Falling into Forever (Falling into You) - By Lauren Abrams Page 0,2
“I had some pasta with organic vegetables made on an antibiotic-free farm-raised co-op. Yum.”
Eva laughs, for real this time. “Just remember, if anyone in there asks you about hormone-free, antibiotic food, you just say you love it. It’s your favorite. Cage-free eggs, too.”
I make a face, and she sighs and loops her arm through mine as we join the stream of people piling into the room.
“Hang in there. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
As it turns out, Eva’s right. Almost an hour later, my head is spinning with the talk of international rights and back-end profits and three film guarantees. Rapid-fire speech is coming from all of the faces around the long table, and I can’t keep any of them straight. They’re talking about the dazzling dialogue and the potential for merchandising and action figures and all of that nonsense, but what they’re really talking about is money. I haven’t said a word.
“It’s this generation’s epic tale,” one of the suits offers finally. “The timeless story of man fighting against evil, of one poor guy just trying to make it in a world torn apart. And we’re going to make sure that millions of eyes all around the planet can’t look away.”
Eva isn’t impressed by his flattery. She holds firm. “We need three things from you to make this deal happen today. You know that we can walk out that door right now and go straight to the next meeting and get everything that we want—a three film guarantee, a piece of the back-end, and a check. A very, very large check. Lots of zeroes. We’re only here because you promised that you would make the best offer, one that involves creative control. If you can’t make that happen, this deal is over before it started.”
Eva starts to gather her things, but Jeff holds up his hand to stop her. She smirks back at him as he bends his head to converse with another man in hushed tones. Finally, he pushes a scrap of paper at Eva, who tucks it under her tablet with a smile.
“We’ll give you a minute to speak with your client. Clear the room, guys,” Jeff says.
He eyes me again before shooting me an exaggerated wink. I roll my eyes in response, but that only seems to encourage him, because he does a little stage bow before exiting the room with the rest of the suits.
Eva glances at the paper, stretches her arms contentedly, and shoves it across the table at me. I take it into my hand, but I don’t look at the numbers, because I’m not ready to look and frankly, I’m not here for the money.
“The deal is actually better than I hoped for. They’re willing to guarantee that all three of the movies will get made, and there’s a lot of money for you if any one of them falls through. Since you’re the cowriter, they’re going to give you the first stab at revising the screenplay for the first one. If that goes well, they’ll make an offer for the next two. It’s smart for them to realize that they need a feminine touch. Women drive the box office, which is something that men in Hollywood finally seem to be realizing.”
I only heard one word. “Cowriter? I never agreed to that. This was his baby, not mine.”
“The book is his, I’ll give you that much. The story is his. But this screenplay is yours, Hallie, and we both know that. And honestly, the reason that all of the studios are clamoring for this piece is the screenplay. Your voice is all over it, and you deserve credit for that.”
“I told you that I didn’t want my name on it. When, exactly, did that happen?”
“I added your name to the last revision. I didn’t tell you, because I knew you were going to get all high and mighty about it and say no. But it’s done, so there’s no use arguing about it now.”
I stand up. “I don’t want any of this.” We’ve fought about this before, and she knows how I feel. “This is for him. Not for me. It’s not mine.”
“This is for you, too,” she says in a low voice. I’m walking out the door when her next words stop me in my tracks.
“It’s got box-office gold all over it. You can go hide wherever you want, but if we don’t do this deal now, they’ll still be beating down your door—next month, next year, in ten years.