Page 39 of All That Glitters
She nodded. “You’d be surprised how many people come up with the same corny ideas.”
“What about a fraternity of vampires?”
She studied him for a moment. “That’s actually not bad. Is it a comedy?”
“A horror comedy.”
Just then, her intercom buzzed, and Neil’s voice filled the air. “Amy, can I see you for a minute? I need help crafting a diplomatic email to a client who thinks he’s Hemingway but writes like a concussed orangutan.”
“Be right there, Neil,” she said into the speaker. She looked up at Tony. “Sorry. Duty calls.”
She slid from her chair and headed down the hallway, leaving Tony alone at the reception desk with his failed bribe. So much for Plan D.
He was about to pull the plug on this idea when he noticed a stack of papers behind the counter. They were pristine cover sheets, each one bearing the official ‘Starving Artists Agency’ logo. An idea sparked. A much better, much more devious idea.
He looked down the hall to make sure no one was watching, then quickly grabbed a thick stack of cover sheets, set his screenplay and pizza on the counter, then hurried off with a solid idea for Plan E.
Chapter sixteen
Friends Don't Let Friends Dial Drunk
Debbie and Veronica spilled in through the door of their apartment, a giggling, stumbling mess, clinging to each other for balance. They’d spent the evening butchering Buffet and Beach Boys songs in rounds of karaoke at the beachside dive-bar aptly named ‘Margaritaville.’ Debbie still clutched the half-empty bottle of tequila they’d picked up on the Uber ride home.
“Could you believe that guy?” Veronica giggled, collapsing onto a chair and kicking off her shoes. “‘After you, Miss Campbell.’”
Debbie staggered after her, mimicking a different, equally smarmy voice. “‘No, please. After you, Miss Hamlin. I insist’.” She attempted a bow and nearly toppled headfirst into the coffee table.
They both burst into a fresh wave of laughter, the kind that makes your ribs hurt. Debbie plopped onto the couch and took a long, brave swig directly from the tequila bottle. She shuddered,grimacing as though she’d just swallowed lighter fluid. “Gross. Why do we drink this stuff?”
“Because you’re too chicken to ask out Tony when you’re sober,” Veronica said. She snagged the bottle from Debbie’s hand and took her own swig.
“I should just do it, shouldn’t I?” Debbie said, feeling a sudden surge of liquid courage. “Just call him up right now and say…” She paused, her mind drawing a fuzzy blank. “Feel free to fill in the blank.”
“Tell him you wanna have his babies,” Veronica suggested, then cracked up so hard she nearly fell out of her chair. “No, wait! Wait! You should do that cigarette thing again. Where you spit out the crumbs and then burn his place down.” She wiped away tears of laughter. “Men love women who can commit arson. It’s science.”
Debbie ignored her. She rose unsteadily to her feet and staggered over to the phone. “I’ll think of something.” She picked up the receiver and stared at it for a long moment. “What’s his number again?”
“You don’t know your own future husband’s number?” Veronica gasped in mock horror. “For shame!”
“I think those brain cells died after the second drink,” Debbie muttered.
“It’s on the fridge. Under ‘ICE’ — In Case of Emergency.”
“You put Tony as my emergency contact?”
“Well, yeah,” Veronica shrugged. “He’s the only one who knows how to talk you down when you get all worked up about stuff. Remember when that squirrel got into our apartment and you climbed on top of the refrigerator? Tony was the one who got you down.”
“That squirrel had teeth the size of ice picks,” Debbie muttered, swaying slightly as she made her way to therefrigerator. She squinted at the list of numbers, her finger tracing down until she found Tony’s. “Got it.”
She returned to the phone and picked it up. “Dialing now. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, girl,” Veronica cheered her on from her sprawled position in the armchair. “You show him what a sophisticated drunk I’ve made you. And try not to burp.”
And with that, Debbie began dialing...
Morning sunlight, painfully bright, streamed through the blinds, illuminating the carnage of the night before. Empty chip bags and a half-eaten pizza decorated the coffee table. Two lime wedges had somehow become stuck to the ceiling. The tequila bottle lay on its side, mercifully empty.
Debbie lay passed out on the couch, the phone still clutched in her hand. Veronica was asleep in the armchair, curled up in a position that would guarantee neck pain for days.
