Page 68 of All That Glitters
“Hey,” he replied, and then looked down. A small, scruffy terrier mix with mismatched ears was dancing around his ankles, tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggled. “Who’s this?”
“That’s Buster,” Carrie said, scooping the dog into her arms. Buster immediately started licking her chin with wild affection. “He found me on the beach a few months ago. Or I found him. We’re still negotiating the details.”
The sight was so unexpectedly endearing it caught Tony completely off guard. Carrie Thompson, queen of the explosive sequel, cuddling a scruffy stray.
“He seems to like you,” Tony said, reaching out to scratch Buster behind his floppy ear.
“He’s a terrible judge of character,” she said with a laugh, setting the dog down. “Come on in. I hope you’re hungry. I got Thai.”
Her apartment was modest but bright, with large windows that let in the salty ocean air. The furniture was comfortable but not flashy, a plush blue sofa, a bookshelf overflowing with well-read paperbacks, and framed prints of abstract ocean scenes on the walls. It was the apartment of a person, not a personality. Plastic bags of takeout and a six-pack of beer sat on the coffee table.
“This is really nice,” Tony said, genuinely.
“It’s not the Hollywood Hills, but the rent is decent, and I can walk to the water,” she said, handing him a beer. “Priorities.”
They settled on the floor, leaning against the sofa as they opened cartons of Pad Thai and Panang curry. For a few minutes, they just ate, the easy silence feeling comfortable and unforced.
“Okay,” Carrie said finally, wiping her mouth with a napkin. She pointed to a neat stack of papers on the coffee table. “I printed out some ideas I had. They’re probably terrible, but I figured it’s a place to start.”
Tony picked up the stack. He was expecting loglines about alien invasions or vampire cheerleaders. Instead, he found detailed character sketches and story concepts. One was about a disgraced political strategist trying to make amends. Another was about a wedding planner whose own life was a complete disaster. They were smart. They had heart.
“Carrie, these are great. Like, really great.”
She visibly relaxed, a wave of relief washing over her face. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”
“No. They’re awesome. This one,” he tapped a page, “The Monaco Job. That’s a movie I would kill to see.”
A real, radiant smile broke across her face. “Okay, good. Your turn. Hit me.”
Tony hesitated. “Mine are more… high-concept, I guess.” He pitched a few, including the one about the astrophysicist on the space station and the time-looping physicist.
She listened intently, her expression thoughtful. When he was done, she nodded slowly. “See? This is why I wanted to work with you.”
“Because I have weird ideas about time travel?”
“No,” she said, leaning forward earnestly. “Because even in your high-concept stuff, you’re focused on the person. The astrophysicist isn’t just solving a mystery; she’s dealing with grief. The physicist isn’t just stopping a bomb; she’s grappling with her own sanity. You write people, not just plot points. As an actor, that’s everything. It’s what I want to do. It’s what I’ve never gotten to do.”
Her honesty was a gut punch. Tony looked from the script ideas to the woman sitting across from him, and for the first time, he felt like he was seeing the real Carrie Thompson.
“I vote we make ‘The Monaco Job’ our first project,” he said, picking up a page of hers he’d laid aside. He read aloud the one-page treatment. “The Monaco Job. An espionage thriller about a spy who has to go undercover as a ‘bimbo’ to catch an arms dealer?” He then paused after that last sentence and looked at her. “You don’t think that’s a little too on the nose?”
She shook her head. “I think it’s perfect. It’s taking what everyone thinks I am and turning it on its head. She’s playing a part, but she’s secretly the smartest, most dangerous person inthe room.” Her excitement was palpable. “I think we could have a lot of fun with that.”
Tony’s mind started racing, connecting the dots. “She could use people’s low expectations of her as her greatest weapon…”
“Yes! And the whole time, she’s wrestling with the fact that she’s better at being a spy than she ever was at having a real life…”
“And the arms dealer she’s targeting… he’s the only one who sees through the act and treats her like she’s intelligent.”
“Tony, this is it,” Carrie said, her eyes wide with creative fire. “This is the one.”
A shared energy sparked between them, the thrilling, electric hum of a story coming to life. They abandoned their food, grabbing notebooks and pens, and started scribbling furiously, a whirlwind of ideas, dialogue, and plot twists filling the small living room.
There was a knock at the door of Debbie’s apartment. It was sharp, and just obnoxious enough to be annoying. Veronica looked over from the couch, where she was comfortably sprawled out eating chips and watching a reality show about raising fish.
The obnoxious knock came again. Someone obviously had a death wish.
Veronica grabbed the bag of chips and grudgingly headed over to the door. She opened it to find Jeff standing outside.
