it’s my job to go to places like the BC Film Festival. That’s where our type of project thrives, amongst people who believe that cinema can be more than just people in brightly colored outfits whaling on each other and destroying landmarks.

The Takeoff bars’ cool, air-conditioned artificial breeze hits my skin and elicits a sigh from me. After days of watching people who barely know how to take a lens cap off try to be the next Darren Arononfsky, I could use a drink.

This airport bar fits the bill. I duck inside through the ‘entrance’ though there’s not much separation from the rest of the airport.

Poker machines line one wall, preying on the desperate or the addicted.

The bartender looks exactly like I expect an airport bartender to look.

Hopeful but realistic, aged out of his youth but not yet old.

He flashes me a smile when I approach. It’s the hair. My guy Guliano is a genius. He’s taken my semi-curly, fly away hair and turned it into wavy curtains of midnight.

“How can I serve you today?” he asks, leaning an elbow on the bar and giving me what he probably considers his best bedroom eyes.

“You can paint my house,” I say, cocking an eyebrow. “These contractors have lost their god-damn minds.”

He has the good grace to laugh and straighten up.

“Fair enough. What’s your drink? I make a mean amaretto sour.”

“Ooh,” I say, sucking in air through my teeth. “Tempting, but it’s more of a wine kind of day…”

I lean forward and peer at his name-tag.

“Bob. Bartender Bob, did you do that on purpose?”

“Maybe it’s a destiny thing,” he says with a shrug. “Like when the guy named Harry Shearer becomes a barber, I dunno. Bob is a good bartender name.”

I cock my head to the side.

“I’d compliment you on your insightful and surprisingly deep observation, if I weren’t afraid of you doing one of two things.”

He arches his brows. “What two things?”

“Try to hit on me, or worse, try to give me a script.”

He tilts his head back and laughs.

“Damn it. Yeah, well, since you’re already dreading it…yes, I do keep a script on me just in case the right person comes in through that entrance. Your briefcase is a dead giveaway that you are just the right person to give it to.”

He slaps a stack of paper on the counter, nodding at the movie reel briefcase I’ve been carrying since I started my first film production.

“I haven’t seen a paper script in ages,” I say, rifling through it. “You know, Bob, I’m sold. I’m going to give this a once over just for the novelty value.”

“That’s all I can ask, Ms. Mayweather,” he says.

I give him a look.

“You know me?” I ask.

“I follow your blog.”

“You do? I thought it was just a bunch of bots and people who want me to read scripts…oh, and you just handed me a script.” I wink at him.

“Got it. I do have one condition for keeping this script and checking it out later: You serve me the best wine you have available. That sound like a good deal to you?”

“Sounds like a better deal than I deserve,” he says. “What kind of wine? I have some Jonata from 2016, will that do?”

“Maybe. It doesn’t taste like pencil lead does it?”

His eyes widen.

“It does, in fact. You know your wines. Maybe you’d prefer some 2018 Colgin red?”

“No pencil lead?”

“No pencil lead, a little bit of annis, but you hardly notice because the roaster alder gets to your palate first.”

“Sounds great, I’ll have that, thanks,” I reply.

I settle in with my wine and check the time. Damn, the ride I arranged still isn’t here. Why did my flight have to come in early? When does that ever happen? Not when you need it to, I’ll tell you that much.

I check with the ride service to see if I can get an earlier pickup. Their app assures me that a new driver will add me to their queue soon. But I spend a long time staring at the screen, waiting for that to happen. It’s like the world’s most boring video game.

I could try another ride service, or a taxi, but I’ll probably have to pay a cancellation fee. I already feel bad about my expense account, given that we’re a small studio. I guess I’ll have to tough it out and be patient. Sooner or later they’ll get me a car.

“Hey,” Bartender Bob says, drawing me out of my reverie. “I’m sorry to bother you, but you seem kind of glum.”

“I suppose I am feeling melancholy,” I reply, toasting him with the remains of my wine glass. He refills it without being asked.

“I hope I wasn’t too forward with the script, it’s gotta be annoying having people shove them in your face all day. ”

“No, it’s not you, Bartender Bob,” I reply. “You’ve been great. Five-star review coming your way. It’s this festival I just went to. It was a total dud.”

“Uh huh,” he says, smiling and pretending like he doesn't know all this already.

“Anyway, there was this biopic on Langston Hughes that was a perfect blend of reenactment and documentary.”

“Who’s Langston Hughes?”

“Someone who you should really know,” I reply.

“He was an African American poet who rose to prominence in the mid 20th century. Right now, the market is screaming for a project like that. People think that Martin Luther King and Lincoln died of assassin’s bullets.

The truth is, they were overexposed to death. ”

I smile at my morbid joke as I motion for a refill on the wine.

I had the film’s director/writer/producer, Willis, ready to jump on board with our studio. That is, until one of the bigwigs from Universal schmoozed his way over and promised Willis the moon.

The glamorous life of a studio big wig. Only my studio’s smaller than a postage stamp. We really could have used that film. It would have been a real feather in our cap.

Bartender Bob comes over and refills my wine glass. He gives me a glance in the process and I know a question is forthcoming.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get into the film business in the first place?”

“The old-fashioned way,” I reply, picking up my glass by the delicate stem.

“You earned it?” he asks.

“No, I bought my way in.” I toast him as he laughs. “My grandparents left me a small inheritance. Not enough to get into real estate, and certainly not enough to retire on, but enough to invest in a small independent film a friend of a friend was working on. One thing kind of led to another.”

“Your grandparents? I’m surprised the inheritance didn’t go to your parents.”

I sigh. “They weren’t exactly around.” I take another extra large sip of the wine. Bob wanders away. Perfect timing too, I don’t like talking about my parents.

My phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, and I almost stuff it back in my purse. But it might be the ride service calling to confirm, and maybe I can get them to show up a little earlier.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” comes the melodious, bass voice on the other end. “I’m trying to reach June Mayweather—”

“Willis?” I ask.

“Yes, it’s me, Ma’am.”

“For god’s sake, don’t call me Ma’am. I’ll confess, I’m a little bit surprised that you’re calling me.”

He sighs heavily.

“I have a confession to make. I was ready to make a deal with Universal, but they asked for some changes I wasn’t down with.”

“Oh, like what?” I ask, suddenly excited.

“They wanted me to re-do it shot for shot.”

I wince.

“I can assure you we don’t want to make changes to the film,” I say quickly. “I thought it was brilliant, to be honest with you. I wouldn’t have made you an offer otherwise.”

“So, does that offer still stand?”

I bark with laughter.

“Willis, baby, what do you think?”

“I think we have a deal.”

“Fantastic.” My heart hammers in my chest. I got it!

Oh sweet Jesus, I got it! This movie is going to take home at least one statue, even if it’s just a golden globe, or one of those crummy critic’s choice awards.

Gold is gold in Hollywood! “I’ll shoot a message to our legal department and you’ll have a contract proposal in your inbox by the end of the day. ”

“That sounds great. I’m eager to get the ball rolling on this,” Willis says. “Universal was also going to slow-walk the release.”

“We’re not slow walking, my friend,” I say. “Autumn is coming up, and that’s when your type of movie comes out.”

“My type of movie?” he says stiffly. “What are you trying to imply?”

“I’m trying to imply, Willis, that movies that come out this time of year do so because they are expected to perform well during awards season. You’re going to be in some elite company, my friend, so I hope you’re ready to swim with the big fish.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Willis says. “This is great news. I have to go, but thanks for taking a second chance on me.”

“No, Willis, Thank you!”

I wave off Bartender Bob as he comes over for a refill.

“I’m good, Bob. I’m good. Don’t need to drink myself to oblivion after all.”

I finally have a driver assigned by the app. My ride will be here somewhere between five and fifty minutes. Sighing, I decide I’d rather stand around and wait outside than risk missing the ride.

I put a hundred on the bar, because airport drinks are inflated and I want to leave him a good enough tip that he doesn’t notice I’m leaving his script on the bar.

It almost works. I get out to baggage claim before Bob comes huffing up to cheerfully hand me the script I ‘forgot.’ Damn, he runs faster than he looks like he would.