Seduced by the Screenwriter

Chapter 8, Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Part 8

Chapter 8

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

"I'm counting on you, darling." Jenna's voice was pitched high with the effects of a pharmaceutical. Chett made a face, glad the cell phone call was audio-only, not video.

After the Golden Globe award for Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role went to a sweet young thing barely out of puberty instead of her, Jenna didn't even wait until she recovered from a massive hangover to contact Chett. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. She needed him to come through for her. Unfortunately the pages he'd written to that point were intended for another performer, and the "action" involved seduction. Lust in Space wasn't going to cut it with Jenna.

Chett tossed out a logline off the top of his head. "A mob hitman meets his match when he's ordered to kill a female assassin."

"It's been done, Chett. Mr. & Mrs. Smith, for gawd sake! And the mafia again. Really?" Her voice tightened. "I want something fresh to pitch to producers and studio executives at a party next Saturday night."

Fresh, huh. He had nothing. Chett felt the screws tighten. "Studios buy scripts similar to those of successful films," he reminded her. "Mafia Massacre was big. Mr. & Mrs. Smith was big."

"Yeah, years ago." Jenna's tone dripped aggrieved frustration. "Ancient history. Move on."

For a few minutes they discussed recent dramas that had been nominated for, or won awards for best screenplay and best picture. Given Jenna hadn't won an acting award, ever, neither needed to mention that a blockbuster budget and a mature male A-list actor like Robert Downey, Jr., Tom Cruise or George Clooney were no longer in the cards. An action spec script with the possibility of international sales was their best chance to entice a studio to greenlight a $25 million film with Jenna cast as female lead.

"I want a new concept by Wednesday." Jenna's words cut across the continent like a laser, exposing the powerful resolve that gave rise to career longevity in an industry that broke many young actresses' hearts. "Send me a logline and a three page synopsis outlining the key scenes. Don't even begin to write the twenty page treatment until I vet the concept." She sighed, paused, and regrouped. "Meanwhile, my manager has a call out for spec scripts."

Her words sank into dead air as Chett's heart slammed against his ribs. When he could speak calmly, he asserted, "We have a deal."

"Darling," she said, her voice artificially bright, "You get that I must have something to pitch next Saturday, right? So send me something I love."

"Will do." Bottom line, Chett had forty-eight hours to beat out the competition with a better idea, or she'd run with a finished screenplay. He ran his fingers through his hair and stared dismally at the blond strands entwined in his fingers. "Anything else?"

"I'm rail thin after dieting to fit into my Golden Globes dress. I look fantastic in a bikini. Consider locations in Florida or the Bahamas."

"Sure, Jenna." He peered out the frosty Great Room window past the icicles and down to the frozen snow-covered lake. He swiped a hand across his eyes. "And thanks for the use of your lake house. I can't think of a better place to write your screenplay set in Florida."

***

As the sun began its swift descent late Monday afternoon, Catrina braked the SUV at the entrance to Jenna's laneway. Her duty to complete the last stop on her rounds warred with stomach-churning reluctance to encounter Chett. Beside her, Titan woofed softly and pawed at the passenger-side door, eager to exit and sniff rabbit tracks in the woods. At the bottom of the plowed sloping lane, smoke curled from the chimney into clear cold air. Chett was at home. She shouldn't disturb him, she told herself. He'd call her if anything went wrong at the cottage.