Chương 9: The Assumptive Close (10/15/1979)

DATE: Monday, October 15, 1979 LOCATION: Interstate 5, Northbound LOCAL TIME: 08: 00 AM PST The 1979 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz was a land yacht painted in "Firemist Gold." It had an 8-track player, plush pillow-top seats, and a hood that stretched out like the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. Jack Moore drove it with one finger on the wheel, a lit Merit 100 in his other hand.

"You're sweating, Doug," Jack said, glancing at his nephew.

"I'm not sweating," Doug lied. He wore his best suit—a beige corduroy number that trapped the Southern California heat like a greenhouse. He clutched a leather briefcase containing the only copy of The Mermaid (they had decided Splash was a marketing title for later; right now, it was The Mermaid from Cape Cod).

"You're sweating," Jack repeated.

"Don't sweat. It smells like desperation. Producers can smell fear, just like dogs and loan sharks."

"Jack, we don't have an appointment," Doug said, looking out at the smog-choked sprawl of Los Angeles.

"We're driving to Paramount Studios without a pass."

"We don't need a pass," Jack said, tapping the steering wheel.

"We have a Cadillac." Jack was running the "Assumptive Close." You don't ask for permission to enter the room; you act like you own the building and are incredibly annoyed that the keys aren't working. LOCATION: Paramount Studios | Melrose Gate, Los Angeles LOCAL TIME: 11: 15 AM PST The guard at the gate was bored. He held a clipboard like a shield.

"Name?" he asked, not looking up. Jack rolled down the window. The air conditioning blasted out, carrying the scent of new leather and absolute confidence.

"Jack Moore," he said.

"Here to see Solly." The guard frowned, checking the list.

"Solly? You mean Mr. Solomon? I don't see a Moore on the list."

"That's because Solly's an idiot," Jack scoffed.

"He told me to bring the car by at eleven. Said he wanted to see the Firemist Gold in the sunlight before he ordered one for his wife." Jack patted the dashboard.

"This is the demo. If I don't get it in front of him in five minutes, I gotta take it to Burt Reynolds over at Universal. Burt's been calling me all morning." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. The guard looked at the car. It was magnificent. A glittering beacon of American excess.

"Burt Reynolds?" the guard asked.

"Don't get me started," Jack sighed, rolling his eyes.

"The man loves gold. Look, pal, do you want to be the guy who explains to Mr. Solomon why his wife is driving a Buick next year?" The guard hesitated. He looked from the clipboard to the gold Cadillac, doing the rapid mental math of what would happen if he cost his boss a car.

"Go ahead," the guard sighed, waving them through.

"But make it quick." Jack rolled up the window. He winked at Doug.

"See?" Jack said.

"Chrome gets you home." LOCATION: Paramount Studios | Building 4 LOCAL TIME: 11: 45 AM PST"Solly" was actually Solomon Weiss, a mid-level production executive who had bought a Cadillac from Jack three years ago. He sat behind a desk that was comically large, smoking a cigar that cost more than Doug's shoes.

"Jack Moore!" Weiss shouted.

"I thought you were in Carlsbad!"

"I'm everywhere, Solly," Jack said, shaking his hand warmly.

"And I brought you something better than a car." He gestured to Doug.

"This is my nephew, Doug. He's the writer." Weiss's smile faded slightly.

"Jack, I buy cars from you. I don't buy scripts from car salesmen."

"You're not buying it from me," Jack said, dropping onto the plush leather sofa.

"You're buying it because your wife is gonna divorce you if you don't." Weiss raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"You make action movies, Solly," Jack said.

"Car chases. Gunfights. Great stuff. But Mrs. Weiss? She hates 'em. She wants to see something... nice. Something magical." Jack pointed a finger at Doug.

"Tell him the logline, Doug." Doug stood there. He looked at the framed movie posters on the wall. The Godfather. Chinatown. He took a deep breath.

"A man falls in love with a mermaid," Doug said. Weiss stared.

"A mermaid."

"But he doesn't know she's a mermaid," Doug continued, his voice gaining traction.

"She saves him from drowning. She follows him to New York City. She learns English from watching daytime TV. She eats the lobster—shell and all—at a fancy restaurant." Weiss chuckled.

"She eats the shell?" Doug stopped looking at the posters. He stepped forward, looking directly at Weiss.

"It's a fish-out-of-water story. Literally. But it's really about a guy who thinks he can't love, realizing that love is the only thing that makes sense in a crazy world." He didn't break eye contact.

"It's funny," Doug said.

"It's sweet. And the ending... the military is chasing them. He has to choose. His boring life on land? Or the ocean with her?" Weiss leaned back. He took a long drag of the cigar.

"Who's the girl?" Weiss asked.

"Goldie Hawn," Jack interjected smoothly.

"Or that girl from Taxi. Daryl Hannah." Weiss looked at Jack.

"You got Daryl Hannah attached?"

"I can get her," Jack bluffed.

"If you put up the development money." Weiss looked at Doug. Then he looked at Jack.

"It's cute," Weiss admitted.

"The lobster scene is funny. But I don't know..." Jack stood up and buttoned his jacket.

"Come on, Doug. Let's go."

"What?" Doug asked, confused.

"Solly's not feeling it," Jack said loudly.

"It's fine. I promised Burt I'd stop by anyway. Universal loves this kind of high-concept stuff. Jaws with legs. They'll eat it up." Without waiting for an answer, Jack turned his back on Weiss and headed for the door.

"Wait a minute," Weiss said. Jack stopped, his hand on the brass doorknob. He didn't turn around. He checked his watch.

"Burt's waiting, Solly."

"Sit down, Jack," Weiss sighed, waving a hand.

"Let's talk option money." Jack turned slowly, a shark-like grin spreading across his face.

"Standard WGA minimum," Jack said.

"Plus ten percent. And Doug gets a 'Story By' credit."

"We'll see about the credit," Weiss grumbled.

"But I'll give you five grand for a six-month option."

"Ten," Jack said.

"Seven-five," Weiss countered.

"Done," Jack said.

"And I want a receipt. Today."