proof of that.
“That sounds perfect, Eliza,” Serena says, prompting me to look up from my notebook. “Talk soon.” She taps her ear to end the call and watches as the last stragglers of her team file into the room. In Serena’s world, if you’re not five minutes early, you’re late.
She promptly kicks off the meeting without waiting for everyone to finish getting seated.
“I trust you’ve all read Espionage.”
Anyone left standing scrambles to find any available home for their ass. One guy, I swear to everything, ends up sitting on the rim of a potted plant. Meanwhile, those of us who don’t have to worry about the moisture content in the soil nod and hum our affirmation.
A screenplay by Jakob Kauffman, Espionage is based on a true story about an American CIA agent who lived in Europe and the Middle East for over twenty years to gain intel on foreign enemies. It’s riveting and engrossing and different from the typical secret agent movies that have been made in the past. It’s not necessarily meant to be showy and action-packed—though, it is; it’s meant to be authentic.
It absolutely reeks of clout with the Academy. And, I’m sure, all the potential Oscar nominations are at least part of the reason Serena was able to get the Capo brothers to move forward so quickly. Everyone in Hollywood loves the sound of money.
“How is our casting situation?” Callie Frittle, Head of Development at Koontz Productions, asks.
“Casting is almost set. Lucy Larson just agreed and signed on as the female lead,” Serena updates.
“And our director?”
“Mei Chen is a go as well.”
“Wow, that’s fantastic news.” Callie taps her pen on her leather notebook. “So, we only need the male lead.”
“Exactly.” Serena nods aggressively. “And that’s why we’re all here this morning. Since you’ve all read the screenplay now, I want your ideas. Your thoughts. Your concerns.” She flashes a grin. “Although, if your concern is anything other than being afraid of showing off with how good your suggestions are for the most important role we’ve ever filled, you can get the fuck out.”
Soft, albeit slightly nervous, laughter fills the room, and Serena stands up and starts walking around, apparently comfortable in an environment made balmy by our sweat.
“Tell me what you’re thinking. With Lucy Larson on board, who should play our male lead, Finn Slate?”
“Personally,” Charles chimes in first. “I think Harry Saint would be perfect.”
Pfft. Yeah, right. Serena’s gonna shut that shit down faster than Twista can rap about a girl becoming an overnight celebrity.
But to my surprise, Serena nods her head in agreement. “You know, I never thought about him, but I think you might be onto something…” She pauses and looks toward Olivia Wells, her casting director. “What do you think?’
“Maybe?” Olivia taps her pen against her lips, but it seems to me that’s a gesture born of anxiety. She doesn’t want to disagree with Serena in front of a room full of people, and I can’t say I blame her. “I mean, he was pretty good in Bad Men.”
“I also think it should be noted,” Charles interjects. “After seeing them together in Long Road a few years ago, we know Lucy Larson and Henry Saint will have amazing chemistry together on-screen.” I don’t miss the slimy, egotistical smile he tosses my way when Serena appears happy with his second suggestion of the day.
Are you really going to let him suggest casting for the lead actor of this project and not offer up anything better? my subconscious scolds me. What do you think will happen if his suggestion actually turns into reality?
The pressure of my current situation starts to build an impending sense of doom inside me. Palms sweaty and heart racing, I have to rub my hands against my legs discreetly to stop myself from crying aloud.
Good God, Billie, you have to offer up something! I mean, between the ass-kissing and actor suggestion and fucking hand-delivered croissants, you’re way behind the curve today!
I scan my notes. I know Finn Slate is not Harry Saint, but who is he?
I kind of hoped Serena would play duck, duck, goose—a going around the table to collect answers sort of thing, but instead, she jumps directly to me.
“What do you think, Billie?”
Shit!
Think of something! Anything! You can’t just let Charles put in all the damn ideas!
“Uh…” I start before raising a fist to my mouth, clearing my throat, and patting my chest. I don’t know what I’m supposedly choking on—maybe Charles’s come shots as he fires them