By Daniel Bruckheimer

PULLMAN

I put it into my shoulder bag along with a Moleskine and a pen.

Stacy was settled comfortably on the couch with a laptop in her lap and fresh coffee in her hand. She was scrolling through eBay. I watched her for a moment, admiringly.

She saw me and gestured to come out. I blushed like a schoolboy and came into the living room.

“Ready?”

“Yep.”

“Come here.” She cocked her head. I came closer; my knees touched the back of the couch. She said. “Closer.” I leaned on my elbow and looked her in the eyes. “Steady now.” She said. There were inches between our faces. She watched my eyes and then gave me a quick but passionate kiss. “Good luck, Danny.”

Once again I was left speechless. Words stuck in my throat. The Words. And the quiet little whisper was there again: I love you. Say it.

Shut up.

I winked and went out.

II

Dusk had finally settled, and the streetlights came to life. The evening smell was strong in the air, the smell of the hot pavement, trash and car fumes.

A taxi stopped as soon as I raised my hand, and I got in.

“Where to?” He looked at me in the mirror.

“You know where ‘The Warner’s Platinum’ is?”

He smiled, anticipating a big tip, probably. He said. “Everybody knows where The Platinum is, brother.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

He started off and a half hour later we reached The Platinum.

The cabbie let me out, and I left him with a good tip.

“Have a good evening, sir.” He smiled a fake smile, but even that was a rarity for a cabbie.

“Yeah.”

As I looked across the road I saw The Warners Platinum.A huge black party bus was blocking the view on the restaurant, which was curious. I could see that the area was lit with a couple of colored spotlights, which danced on the surface of the glass-and-metal building. The restaurant itself occupied the ground floor of the The Warner’s Platinum Hotel.

I crossed the street and squeezed between the party bus (muffled boom-boom-booms were escaping through the window leaf) and what I recognized as a vintage Jaguar XK.

The entrance, as expected, was rich. The canopy was huge and read THE WARNER’S PLATINUM. Beneath the canopy was a red carpet with silver stitching. Two doormen in identical silver monkey suits were guarding the glass doors (stupid hats included). Three men in black jackets were smoking in the corner. Somebody’s bodyguards, I guessed. They gave me a quick examining look and turned back to their conversation.

The two porters smiled as my intentions of entering became clear. I nodded a Hello, which was returned, and stepped through the doors they’d opened before me.

The interior was as plush as it gets in a five-star hotel restaurant. There were crystal chandeliers everywhere, a lot of light and whites and ivory. Most guests were wearing suits or evening dresses. You get the idea.

Upon entering I was approached by a stunning long-legged blonde hostess. Her smile was that of a Hollywood actress. She was holding a clipboard in one hand and a shiny fountain pen in the other.

“Good evening, sir!” Her voice was soft but fruit, her smile glowed. She saw me looking around and asked. “Is anyone waiting for you, sir?”

“I believe they are. Is Mr. de Puire around?”

She took a quick look at the clipboard and gave me a nod. “Follow me, sir.”

She led me past tables, mostly occupied by people too busy drinking to take any notice of us, to the corner of the room. There, accompanied by a girl who bore a close resemblance to the hostess, sat Gabe de Puire. He was quite busy too, sucking on the blonde’s neck. She laughed coquettishly and sipped champagne.

When the hostess left and I settled opposite them, the girl elbowed Gabriel lightly, which finally distracted him. He looked at me, at first blankly, and then it hit him and he smiled broadly, showing his perfect white teeth.

He rose and stretched out his hand. “There he is!” Then, talking to the girl but still looking at me. “This here, Jenny, is the dearest of all my friends, Daniel Bruckheimer!” Sitting down. “Remember this name, honey, you’ll be hearing it again soon enough. Go now, sit with the girls.”

Jenny gave me a seductive wink, finished her champagne and stepped from the table. I found it amusing how every man’s glance (mine included) trailed her shaking hips. She joined her girlfriends, all of equal beauty, and got herself a fresh glass of bubbly.

We regarded the girls for a minute longer and then Gabriel turned to me. His slick black hair was pomaded to one side giving him a smug appearance; his complacent smile only added to that. He was wearing a light blue polo with cocked up collar, which created a perfect image of your garden-variety asshole. The shiny golden Rolex on his wrist helped, too. But he was a friend, nonetheless, and a very useful friend, indeed.

He said. “Danny, it is fucking great to finally see you after… how many years?”

“Three, I believe.” I helped myself to the last bits of champagne. Gabe made a circular motion with his forefinger in the air and a moment later a fresh bottle was resting in the ice bucket.

“Three years, holy fuck, man!” He saluted me with his glass and dried it in one gulp. I could tell it wasn’t his first or that evening. Or fifth. “How you’ve been, my man?”

His manner of speech was getting annoying already, but I put on a friendly smile and told him all about how I had been. He tried his best to pretend he was listening. He nodded a lot, laughed and displayed other emotions. I, in turn, pretended not to notice. Frankly I didn’t give a shit. I wanted to get down to business.

After I’d finished my story, Gabe started telling his. It wasn’t diverse. It sounded like a list of “model chicks” he had fucked and a list of places where it had happened and a list of drugs that had come along with each act. I too smiled and laughed and offered my superfluous thoughts.

We drank some more champagne and smoked a couple of cigs each.

I asked. “So, Gabe-“ He lit what looked like a joint to me. I disregarded that. “Are your folks gonna swing by?”

I’d sent him an e-mail before coming to NY, and he told me then that I’d better talk to his folks about any movie business. Seeing him now, I thought that was my only shot.

He inhaled deep, held his breath and puffed out a cloud of funny smelling smoke. “Fuck if I know, dude. Maxime was going to, I think.” He pronounced his father’s name as Muck-sim, in a French manner. He’s claimed to be of French origin, but I’m sure that was bullshit. His father, Maxime de Puire was the head of Silk Pictures, the movie-oriented branch of Silk Productions. That worked for me.

He offered me a half-smoked joint with a conspiratorial smile, but I declined. Instead I poured myself more champagne.

“Your loss.” He shrugged and drew.

One of his girls (because that, I’m sure, was what they were) came along and whispered something in his ear. He smiled and passed her a steel cigarette case, surely full of pot joints.

Once she’d left he spoke loudly. “Wait for me outside girls, I’ll be with you in a sec.” He then smiled at me again. “So, here we go.” Before I could say anything, he called over the waitress. “Abby, honey, come here a minute!”

People turned heads, irritated, to look at the troublemaker. Gabriel smiled at them a fuck-y’all smile and waved and sent them kisses as if they were his fans, eager to get a piece of him. Ladies and gentlemen were shaking their heads and I sipped my champagne in hope not to be thought of as Gabe’s accomplice. In the end I was getting as much attention as he was.

Abby came over, practically begging Mr. de Puire to be quiet, which he, surprisingly, did. But from there things went worse.

“How may I help you, sir?” The waitress asked.

“Say, Abby, honey, do you have any cream in this fine establishment?”

“I believe we do, sir.”

“Excellent! Now, Abby, do you also happen to have any bananas?”

She hesitated for a moment, and then answered. “I believe we do have bananas, sir.”

“Excellent! Please, get Mr. Bruckheimer and myself those wonderful products as quick as possible, thank you.”

She stood there puzzled once again then asked timidly. “Would you like the bananas peeled, sir?”

Gabe’s smile broadened. “Of course. Also, bring the cream in a bowl.”

“Em… as you wish, sir.”

She disappeared quickly exchanging a word with the hostess on her way to the kitchen. The hostess smiled professionally and said something into a small radio he kept at her station. I couldn’t hear the words, but I’m pretty sure her lips said Stand by.

I sat quietly, watching Gabriel. He’d disappeared under the tablecloth and was looking for something in his bag. I took a sip of champagne. People around us seemed to have lost any interest and resumed their drinking and talking, which I was happy about.

Abby brought our order: a glass bowl half-filled with cream and a plate with three peeled bananas on it.

“Here you go, sir. Enjoy.” At that she hurried away.

With a buzzing sound Gabriel reappeared from under the table. In his left hand he was holding a small wireless drill with a mixer whip attached to it. His smile was crazy and his eyes were crazier. I shivered. I remembered there had been something off about him when we went to UCLA, but now I saw the guy was simply fucked in the head.

He broke each banana in half and put them in the bowl. His crazy glance met mine. “Let’s make ourselves some motherfucking cocktails!”

With that he pressed the drill’s trigger and sank the whip into the bowl. The cream splashed all around him, leaving white stains on his polo and his face. I turned around with, I’m sure of it, panic in my eyes. I saw the hostess commanding something into her radio and a couple of guys in black suits entering the room. They moved swiftly and were at our table in no time. Gabriel continued his mad mixing.

No one paid attention to me as I stepped away from the table and headed toward the exit. Behind me there was shouting and cursing.

III

One of the two doormen held the door for me, and I stepped into the street.

“Would you like a cigarette, sir?” The second doorman offered me an opened pack.

I gladly accepted the offer and he lit it for me with a match.

“Thanks.” I handed him a couple of folded ones I had in my pocket.

I stood there genuinely disappointed. The evening was ruined and my trip turned out to be pointless. I puffed on the cig and watched the cars pass buy. I didn’t think of it at the time, but now I find it weird there was no press anywhere around.

After a while the doors opened and the two security guys escorted Gabriel out and to his party bus. The bus door was already opened (club music roaring inside) and two half-naked chicks waved their hands at Gabe, who waved back. He was covered in banana cream, and the dirty drill-mixer was sticking out of the bag one of the bouncers was holding.

“Fuck off already, guys!” Gabriel protested. “Scram!” He shrugged them off and they were happy enough to leave him alone and go back inside to wash up (both of them had cream on their jackets).

Gabe threw his bag to one of the girls and turned around. He shouted. “See you around, dude!” He raised his hands in the air. “Wooohooo! Fuck you too, Platinum!” He disappeared into the bus. A minute later it was gone.

I heard a voice from behind. “Care for another one?”

Some guy stood beside me, offering me his pack of Marlboro lights. He looked to be a couple of years younger than me, nineteen maybe. His white shirt was untucked

“How old are you?” I asked, taking a smoke from him.

“Does it matter?” He said, taking one himself.

“I guess not.” He lit for me.

“Gabriel’s a junkie, but he can be funny. Right?” A faint smile was on his face.

“It wasn’t the first time?” I was little surprised.

“Far from it. He’s crazy, all right. Keeps things interesting.” He blew a string of smoke.

It hit me just then. You always think you’d recognize a celebrity if you saw one in the street, but the truth is, up close people look very different from their pictures. I asked. “Lester, is it?”

“A bit slow, but good under the circumstances. Good night, Daniel.” He smiled and threw the stub in the general direction of the nearest trash bin. It bounced off, landed on the red carpet and one of the doormen kicked it aside.

Lester Warner was famous, all right. He was the youngest billionaire in the world, no less, and the richest of them, as well.

As he went through the doors, he said. “Looking good here, guys.”

The doorman who’d offered me a smoke answered. “Mr. Warner.” And opened the door for him.

IV

There’d been a free space in front of the hotel entrance since the party bus left. Now, as I was finishing my second cigarette, a white Towncar limo occupied it.

The driver got out, quickly made it to the rear door and opened it. A man stepped out. He was wearing a black trench coat and varnished black shoes. His thick black hair was going grey, but his face somehow looked young. It was impossible not to recognize that face – that was probably how Gabe’s face would look like in twenty years or so. Maybe sooner, given his lifestyle.

As the man started on the red carped, I threw away my smoke and waved at him.

“Mr. de Puire?”

He was surprised to hear his name and gave me what I thought was a haughty look, but then he smiled and that smile told me he wasn’t that much of a douche after all. He waved back and came closer.

“Mr. Bruckheimer, I take it?” He shook my hand.

“That’s me. You want to go inside?”

“That would be nice.”

Once again that evening I went through The Warner’s Platinum front doors.

The same hostess met us at the restaurant entrance and offered to take Maxime’s coat. He said it was okay and she took us to our table. As she turned to leave us to it, she gave me a look. I’m still not sure what it said, though.

Maxime thumbed through the menu and when the waitress (not Abby, but Emily this time) came over he ordered a steak with green peas and a glass of red.

“Make that a bottle?” I said and offered him a thin smile.

He nodded in agreement. Emily wrote it down in a small notepad.

“Would that be all?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She smiled and took the menus away.

Maxime asked. “So, since Gabriel’s not present, I imagine it didn’t go too well?” He smiled a sad smile. Obviously such behavior of his son wasn’t news to him.

I shrugged. “Could have gone worse, I suppose.”

“Oh, but it would have gone better was I to arrive earlier.”

“I’m pretty sure it would have.”

“You know, Gabe’s not the Son of the Year, but he’s not stupid.” That was interesting. “I trust his judgment in certain regards.”

“Okay.” I said, unsure.

“For example, he tells me you are a nice chap.” I smiled at that. “Talented, too. Is that so?”

“I believe it is, sir.”

Now he was smiling. “Please, call me Max.” No fake French accent.

“You can call me Danny then.”

“Agreed. Well, Danny, here I am. Would you prefer to eat first or do you want to get down to it?”

“I haven’t ordered anything anyway.” I got the manuscript from my bag. “Here.”

He took the papers, leafed though them briefly, pausing every now and then to read. He smiled at something. Then he closed it and put it on the table.

“Tell me, Danny, is it any good?”

I was a little confused, but not lost. I said. “I think it’s plenty good.” Then I added. “Max.”

“Well then. I like the style. The formatting is a bit limp, but that’s of little importance now. I’ll pass it on to my wife for confirmation. You know, she loves that story.”

“I can imagine! So do I.”

The wine arrived, and Emily poured us each a glass.

“So?” I said, raising mine.

“It’s done. We’ll take a look at it asap.”

The glasses clinked. The wine was delicious.

“Now, Danny, normally, I don’t discuss money until the screenplay is approved, but seeing as how you’re a friend…”

“Yeah?” This came out abrupt, but only because I was too excited to keep silent. My first fucking screenplay was about to be fucking sold! How cool was that?

Maxime nodded at my eagerness. “The usual tariff for newcomers is twenty grand- ” Twenty fucking grand! Could you believe that? I know I couldn’t. “-but, connections work wonders nowadays, don’t they?” He gave me a wink and I smiled back. “I’ll give you thirty, how is that?”

Fucking awesome, that’s how! Instead I said, trying to contain. “It is splendid, Max! Dreams do come true.”

“They do, indeed.”

We clanked again and drank some more.

Max’s steak arrived and he ate it greedily as I finished the wine.

Once we were done Maxime asked Emily for the bill. Instead, she came three minutes later with with a bottle of Malbec.

“Courtesy of Mr. Warner.” She smiled.

Both Max and I searched for Lester Warner and when our eyes found him, Lester saluted us with a glass of his own.

Maxime gave him a grateful nod. I did, too.

“Send him our thanks, Emily.”

“Will do, sir.”

When she left, Maxime grabbed his coat and the screenplay and I followed him out, holding the wine bottle.

The hostess gave me a glad smile as we passed her. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

The doormen said the same as we strolled toward Maxime’s limo.

The driver opened the rear door before him.

As he turned to me, I held out my hand. He shook it and asked. “You need a ride home, Danny?”

“I can’t refuse.”

“Good choice!”

I recited Stacy’s address to the driver as we got in.

V

The following twenty minutes we spent making small talk of all kinds. As the limo stopped in front of Stacy’s building, Max asked me. “It was a pleasure, Danny, really.”

“Likewise, sir.”

He laughed. “Enough with that already! See you next week?”

“Em… Sure, yeah. What’s next week?”

He laughed again. “A party at our Hamptons house! Didn’t Gabriel mention it?”

“Not really.”

“How rude of him… Anyway, you’re welcome, Daniel.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you there.”

We shook hands once again and I stepped out.

Stacy was waiting for me in the living room, watching TV and drinking tea.

I tried to hide my excitement, but when I saw her green eyes and the anxious look, I couldn’t do it. I showed her the wine.

She squinted. “One bottle of wine, zero pages of the screenplay. Tell me we’re having a celebration!” She held her breath.

I smiled so wide my face hurt. Stacy let out a short cry of delight and jumped to her feet. She hugged me and gave me an indefinite number of kisses.

“God, Danny, you don’t know how happy I am for you!”

“Tell me about it, I’m still in shock!”

She started jumping, smiling and laughing. I threw the bottle on the couch and joined her.

Her arms were around my neck and at some point, hardly aware of what we were doing, we merged in the sweetest kiss. I shook off my shoes and we stepped into her bedroom.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-29