I'm still brain dead from my extended trip, so I'm just offering up the first pages of Chapter 2 in "The Lyons' Den." It's just about where I want it...so I'm now plotting to hit chapter 3. Tomorrow. Once I'm back on New York time.
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Well, when Tad offered up Bermuda to Dan-O, my guy did a u-turn so sharp, I damn near got thrown out of his brain. Then he whispered, “Don’t joke about that, Tad.”
“I’m not.” And he had his sincere-puppy look on.
“You -- you mean it? You and me for a week? Alone.”
Oh, this was gonna be bad. My guy was already halfway into do-or-say-anything-he-had-to mode in hopes of getting the little shit back. And the bastard saw it, instantly, like a cheetah sees a calf that’s wandered too far from the pack and is about to become din-din. And that is when the stupid stuff started.
“Yes, Danny,” he’d said. “A full week, just you and me -- IF this works. But you can’t stay in the city. I don’t want anybody to know about this, and you never could keep a secret.”
“Yes, I can -- !”
It’s YOU with the big mouth, Tad, not my guy. He’s got corners in his soul not even I know about.
“No,” said Tad, into his not-listening-to-you mode, “it’ll help if you’re someplace hidden, where you’ll be alone and can work your magic to its best.”
“I’ll just hole up in my place and turn off my phone -- .“
“And order pizza and chatter with the pizza boy, if he’s cute,” Tad snapped, “and he’ll chatter with ‘People’ or ‘EW’.”
“I never did that!”
No, Tad, that was you, again, and you did it deliberately to spread this lie that the actor playing me was screwing the actress playing Carmen in “High-heeled Moccasins,” even though they hated each other’s guts, just to generate publicity. But I guess you suffer from selective amnesia, you little shit.
Tad whipped out his Blackberry-iPhone-and-maybe-even-coffee-maker and pulled up his address book. “I got it! Use my dad’s place up by Bradleyville. It’s on a lake and it’s closed up for the winter -- .”
“Where?” Daniel asked, finally getting wary.
“Near Middleton.” He Googled a map on his iPhone.
“That’s a good two-hour drive!” Daniel snapped when he saw it. “I’ll have to work nearly non-stop to get done, as it is. When am I supposed to sleep?”
“Drink lots of coffee.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Tad finally noticed Dan-O had his no-way-in-hell face on and said, “C’mon, Danny, it’s just like college. Pulling an all-nighter to get that paper in on time sort of crap and living off junk food and -- and -- .”
“I never needed to.”
So Tad pulled out his big-brother tone, again, and said, “Listen, buddy, we both know that once you get talking you can’t stop and -- no, no, no, Danny, you jabber, sometimes, and got no idea what you’re saying.”
Which, as much as I hate to admit it, was true, but it was never about anything important.
“Now I don’t want that Cheeto-eating bastard to find out you’re doing this until it’s done,” the bastard kept on with. “So it’s my dad’s place or -- or we drop it. And I’ll forget about HBO and -- and see if I can get some more money for another writer to do what that creep should’ve done and -- and hope it doesn’t hurt me too much in my career.”
Said with that fucking quiver, again.
Daniel huffed and paced about a bit, saying, “Will you at least drive me up so I can start reading -- ?”
“Can’t. I’m booked to finish the edit on a project for a Tuesday showing, starting at six. It‘s the only time I could get. I WILL be working on no sleep, this weekend.”
Then what the hell’re you doing here, jackass?
“But,” he kept on with, “I got an intern from NYU, so I’ll get him to drive you up.”
“What if HE talks?”
“He doesn’t know anybody; so how’s that?”
“That” -- my guy went along with. Dammit. So as Tad worked his magic in getting him off the schedule at his jobs (without him getting fired), then arranging for a car, and calling the intern, and pulling together written directions to get to this cabin, Dan-O skimmed the first two scripts and damn near backed out of the whole thing. They were worse than crap; they were dogmeat.
_____________________________
Well, when Tad offered up Bermuda to Dan-O, my guy did a u-turn so sharp, I damn near got thrown out of his brain. Then he whispered, “Don’t joke about that, Tad.”
“I’m not.” And he had his sincere-puppy look on.
“You -- you mean it? You and me for a week? Alone.”
Oh, this was gonna be bad. My guy was already halfway into do-or-say-anything-he-had-to mode in hopes of getting the little shit back. And the bastard saw it, instantly, like a cheetah sees a calf that’s wandered too far from the pack and is about to become din-din. And that is when the stupid stuff started.
“Yes, Danny,” he’d said. “A full week, just you and me -- IF this works. But you can’t stay in the city. I don’t want anybody to know about this, and you never could keep a secret.”
“Yes, I can -- !”
It’s YOU with the big mouth, Tad, not my guy. He’s got corners in his soul not even I know about.
“No,” said Tad, into his not-listening-to-you mode, “it’ll help if you’re someplace hidden, where you’ll be alone and can work your magic to its best.”
“I’ll just hole up in my place and turn off my phone -- .“
“And order pizza and chatter with the pizza boy, if he’s cute,” Tad snapped, “and he’ll chatter with ‘People’ or ‘EW’.”
“I never did that!”
No, Tad, that was you, again, and you did it deliberately to spread this lie that the actor playing me was screwing the actress playing Carmen in “High-heeled Moccasins,” even though they hated each other’s guts, just to generate publicity. But I guess you suffer from selective amnesia, you little shit.
Tad whipped out his Blackberry-iPhone-and-maybe-even-coffee-maker and pulled up his address book. “I got it! Use my dad’s place up by Bradleyville. It’s on a lake and it’s closed up for the winter -- .”
“Where?” Daniel asked, finally getting wary.
“Near Middleton.” He Googled a map on his iPhone.
“That’s a good two-hour drive!” Daniel snapped when he saw it. “I’ll have to work nearly non-stop to get done, as it is. When am I supposed to sleep?”
“Drink lots of coffee.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Tad finally noticed Dan-O had his no-way-in-hell face on and said, “C’mon, Danny, it’s just like college. Pulling an all-nighter to get that paper in on time sort of crap and living off junk food and -- and -- .”
“I never needed to.”
So Tad pulled out his big-brother tone, again, and said, “Listen, buddy, we both know that once you get talking you can’t stop and -- no, no, no, Danny, you jabber, sometimes, and got no idea what you’re saying.”
Which, as much as I hate to admit it, was true, but it was never about anything important.
“Now I don’t want that Cheeto-eating bastard to find out you’re doing this until it’s done,” the bastard kept on with. “So it’s my dad’s place or -- or we drop it. And I’ll forget about HBO and -- and see if I can get some more money for another writer to do what that creep should’ve done and -- and hope it doesn’t hurt me too much in my career.”
Said with that fucking quiver, again.
Daniel huffed and paced about a bit, saying, “Will you at least drive me up so I can start reading -- ?”
“Can’t. I’m booked to finish the edit on a project for a Tuesday showing, starting at six. It‘s the only time I could get. I WILL be working on no sleep, this weekend.”
Then what the hell’re you doing here, jackass?
“But,” he kept on with, “I got an intern from NYU, so I’ll get him to drive you up.”
“What if HE talks?”
“He doesn’t know anybody; so how’s that?”
“That” -- my guy went along with. Dammit. So as Tad worked his magic in getting him off the schedule at his jobs (without him getting fired), then arranging for a car, and calling the intern, and pulling together written directions to get to this cabin, Dan-O skimmed the first two scripts and damn near backed out of the whole thing. They were worse than crap; they were dogmeat.
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