Free Temptation by Douglas Kennedy Page B

going to do?’ I asked.
    ‘What I have to do in a situation like this – draw my forces around me and keep that bastard Barker from undermining everything I’ve built up at Fox. And, I’m afraid, this also means that the week at Chez Fleck is definitely out for me.’
    ‘I thought as much. I’ll call Bobby now and say we can’t make it.’
    ‘But you should go.’
    ‘With you facing a crisis like this one? No way.’
    ‘Listen, I’m going to be working flat out for the next week. I mean, with Barker in charge of the division, the only way I’m going to keep things together is by being at the office fifteen hours a day.’
    ‘Fine. But at least I’ll be waiting home for you at night, with tea, sympathy and a martini.’
    She reached over and squeezed my hand.
    ‘That’s very sweet of you. But I want you to take this trip.’
    ‘Sally . . . ’
    ‘Listen to me. I really am better off on my own. It means I don’t have to be focusing on anything else – and I canput all my energy into keeping my job. More to the point, you can’t turn this opportunity down. Because, at worst, it will be a laugh . . . and a very luxurious one at that. At best, the paycheck will be huge. Given that Stu Barker would like nothing better than to push me out of the company, the money might come in handy for us, right?’
    I knew that Sally was talking garbage. She was one of the most employable television executives in town. But though I tried to argue her into letting me stay, she was adamant.
    ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said.
    ‘I’m not,’ I said, trying to sound sanguine about her need to get me out of the house. ‘If you want me to go to Planet Fleck, so be it.’
    ‘Thank you,’ she said, kissing me lightly on the lips. ‘Listen, sorry to do this, but I’ve set up a late-night conference call with Lois and Peter,’ she said, mentioning two of her closest Fox associates.
    ‘No problem,’ I said, getting up from the sofa. ‘I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom.’
    ‘I shouldn’t be too long,’ she said, picking up the phone.
    But when I fell asleep two hours later, she still hadn’t come to bed.
    I woke at seven the next morning. She was already gone.
    There was a note on the pillow beside me: ‘Off to an early strategy meeting with my team. I’ll call later.’
    And she had scrawled an ‘S’ at the bottom. No term of endearment. Just her initial.
    An hour or so later, Bobby Barra phoned to arrange for one of Fleck’s chauffeurs to pick us up tomorrow morning and bring us to Burbank Airport.
    ‘Phil took the 767 when he left for the island on Sunday,’ he said. ‘So I’m afraid it’s just the Gulfstream.’
    ‘I’ll live. But it looks like I’m coming alone.’ And I explained Sally’s career crisis at Fox.
    ‘Hey, fine by me,’ Bobby said. ‘I mean, no offence, but if she has to stay behind, I’m not exactly going to be crying into my Margarita.’
    Then he told me to expect the chauffeur to arrive at my door by eight tomorrow morning.
    ‘Party, party, guy,’ he said, hanging up.
    I packed a small bag. Then I went to the
Selling You
production office and looked at the early assembly of the first and second episodes. Sally never called once. When I got home that night, there were no messages from her on our voice mail. I spent the evening re-reading
We Three Grunts
. I scribbled some notes about ways I would like to improve its structure, its narrative pacing – and make it a little more up to date. Using a red felt-tip pen, I started excising some of its bulkier dialogue. In screenwriting, the less you say the better you say it. Keep it economic, keep it simple, let the pictures do the talking – because the medium you’re writing for is
the pictures
. And when you have pictures, who needs a lot of words?
    By eleven that night, I had worked my way through half the script. Still no call from Sally. I considered ringing her cellphone. I dismissed the idea.