"For what? You don't live expensively. You can afford to be patient and take jobs that build a career."
"Hey, I'll tell you what I can afford. Are you using that portable phone in your office?"
"Yes. But I don't see why that matters."
"Take a look out your front window."
Frowning, I left my office, went through the TV room and the living room, and peered past the blossoming rhododendrum outside my front window. I scanned the curving driveway, then focused on the gate.
Ric was wearing a designer linen jacket, sitting in a red Ferrari, using a car phone, waving to me when he saw me at the window. "Like it?" he asked over the phone.
"For God's sake." I broke the connection, set down the phone, and stalked out the front door.
"Like it?" Ric repeated when I reached the gate. He gestured toward his jacket and the car.
"You didn't have time to… Where'd you get…?"
"This morning, after Linda phoned about the offer from Ballard, I ordered the car over the phone. Picked it up after my meeting with Ballard. Nifty, huh?"
"But you don't have any assets. You mean they just let you drive the car off the lot?"
"Bought it on credit. I made Linda sign as the guarantor."
"You made Linda…" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Damn it, Ric, why don't you let me finish coaching you before you run off and…After I taught you about screenplay technique and industry politics, I wanted to explain to you how to handle your money."
"Hey, what's to teach? Money's for spending."
"Not in this business. You've got to put something away for when you have bad years."
"Well, I'm certainly not having any trouble earning money so far."
"What happened today is a fluke! This is the first script I've sold in longer than I care to think about. There aren't any guarantees."
"Then it's a good thing I came along, huh?" Ric grinned.
"Before you accepted the rewrite job, you should have asked me if I wanted to do it."
"But you're not involved in this. Why should I divide the money with you? I'm going to do it."
"In that case, you should have asked yourself another question."
"What?"
"Whether you've got the ability to do it."
Ric flushed with anger. "Of course, I've got the ability. You've read my stuff. All I needed was a break."
I didn't hear from Ric for three days. That was fine by me. I'd accomplished what I'd intended. I'd proven that a script with my name on it had less chance of being bought than the same script with a youngster's name on it. And to tell the truth, Ric's lack of discipline was annoying me. But after the third day, I confess I got curious. What was he up to?
He called at nine in the evening. "How's it going?"
"Fine," I said. "I had a good day's work."
"Yeah, that's what I'm calling about. Work."
"Oh?"
"I haven't been in touch lately because of this rewrite on The Warlords."
I waited.
"I had a meeting with the director," Ricsaid. "Then I had a meeting with the star." He mentioned the name of the biggest action hero in the business. He hesitated. "I was wondering. Would you look at the material I've got?"
"You can't be serious. After the way you talked to me about it? You all but told me to get lost."
"I didn't mean to be rude. Honestly. This is all new to me, Mort. Come on, give me a break. As you keep reminding me, I don't have the experience you do. I'm young."
I had to hand it to him. He'd not only apologized. He'd used the right excuse.
"Mort?"
At first I didn't want to be bothered. I had my own work to think about, and The Warlords would probably be so bad that it would contaminate my mind.
But then my curiosity got the better of me. I couldn't help wondering what Ric would do to improve junk.
"Mort?"
"When do you want me to look at what you've done?"
"How about right now?"
"Now? It's after nine. It'll take you an hour to get here and – "
"I'm already here."
"What?"
"I'm on my car phone. Outside your gate again."
Ric sat across from me in my living room. I couldn't help noticing that his tan was darker, that he was wearing a different designer jacket, a more expensive one. Then I glanced at the title page on the script he'd handed me.
THE WARLORDS revisions by Eric Potter I flipped through the pages. All of them were typed on white paper. That bothered me. Ric's inexperience was showing again. On last-minute rewrites, it's always helpful to submit changed pages on different-colored paper. That way, the producer and director can save time and not have to read the entire script to find the changes.
"These are the notes the director gave me," Ric said. He handed me some crudely typed pages. "And these" – Ric handed me pages with scribbling on them -"are what the star gave me. It's a little hard to decipher them."
"More than a little. Jesus." I squinted at the scribbling and got a headache. "I'd better put on my glasses." They helped a little. I read what the director wanted. I switched to what the star wanted.
"These are the notes the producer gave me," Ric said.
I thanked God that they were neatly typed and studied them as well. Finally I leaned back and took off my glasses.
"Well?"
I sighed. "Typical. As near as I can tell, these three people are each talking about a different movie. The director wants more action and less characterization. The star has decided to be serious -he wants more characterization and less action. The producer wants it funny and less expensive. If they're not careful, this movie will have multiple personalities."
Ric looked at me anxiously.
"Okay," I said, feeling tired. "Get a beer from the refrigerator and watch television or something while I go through this. It would help if I knew where you'd made changes. Next time you're in a situation like this, identify your work with colored paper."
Ric frowned.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"The changes."
"So? What about them?"
"Well, I haven't started to make them."
"You haven't? But on this title page, it says 'revisions by Eric Potter.'"
Ric looked sheepish. "The title page is as far as I got."
"Sweet Jesus. When are these revisions due?"
"Ballard gave me a week."
"And for the first three days of that week, you didn't work on the changes? What have you been doing?"
Ric glanced away.
Again I noticed that his tan was darker. "Don't tell me you've just been sitting in the sun?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what exactly?"
"I've been thinking about how to improve the script."
I was so agitated I had to stand. "You don't think about changes. You make changes. How much did you say you were being paid? A hundred thousand dollars?"
Ric nodded, uncomfortable.
"And the Writers Guild insists that on work for hire you get a portion of the money as soon as you start."
"Fifty thousand." Ric squirmed. "Linda got the check by messenger the day after I made the deal with Ballard."
"What a mess."
Ric lowered his head, more uncomfortable.
"If you don't hand in new pages four days from now, Ballard will want his money back."
"I know," Ric said, then added, "But I can't."