"David A. Haym's a woman? No bloody way!" Loch howls.
"You're having us on!" Robbie challenges me.
"How stupid do you think we are?" Charlie huffs.
"Of course she's a woman," Mary says. We gawp at her. "You didn't know?"
"No," Loch says. "You did?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
Mary shrugs. "I dunno. Years."
"And you never told us?" Robbie barks.
"It never came up," Mary laughs. "I've no interest in horror movies. I always tune out when you guys start on that rubbish."
"Then how did you know she's a woman?" I ask.
"There was a feature on her in a magazine my mum reads," Mary explains. "I think the headline was, 'The horror producer chick who beats the boys at their own game'."
They're nearly as excited as I am. Most of my friends don't know what to make of Dervish. In a way he's cool, the adult who rides a motorbike, dresses in denim, lets me do pretty much what I like. On the other hand he sometimes comes across as a complete nutter. Plus they know he was a veg for more than a year.
But now that he's in talks with the slickest, sickest producer of recent horror movies, his cred rises like a helium balloon. They want to know how she knows about him, when she's coming, what the new movie's about. I act mysterious and secretive, giving nothing away, but dropping hints that I'm fully clued-in. In truth, I know no more than they do. Dervish wasn't able to get through to her last night. He left a message and was waiting for her to phone back when I left this morning.
"Did she call?"
"Who?"
I groan, wishing Dervish wasn't a complete airhead. "David A. Haym, of course! Did she-"
"Oh, yeah, she rang."
"And?" I practically shriek, as Dervish focuses on getting dinner ready.
"She'll drop by within the next week."
"Here?" I gasp. "Carcery Vale?"
"No," he smirks. "Here-this house. I told her she could stay the night if she wanted, though I don't know if-"
"David A. Haym's going to stay in our house?" I shout.
"Davida," Dervish corrects me.
"Dervish... the terrible things I've said about you... the awful names I've called you... I take them all back!"
"Thanks," Dervish laughs. Stops and frowns. "What awful names?"
Everyone wants David A. Haym's autograph. They want to meet her, have dinner with us, maybe snag a part in her next movie. Loch auditions for me several times a day, moaning and screaming, pretending bits of his body have been chopped off, quoting lines from Zombie Zest and Night Mayors-"We elected a devil!" "That's not my hand on your knee!" "Mustard or mayo with your brains?" Draws curious stares from teachers and kids who haven't heard the big news.
Bill-E talks up script ideas. Reckons he can pitch to her and become the brains behind her next five movies. "Writers are getting younger all the time," he insists. "Producers want fresh talent, original ideas, guys who can think outside the box."
"You're about as far outside the box as they come," Loch laughs.
"I wouldn't have to write the whole script myself," Bill-E says, ignoring the jibe. "I could collaborate. I'm a team player."