Page 17 of All That Glitters
“Yup. And since you asked so enthusiastically, it’s called ‘The Frat.’ You’ll never guess what it’s about.”
“Wild guess here. A fraternity?”
“Yup. But not just any fraternity, Deb. A fraternity of vampires.”
She just looked at him. “Oh.”
“And by ‘oh,’ you mean, gee, that sounds super cool, Tony. Tell me about it.”
“You’re about to, aren’t you?”
He smiled and gave her a big nod. “Yup. And since you asked so enthusiastically again, it’s about a fraternity that promises you wealth and power and immortality. You know, kind of Faustian-themed. But the catch is, you lose your soul and need to kill people.”
She stopped at the base of the stairs and eyed him for a moment. “That actually sounds kind of cool. Where’d you get the idea to write a screenplay?”
“You remember my friend Jeff?”
“The one with esquire after his name?”
Tony chuckled as they climbed the flight of stairs to her apartment. “That’s his wishful thinking. I doubt he can stop chasing girls long enough to finish law school, but stranger things have happened.”
“Like Tony Harding sticking with his latest get-rich-quick scheme for over two days?”
“Exactly!” The slight was either missed on him, or he chose to ignore it. “Jeff showed me this article about a stripper who sold a screenplay, and now she’s killing it in Hollywood. And then I found this other article about a broke writer who was house-sitting for a friend when he came up with this idea for a horror script. He wrote it, sold it for six figures, and now he’s making millions writing movies and TV shows. That’s gonna be me, Deb.”
Debbie nodded, all of it making sense now. “Now I get it.”
“Get what?”
“This sudden manic energy and excitement. You get it every time you concoct a new get-rich-quick scheme.”
“Yeah. But this time it’s different. This time, I actually have a plan and five pages of notes.”
Debbie could only shake her head in amusement. She’d seen him like this too many times over the years; he’d get excited over one of his new schemes, then move on to something else a week later.
“This is the part where you ask me to read my five pages of notes,” he said.
“Is that what you deduced from my lack of a response?”
Debbie braced Gerald against her hip while she fished the key from her pocket and opened the door. They stepped inside and set her stuff on the floor of the small living room. The apartment was tiny but sunny, with big windows that faced the courtyard, letting in the California sun.
“Why, sure, Deb. I would be happy to email you my five pages of notes,” he said.
Debbie shook her head in amusement. “Go ahead and send me your pages,” she said, carrying her plant over to the kitchen faucet and pouring some cool water on it. “But if this ends up being like that Star Wars novel you started writing in eighth grade and gave up on after a week, I’m billing you.”
“First of all, that was Space Wars. And this is completely different.”
“Different how?”
“I’m much more mature now.”
Debbie snickered, waiting for the punchline.
“Okay,” he backpedaled. “Maybe a little more mature.”
“How about we just settle for older,” she said.
“Fine. Older. And I know how to type now. So, what do you think?”
