Emma has her hands on the arms of the chair, and she picks at thenubby fabric, flicking the fuzz onto the floor for Corrine to clean up at some point. “I thought you were coming here to make me an offer on my script.”
I give her an incredulous look to which she has to concede.
“I mean, okay, I get it, we can’t usethatscript for obvious reasons. But to make an offer for me to write something else.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“How does it work?”
“If you’ve written something I like and think is viable, I would attach as a producer and shop it around to the studios. If it’s a fit for them, they are the ones who make us a financial offer to option it as we develop it together.”
“Great,” Emma says brightly. “Let’s do that.”
I keep my voice even. “But you don’t have anything for me to take out.”
“I’ll start working on something.”
“But I can’t promise you it’s going to be something I want to attach myself to.”
“Ummm.” Emma winces apologetically. “I think you kinda do.”
My face turns terrifying.
“Sorry,” she adds quickly. “Never mind.”
“No. Go on.”
“It’s just”—Emma scrambles to win me back—“I know you and your husband have built something really cool together. I’d love to be a part of that.”
“That is what I’m offering you.”
“I can’t go to Los Angeles right now. Or Atlanta.”
“How come?”
“Well.” Emma jams her hands between her legs and squirms girlishly. “Campbell. He’s divorcing Corrine. So I need a sort of work-from-home situation.”
Next to me, Henry stays silent, listening to our seltzers fizz frantically in their glasses. He has told me the less I know the better. That the only thing I need to do is offer Emma something tantalizing enough that she will promise her discretion for the next few days.
“Emma, as much as I would love to lock myself in my office, work on something for a few months, then sit back, let it sell, and get back to my regular life, this industry does not work like that, not even for someone like me who has already established herself.”
“Really?” Emma scrunches her cute little nose dubiously.
“Really. First, you have to write something that is even good enough to be picked apart by your agent and producers, and then you have to collate all their notes and take another stab at it, and then you do that again and again until you hate the project so much you’re not even sure if you want it made at all. And then, when everyone agrees it’s ready for market, you may or may not get an offer, and if you do, you have to be prepared to do that over and over again with studio notes, and each time you earn a little bit more money.
“But that’s getting way ahead of ourselves, because your priority at the moment should be getting a foot in the door. That looks like being on set. With an address in Los Angeles. You need to meet people your age who will grow up to become the agents and producers and studio execs who will deign to pick your work apart. You need to make connections and trade favors and eat some fucking crow every now and then. Being good is not good enough.”
“You said yourself the world has changed. That everything is remote now. That you have to know what the rules are to break them.” Emma cringes slightly at herself. “I read that in your interview in the style section. I loved it, by the way.”
“But you don’t know what the rules are yet.”
“You just told me.”
“Me telling you and you experiencing them are not the same.”
Emma shrugs. “I’m not taking a blood oath to never move to Los Angeles and do all the things you’re talking about. I just want to sell something I’ve written.” On my face, she must see some sort of fading, that I am close to folding, because she grins. “It will be good. I promise. I’m really good, Faye. I won’t let you down.”
She will. Anyone who wants it like this is deficient in the magic needed to make something good. The fondest months of my life are those I spent carving out time to write on set, surrounded by people who had accomplished more than me. Squeezing in a single exchange while a makeup artist dusted my T-zone with mattifying powder, finding the words to put to the terror and rage my character felt when she realized she might miss her flight, then going back and finding better words, and better words still. The angst I felt waiting for my agent to read it before I dared show it to anyone else.FAYE!!!!she had written me, and my angst grew wings, busted out of its protective shell, and took vibrant flight.HOLY SHIT. Emma will not get that from me or from anyone. There is nothing holy about doing things this way.