Behind the Scenes Read online

“Whether or not you give a shit isn’t relevant to me doing the right thing,” she said, moving away from the desk to do more… executive concierging, I guess. “For now, the fridge is stocked with various snacks, juices, and plenty of bottled water – you can let me know what you do and don’t like, and I’ll adjust it as necessary,” she explained, gesturing to a little seating area that had been built out – probably by her – into a decent lounging spot. “The TV will be brought up later, and I have an espresso machine on hold, if you want daily coffee. Let me know anything else you’d like brought in to make the space more comfortable.”

  “Please stop talking,” I told her, shaking my head. My words earned me a raised eyebrow, but… shit. “You’re overwhelming me.”

  “Ah,” she said, offering a slight nod of understanding. “Far from the first time I’ve been accused of that. So… let’s scale back. Have a seat,” she offered, as if this wasn’t my office, but… I took the damn seat, there on the couch, and put my laptop down. She joined me, opting for a spot as far away from me as she could get, which wasn’t easy, since I’d plopped down right in the middle. “Tell me about your vision for the show,” she prompted, her gaze still bright and interested even though I’d forced her off her careful agenda.

  The problem was, she was still taxing me.

  “When you say vision…?”

  “Literally, what does it look like? Feel like? Sound like?”

  I pushed my shoulders up. “Uh… moody, I guess. Melancholic, but still warm. Like… the shit that’s happening isn’t bright and happy all the time, so I want that to come across in the cinematography. I want the viewer to feel it, you know? Like… everything. No moments where it’s just the words telling you… everything is conveying what’s happening.”

  Logan nodded. “I understand. So the cinematography is a top priority, and presumably the music as well… are you thinking original music, or a blend, or are we licensing everything?”

  I sat back, scrubbing hands over my head.

  I hadn’t thought about that, yet.

  “Can we come back to that?”

  “Of course. So… warm and melancholy. That’s quite a juxtaposition.”

  “A necessary one,” I told her. “And… fitting.”

  She smiled. “Okay. If that’s the case, it’ll be important to bring in staff and crew that understand that – I’m assuming you’ll act as writer, producer, director, all within your scope as showrunner, but have you considered bringing in others? To get some other voices, other flavors in the room?”

  “Without question,” I agreed. “I’m going to write it myself, but that’s all – I want all the talent we can bring to the table.” I hesitated a moment, then told her, “I already have Nick looking at the scripts for me.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Nick? As in… Nick Davison?” she correctly guessed, so I nodded.

  “Yeah, that’s my boy.”

  “Really? Wow,” she said, sounding a little too surprised for me to let it ride.

  “Why wow? Is that a shock?”

  Immediately, she shook her head. “A shock? No. I just… I’m just a little surprised that you two would be friends – I just never would’ve guessed that. Not that I really even know Nick, but he seems like such a good guy.”

  “And I… don’t?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you implied it.”

  “Did I?” Logan asked, pushing herself to a stand. “If so – I apologize. It wasn’t my intention to offend, and I’ll be more careful with my words moving forward.”

  I’d barely blinked and she was already back at the desk, paying me no mind in favor of going back to whatever she was doing with the computer when I came in.

  “Ay… we don’t have to do this awkward shit, you know?” I asked, following her over, and getting in her space so she couldn’t pretend not to hear me. “If you insist on being here, it can’t be weird.”

  She straightened up, turning to face me, permeating my senses with the same subtle, dessert-reminiscent scent I’d noticed on her before. “I’m not making it weird, Pierre. I’m doing my job. It’s the only reason I’m here – not for you to strip me out of my preppy clothes and stroke this shit out of my head – or whatever the fuck you said to me.”

  I sighed, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. “I… shouldn’t have said that to you. I know.”

  “Yeah, so why did you?” she asked, crossing her arms.

  “Because it was the truth,” I admitted, with a shrug. “You look good as fuck, and you feel good as fuck, so… that’s what I was trying to focus on. Something that didn’t make me feel like my damn head was turning inside out.”

  As soon as those words left my mouth, I regretted them.

  She wasn’t even asking for, didn’t need or want, all of that. Yet here I was, spilling shit I sure as fuck wasn’t trying to discuss, unnecessarily.

  “Look… I’m sorry,” I told her, before she could press me about my previous statement. “Whether or not it was true isn’t relevant – I was out of line, when you were trying to be professional. It wasn’t cool, and I’m sorry.”

  She stared at me for what felt like a long time, then finally offered a nod of acknowledgement. “Apology accepted. And now that that’s over… you can finish talking to me about your vision.”

  5

  Logan

  Pierre was… a hard man to read.

  Which was kinda baffling, considering that in my experience, “hard to read” and “man” weren’t things that really… went together.

  Maybe confusing was a better way to phrase it.

  Yeah.

  That was more like it.

  Good thing it wasn’t up to me to figure his ass out.

  I just had to help him bring this show to fruition.

  “If I show this to you… it’s just between us, right?” he asked, finally lifting the top on the custom-painted laptop he’d kept in arms reach since walking into this office.

  We’d spent the last couple hours working through some of the checklists I’d created – mostly him naming the people he wanted in certain key roles on the production team, thinking through potential settings that WAWG may not already have a set built out for, and coming up with a ballpark for the budget. All of that was really supposed to come after the script was done though, for the series at large.

  I smiled at him, trying to ease the very clear anxiety he had about the whole thing, which I still didn’t understand – not when he had the blessing of an incredible talent like Nick Davison already. “Yes. Legally, as a matter of fact,” I assured him. “My contract includes certain non-disclosures, so you’ll never have to worry about my divulging any of your personal or professional information to press, or competitors, or anyone else. And even if it wasn’t in the contract, I have a personal policy against telling other people’s business. Barring the omission of some violent crime, anything you divulge is safe with me.”

  “That’s a lot of words to say yes.”

  He was seated at the desk now – the desk, chair, and computer I’d chosen yesterday and had delivered hella early, before he arrived – and looked… laughably out of place, honestly. If I had to guess, his preferred workspace would end up being the lounge area – I’d curated that space, too.

  When we met, he’d been completely dressed down, and looked good. For the lunch disaster, he’d been in a designer suit, probably to please the fashionable Mrs. Perry-Foster… and he looked good. Now, he was casual – nice tee shirt, nice jeans, fresh sneakers… and he looked good.

  Just not like he should be behind a desk.

  Which was probably the source of some of the angst and attitude he was giving me.

  From my place on the other side of the desk, I crossed my legs, giving him a shrug. “I like to cover all bases, so yes – I can be wordy sometimes. I’ll be more concise once we’ve settled into a rhythm with each other.”

  He reclined back in his chair, head propped against his hand
, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, staring.

  So I stared right back.

  And then, once that got old, I shook my head, sitting forward to tell him, “As much as I’m enjoying the staring contest, I think there are better ways to utilize our time. You implied you were about to show me something…”

  “Me? I did? I said that?” he asked, pressing a hand to his chest as I laughed.

  “Yeah, you. You did,” I confirmed, pointing at the laptop. “Stop playing and come on with it. The more you tell me, the more I can help.”

  Pierre sighed, and closed his eyes, giving me an opportunity for even more inappropriate studying. He was inked, beautifully, just on one side, from his wrist to the side of his neck. The sleeve was a mixture of film reels and clapperboards, palm trees and spotlights. Notably, a rendering of the Hollywood hills and the infamous sign, and – probably most intriguing – two marquees, inscribed with names.

  His father, and grandfather.

  I could see the edges of another one, but that one was hidden by his sleeve.

  The night we met, I’d been too otherwise occupied to give any attention to the details of Pierre – or maybe I just hadn’t cared to.

  It hadn’t mattered.

  “So,” he spoke suddenly, his eyes popping open. The corners of his full lips curved at the realization that I’d been staring. “Between navigating the stresses of a demanding, alcoholic father, the unrealized dreams of his late mother, and his own undiscovered ambitions, Jason Parks has to decide what kind of man he wants to be. Without losing himself in the illusory glamour of Vegas nightlife. One Day Sober is… an exploration of one man’s toxic relationship with the looming expectations of his family’s legacy.”

  I waited to be sure he was done speaking before I nodded, letting my lips spread into a grin. “If I read that in a press release, I’d be dying to binge watch, and tweet about every frame,” I told him. “But I made it clear already in the restaurant that I thought it sounded great.”

  Pierre shrugged. “Anybody can come up with a logline that gets people to hit play. Sounding good and it actually being good… those are different things.”

  “Well yeah, but… you have me on your side, right? And I don’t miss,” I declared, making him chuckle. “We will get whoever needs to be on board with this project, and it will be completely successful, and it will launch you into the fucking stratosphere… right up there with the legends like your father, and your grandfather.”

  From the way the smile on his face dropped… maybe I’d said the wrong thing?

  I mean… he had to know I would look him up – had to know what I’d find when I did. And really, I hadn’t found much about Pierre himself since he had a reputation for reclusive behavior – probably why Nubia had made that moody artist comment about him. His little sister, Elodie, was much more visible, much more comfortable with the Hollywood royalty spotlight. Their father had been responsible for some major Black hit films, and before that, their grandfather.

  Him stepping into a role as showrunner was practically preordained – he had a whole ass legacy.

  But… maybe that was exactly the problem.

  “So is the description all I get or are you going to let me read it?” I asked, trying to pivot the conversation back to the vibe we’d had a moment ago, where he felt comfortable giving me… anything.

  To answer, he pushed the laptop in my direction, which made me hike a brow.

  “You… want me to read it right now? Like in front of you?”

  His eyes went wide, like he hadn’t realized what he was implying by pushing the computer at me. “I’d rather eat that sofa over there than sit here and watch you read my shit,” he laughed. “I… I’ll send it to you. What I have so far, that is.”

  “So far? Meaning… unfinished?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, that’s not the biggest deal I guess. How many episodes are you thinking? Would this be an ongoing series, with a bunch of seasons, or are you aiming for something more along the lines of a limited series?”

  His eyes closed again, both hands on his head this time, and he didn’t bother opening them to answer. “I like completion. And certainty. So… limited series. Ten episodes. That gives me seven more to land the plane,” he rationalized, opening his eyes now to meet my gaze. “I really fuck with the idea of… just telling a tight story, fleshing it all out, and being done. Getting it right and not fucking it up after trying to draw it out.”

  “Very wise of you,” I told him, nodding my agreement. “And I appreciate the decisiveness as well. But… it sounds to me like you’ve got some writing to do, so we can call it a day here, if you’d like. I know I’ve thrown a lot at you at once, so I understand if you need some time to process.”

  “Oh… I kinda thought you’d be around all day,” he spoke up, standing at the same time I did.

  I shrugged. “I could be, if you needed me here for something. Or we could break now and come back together later in the afternoon to iron some things out – I have a to-do list based on some of the things we’ve done already. I can tackle some of those and give you an update. And,” I added, “Hopefully this isn’t adding too much to think about, but don’t forget, my services aren’t limited to just the necessary work for the show. As I understand it, your home here in Vegas isn’t – or wasn’t – full time. So if you need help getting that in order, hiring staff, figuring out your favorite grocery store in the area… all that. It’s in my purview.”

  “So… if you’re spending all your time getting my shit together for me, when do you have time for your own?” he asked, catching me off guard.

  “Um… I have hours,” I explained. “Usually in a twelve-hour shift – five in the morning to five in the afternoon. But, if there’s some sort of urgent request, or last-minute thing, I do encourage my clients to feel comfortable reaching out, with the understanding that I may or may not be available. Like anyone else though, I arrange my personal life around my career.”

  He stared for a moment, then finally nodded. “I see. Well… I think I’m going to go with that first option you laid out – let’s call it done for today, so I can process all this.”

  Returning his nod, I moved to the cabinet to grab my bag. “Of course. We can meet at the same time tomo—”

  “Later. Please,” he said, making me laugh.

  “Okay. Later. Mid-morning?”

  He frowned. “What is that?”

  “Ten.”

  “Let’s say lunch. At my house… if that’s okay?”

  “We can work wherever you’re most comfortable,” I assured, backing toward the door. “I’ll get the details from you.”

  Like you don’t already have the address.

  “Okay. That sounds good.”

  “And… you’ll send me the scripts, right?”

  He blew out a sigh, pushing his hands in his pockets. “I… yes. I guess I have to, huh?”

  “Yes, you do,” I agreed, with my hand on the doorknob. “I’ll see you tomorrow, at noon sharp.”

  He tipped his head in acknowledgement, and I started to head out, only pausing when he spoke again.

  “Ay, Logan!”

  “Yes?” I asked, peeking my head back in the door.

  “I see the value, shorty.”

  Unbidden, a huge grin spread over my face, and I nodded.

  “Told you.”

  6

  Pierre

  INT, OFFICE, CASINO - DAYTIME

  * * *

  Jason is waiting – impeccably dressed, eyes on his watch, pacing. He can hear everything – his heartbeat, his blinks, the noise from the casino floor, even through the heavily insulated walls. He’s nervous, but focused. Resigned to what he needs to do. Glancing at his watch again, he suddenly stops pacing, squares his shoulders, and turns for the door.

  * * *

  JAMESON enters, fuming. Takes a moment to collect his words.

  * * *

  JAMESON

  What the fu
ck was that? Huh? You want me to trust you with—

  * * *

  JASON interrupts, losing all the cool he’s been building up in the time since they parted.

  * * *

  JASON

  I didn’t ask you to trust me with shit.

  * * *

  JAMESON

  Who the fuck are you talking to like that, boy?

  * * *

  JAMESON gets right in JASON’s face – chest to chest. JASON doesn’t back down. He looks his father right in the eyes, refusing to show any fear. JAMESON is disgusted.

  * * *

  JAMESON

  I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve gotta spend money trying to fix your mistake. Get your ass outta my casino.

  * * *

  JASON

  Gladly.

  * * *

  JASON wastes no time leaving the office.

  * * *

  POV CAMERA down the hall, to the private elevator. Doors open to wide shot from behind Jason as he crosses the casino floor to leave. TRACY enters from right, working through the crowd to get to JASON. Once she reaches him, she smiles, instantly shifting his energy.

  * * *

  TRACY

  You wanna tell me why you look like you just left the principal’s office?

  “Hey nigga, whatcha doin?”

  Goddamnit.

  Elodie’s sudden snatching of my headphones from my ears pulled me right out of the moment I was in. I was in a groove, blazing through the actual writing of ODS episodes I could already see in my head – a task made urgent by Logan’s efficiency.