Page 15 of All That Glitters
Carrie’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “Would you settle for finding a new client?”
Point taken. Eli returned to his stack of screenplays with renewed urgency, flipping through them like someone searching for buried treasure in a landfill. Most were variations on themes he’d seen a thousand times — horror movies with busty co-eds, action films with interchangeable heroes, romantic comedies about people who probably shouldn’t be allowed to make major life decisions.
Then his hand stopped on one. A script with a cover page that looked marginally more professional than the usual submissions. He pulled it from the pile and glanced at the title.
“Got just the one for you,” he said, though his voice carried more hope than confidence.
Reading that gossip magazine article had really gotten Tony’s thoughts spinning. Compared to his other, admittedly boring get-rich-quick schemes of camper shells, calendars, and crypto, this one came with fame, fortune, mansion parties, yachts, premieres, and gorgeous starlets. It was a no-brainer; he had to do this.
That evening, Tony sat at his kitchen table, his laptop’s browser opened to photo galleries of stunning Hollywood Hills homes, places with infinity pools that seemed to spill into the canyons below, home theaters that looked nicer than the multiplex he could barely afford tickets to, and garages filled with cars that cost more than a four-year degree.
Another search had turned up photos of yachts in Marina del Rey, where beautiful people lounged on decks in designer swimwear, soaking in the afternoon sun.
Another page of search results showed images of red-carpet premieres. The entire world watched as celebrities and power players smiled and waved to adoring fans.
And of course, no search would be complete without the hot young starlets. This search led him down a rabbit hole of celebrity blogs and paparazzi sites, where beautiful women seemed to exist in a perpetual state of sun-drenched glamor. He clicked through picture after picture, and was surprised to see how many photos of Carrie Thompson were out there. The girl seemed to love cameras as much as they loved her.
What had started several hours earlier out of curiosity had snowballed into a full-blown obsession. Jeff was right, this kind of lifestyle definitely wouldn’t suck; especially when the alternative was a ridiculous cell phone costume, lying in a sad heap on the floor.
He read and re-read the article in the gossip magazine about the stripper who had sold her screenplay, and still couldn’t believe how easy it sounded — a hundred and twenty-page screenplay could open the door to all of this.
It was time to stop browsing through photos and figure out how to do this. He opened a new browser window, his fingers flying across the keyboard now in search of how to write a screenplay.
The search results came back with a ton of links to books, courses, videos, and software, all promising the secret formula. He clicked on the first one, an article titled “Screenwriting Made Easy.” He read it, then another,‘The 10-Step Guide to Selling Your First Script.’He watched back-to-back YouTube videos where screenwriting gurus broke it down into easy steps that even a college graduate could understand.
Then he stumbled upon an article in an online trade magazine, buried three pages deep in a search result. The headline grabbed him:‘From House Sitter to Hollywood Power Player.’
The story was the stuff of legend. A destitute writer, down to his last twenty dollars, was house-sitting for a friend in the Hollywood hills. He was alone, broke, and desperate. Inspiredby the creaks and groans of the old house at night, he’d channeled his fear and frustration into a low-budget horror script. He wrote it over a single weekend, and a week later, it sold in a bidding war for six figures. Now, the article explained, the writer was a multimillionaire, producing movies and creating his own TV shows.
Tony sat back and cracked his knuckles. The story hit him like a lightning bolt. It was a sign. This was it. This was not just possible; it was his destiny.
He looked over at the cell phone costume slumped in the corner, and that was all the motivation he needed to get started.
He minimized the browser windows, opened a blank document, and stared at the blinking cursor.Horror. The article had said it was the genre of opportunity. It was cheap to make and always in demand. He just needed an idea.
He thought about his own life, the only material he had to draw from. College. The parties, the camaraderie. He thought about the hushed secrecy of fraternity initiations, the promises of lifelong brotherhood. A fraternity. But what if the brotherhood wasn’t just for life?
His fingers began moving across the keyboard, slowly at first, then with gathering speed.
What if the pledges weren’t just for a semester?
What if they were for eternity?
He typed a title at the top of the page, the word becoming a sudden, brilliant promise.
The Frat.
Chapter six
The Easiest Move Ever
Debbie’s new apartment complex was a winding maze of two-story stucco buildings, painted the color of faded coral. She breathed deeply of the cool ocean air as she climbed from her car. The temperature had already reached one hundred when she left Phoenix just six hours earlier; and here in San Diego, it couldn’t be over seventy. She looked around the parking lot, and her face broke into a smile when she spotted Tony standing outside his truck, a cup of coffee in each hand. It already felt like home.
“Hey,” he said with a bright smile as he walked over and handed her one of the coffees before wrapping her in a hug. “You look like someone who just escaped a furnace.”
“Would you believe it was already a hundred when I left?” she said as they released each other.
He nodded. “Why do you think I never go home, except for Christmas.”
