Everything Sucks #4, The Twist

Everything Sucks

  Short Story #4

  The Twist

  Written by R. Smith

  Edited by Shawn M. Greenleaf

  Cover & Design by Savage1Studio

  Copyright © 2013 R. Smith

  All rights reserved

  Books and Series by R. Smith

  Pop Culture Sucks, Manifesto Of A Vampire

  Everything Sucks Series

  Knights Of Albion (coming soon!)

  The Twist

  Real pitch meetings didn't happen in five star restaurants. Nah. That kinda fancy shit was for Wall Street dick weasels. Real pitch meetings happened in tiny, stuffy offices, stacked to the ceiling with towers of shoddy, half assed scripts, fast food wrappers littering the floor like greasy shrapnel (because busy people tend to toss without looking), and to top it off they always (and I mean always) reeked of stale coffee and the even staler guys who chug it.

  You had to really love movies to stick in the business and not burn out--or dope out. Man, if Jon had a nickel for every colleague he'd seen buried in an avalanche of pills or powder, he could buy every whore in D.C.--the street ones and the ones in suits.

  Jon's office was (what passed for) fancy in the world of studio script scouts. It had a window. And a couch. The couch was so old, Jon figured the previous owner was probably Jesus. But he had a couch. Why complain about luxury?

  He'd finally found a script with a hint of potential from the heap of schmaltz, rip offs, and pretention; so he called his producer buddy Al to come spitball it around, make sure the thing could pass studio muster.

  Al rapped a knuckle on the open door and strode into the paper wasteland with familial comfort.

  "How's my favorite ape today?" asked Jon as Al parked his freakishly hairy ass on the couch (not that Jon had ever seen his ass, he was just guessing based on the parts he could see; "ape" was not a randomly chosen moniker in this case.)

  Al grunted. "I’ve got two teenagers and my dog's has a weird blister thing on his ass that needs ointment twice a day, what do you think?"

  Jon shrugged. "Sell 'em all."

  The hollow-chested laugh of a long time smoker rolled out of Al's mouth. "Find me a buyer!"

  "Speaking of buying . . ."

  Al leaned forward and rubbed his meaty hands together. "Okay, shop talk. Let's hear it."

  Jon leaned back, drummed his pen on the chosen script, and chewed the corner of his lower lip. He'd been looking forward to this all week. He wanted to savor the moment.

  "Well? Spit it out!" Al yelled. He hated suspense.

  "You're gonna love this." said Jon, teasingly.

  "Can't love it till I hear it!"

  The grin grew to face-eating proportions. "What do you think of when I say . . ." (one last pause for effect) "Detective Hank and the Black Widow?"

  "No fuckin' way!" Al leapt off the couch, throwing hands in the air as he rose.

  Jon grinned, savoring his golden moment.

  Al gushed on. "Oh man, I ate those books for breakfast, lunch, and dinner when I was . . . oh, musta been about fourteen or fifteen. Oh, wow, I am old!"

  Jon threw back his head and let out the triumphant holler he'd been waiting all day to enjoy. "I knew I had you figured right! Man, Haggerty was king of the pulps, wasn't he?"

  Al nodded. "Damn right! Martin J. Haggerty was tops, no one else came close. Shit, I can't believe someone in 19 friggin' 81 wrote a Detective Hank movie!"

  "I know!" Jon shouted, unable to suppress the slobbering fanboy within.

  Al returned to the couch, practically panting with excitement. He didn't outright hate most of the projects he attached himself to, but it was rare he ever found one he wanted to really sink his producer claws into. Find the money, assemble a team, and move on was his typical involvement. "So the script is a winner?"

  "Oh god no!" Jon said as he picked up the script and unceremoniously dropped it. "No, this script is awful, my cat could crap a better one, I'm interested in the idea. I figure we call . . ." he squinted at the name typed under the title. "Montgomery Sheldon--what an awful pen name--we butter him up, get him to sign over the rights, and kick it to the best script doctor we know of. With a set of guidelines, of course."

  "Strict guidelines!" Al interjected.

  Jon fixed Al with a serious gaze, and replied with the sincerity of a Minister, "I promise, I will protect Detective Hank with my life."

  "You're a god among mice, Jon. Mice." A moment of silence passed. "So who do we like for the cast?"

  Jon shrugged. "Not my department. I just truffle pig the scripts."

  "I'm bringin' ya in, buddy."

  "Can you do that? I thought producers just wrangled investors and yelled at directors."

  Al's mouth puckered and his nostrils flared. "I am shocked, shocked that someone on my staff told you what I do!"

  Jon smiled. Not everyone got Al at first glance. Between the body hair and the rumbling voice, he sort of came off like a folk tale creature. The kind that destroyed quaint villages and ate townspeople.

  "Sure," Al continued, "I'm usually the money wrangling hard ass who makes directors cry when I tell them 'No I will not sign off on sending a B Unit to the Grand Canyon just for a twenty second special shot, that's what stock footage is for!' But technically I can request a more active role."

  How can anyone not like this guy? Thought Jon. "You think they'll give it to you?"

  It's strange getting a look of utter contempt from an ape. "Jon. The first ever Haggerty picture. First. Ever. I'm going to make sure I'm involved from top to bottom, I don't care if I gotta blow the director every day for a month."

  Jon forced himself to keep a serious expression. "Your dedication is inspiring."

  Al shrugged casually. "Pure work ethic."

  "Y'know we could shop for a Lady Director if it'd make you a more comfortable whore."

  "Name two you've even heard of."

  Jon almost started scolding, but Al headed him off at the pass. "Hey, I didn't build Hollywood, it is what it is, and we've gotten off topic. Detective Hank. Who do we like for Hank?"

  Both men grappled with the question as though lives could be lost if they got it wrong.

  "Harrison Ford?"

  Al waved off the suggestion. "He's busy."

  "Really? What project?"

  "I have no idea Jon, he's Harrison fucking Ford, what are the odds he's not signed on to something? Come on! Keep thinking!"

  Jon sighed. "Well . . . I could see Paccino really liking the role. Y'know, sorta self aware, outrageous crime caper sexcapade. But if the studio demands more of a square-jaw type hero, then Chris Reeve could probably pull it off. Oh, before I forget, I want Alan Alda for the D.A.. Not the sharp one, the boob."

  The ape slapped his knee and howled. "Genius!"

  "With a big name on lead man, do you think the studio would let us cast an unknown for the Black Widow? I think it would add to her mystery if the audience didn't know her."

  Al mulled it over. "Yeeeeaaaah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I can sell that."

  "Especially if Operation Blow Job pans out."

  "Absolutely. So as far as the big Good Guy players, we're down to Marcus." He drew a long breath and let it out, troubled. "How do we handle him? Butch him up, or cut his character all together? I can tell you right now the studio will fight us if we wanna leave the subtext in."

  Jon remained silent.

  "You did catch the--"

  "Not the first time I read 'em as a kid--well, teen--back in the fifties, but when I moved outta my old place, I found a bunch of 'em in a box with, y'know, old records and shit, and Holy Big Gay Sidekick, Batman!"

  Al frowned. "When did you move?" />
  "Seventy six."

  "Yeah," Al sighed heavily. "Nobody caught onto the faggy stuff when we were kids, directors and screenwriters could pack their pictures with a dozen kinds of innuendo and ptchew!" Al swiped his hand over his head. "Like it wasn't even there."

  Jon nodded in agreement. "It still kills me how anyone could miss it in Ben Hur, especially the one scene."

  "Which is the crux of our problem." Al said with a shrug. "Haggerty had the advantage of a clueless audience. We don't." He paused, and his next words were tinged with regret. "I think we gotta cut him, Jon."

  "No."

  Al rubbed his eyes and groaned, not eager for a long, pointless discussion. "Look, I don't wanna do it, but if we want to sell tickets, we can't--"

  "Al, we'd have to restructure a ton of shit to get rid of him!" He ticked off points on his fingers as he went. "First off, Marcus is the one who warns Detective Hank about the car bomb, second, he lets those gangsters beat on him so Hank has time to search their apartments--I mean they thrashed him, Al, it takes him half the book to recover--and he's the one who rats out Big Smiley at the end of book two!"

  "Oh yeah!" Al exclaimed. "I loved that! All through the first book you're thinking, 'why doesn't he rat out Smiley, why doesn't he rat out