Combustion (4 page)

The recipient of the lecture is not a recalcitrant child or a sulky teen, but a strikingly ugly canine named Spike. He’s a white blue heeler who looks like he’s been used as a canvas by a naughty toddler with a tin of navy blue paint.

He barks.

‘Okay. Good.’ With a nod the lanky, thirty-one-year-old Australian turns and studies the house on the opposite side of the street. It’s bigger than he expected. Much bigger.

Spike barks.

‘Yeah, only one person lives here.’

Another bark.

‘I guess you could call it a McMansion.’

And another bark.

‘Yes, it would have been more impressive to turn up in a chopper than a borrowed car, but unless you have a stash of money squirreled away that I’m unware of, then we don’t have the dosh to be renting aircraft for the evening, okay?’

Money’s only half the story, though. The truth is that since the destruction of his Huey Loach helicopter (may it rest in pieces at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean), Corey has been, for the first time in his life, a bit gun-shy about flying, which he’s kept quiet from everyone, including the mutt.

Maybe it was the sheer number of life and death situations he’d been through in Central Australia with Judd in that Loach, but Corey is more than happy not to be airborne at the moment. It’s one of the reasons he spent the better part of the last year hitchhiking around America. The trip had been excellent and they’d seen a lot of the States - and he hadn’t needed to fly once.

The journey had been a success in a different, unexpected way too. At one point or another it had been covered by every major media outlet and blogger, his trip plastered all over the Tweeter and the Facebooks or whatever they were called. That a bona fide hero, a member of the
Atlantis
4 no less, a man who had helped save tens of thousands of lives, had taken the time to see the real America in such a low-key way greatly endeared him to the general public. He’d stumbled upon a phenomenon that occurred to a select number of Australian men who had ventured stateside over the years. Whether it was Errol Flynn, Paul Hogan, Steve Irwin, Hugh Jackman or Keith Urban, Americans occasionally liked to add a laconic, rough-and-tumble, hail-fellow-well-met Aussie bloke to their cultural mix - and now Corey Purchase is one of them.

The astonishing result of this, and what will pay Corey more money than he’s earned, in total,
ever,
is the
Atlantis
4 movie that Twentieth Century Fox is about to make. And that is a very good thing because, as of this moment, one Corey J. Purchase has nothing but the dog, his blue jeans, a couple of navy Bonds T-shirts, his Justin boots and the not so princely sum of $1217 in savings.

He’s so broke he can’t even afford to run a mobile phone - and you really need a mobile phone in LA. When Corey first arrived in the City of Angels he hadn’t expected to stay long, two weeks at most, enough to finalise the Fox deal with his agent Matty Bowen, who graciously lent him this Bimmer for his stay, then continue his trip around America.

Then he met her.

The front door to the McMansion swings open and Corey sees her, silhouetted against the warm glow inside.

Lola Jacklin.

Even from thirty metres she takes his breath away. Corey felt it the moment he walked into the sprawling Beverly Hills office on his first day in Los Angeles and shook her hand. She is a partner at Bowen & Associates, the agency that represents the
Atlantis
4.

The twenty-eight-year-old is whip smart and knowledgeable about subjects that Corey does not have the first clue, like the entertainment business and world politics and the fate of art in movies. She is, on the other hand,
not
well versed in the subjects Corey knows a lot about, like Central Australia and moving cattle with helicopters and saving space shuttles. So, whenever they’re together she’s fascinated by his stories, is quick to laugh at his jokes (even if they’re lame), and has a ready smile that seems to indicate she enjoys his company. He certainly enjoys
her
company, is both enlightened and delighted by the sprawling scope of her thoughts, which cover everything from what is happening in ‘town’, as everyone who works in the LA entertainment business seems to call the city, to the fate of the planet. That she has a light southern drawl, is slight and willowy with long dark hair, and has the angular features he finds so appealing is a bonus but makes no difference to the depth of his feelings for her.

There’s just the one problem.

If she is ‘the one’, how does he tell her that he can understand everything his dog says? In the past that conversation with prospective girlfriends has immediately and irrevocably destroyed the budding relationship, so this time he’s decided that honesty is
not
the best policy, at least not yet. He’s going to hide the crazy, at least until the appetizer, then break it to her slow. That’s why he’s been telling Spike he’s to be seen but not heard. Corey won’t respond to any questions from the animal during this, their third date.

Spike barks.

‘Taking my shirt off will
not
make her like me more.’

Another bark.

‘Well, if I did it’d be in a natural, organic way and not just out of the blue. Anyhow, I have a plan so shhh!’ Corey takes a deep breath, opens the door, steps out of the BMW, then turns back to the dog with a firm whisper:
‘Seen but not heard.’

~ * ~

Lola watches Corey lope across the street towards her, that crooked grin on his face and that sparkle in his eye. It’s amazing. He’s
always
happy, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. They embrace and suddenly everything she’s been rehearsing this afternoon is that much harder to say.

She slides into the passenger seat, excited to be sitting beside this funny, strapping Australian man she met four weeks ago. She notices the dog in the back seat. ‘Hello there.’

Spike barks.

‘That’s Spike. He’s just along for the ride. To be seen but not heard: If his grotesque appearance is too disturbing, I find that it helps to squint when you look at him. If you do it just right he can almost appear homely.’

She laughs and pats Spike’s head. ‘Oh no, you’re beautiful.’

‘On the inside.’ He nods at Lola’s waist. ‘Belt up.’

She fastens her seatbelt as he twists the V8 to life and hits the gas. The BMW pulls away from the kerb.

Lola glances at the Australian. She feels something in her chest whenever she’s with him, felt it the first moment they were introduced at the B&A office. She’s not even sure what the feeling is; it’s like shortness of breath combined with indigestion, but in a nice way. It makes what she has to do tonight so difficult. She should have done it on the phone when he rang to confirm the date, but she chickened out.
Chickened out!
The woman regarded as one of the best closers in town, nicknamed, she thought a tad unfairly,
Bitchkrieg
by the studios. Truth is, she wanted to have one more night out with the chopper pilot because he’s so much fun. She’ll do it later - there’s no need to spoil the whole evening.

The sun dips beneath the horizon as they hit the freeway and Lola stares out the windscreen at the twinkling lights of her adopted city. Ever since she was a little girl, when
Doc Hollywood,
a mildly successful early nineties Michael J. Fox movie, came to shoot in her hometown, she’d caught the movie bug and wanted to live in LA. The fact that she now represents the
Back to the Future
star only underscores how stellar her trajectory from that tiny southern backwater to the top tier of the entertainment industry has been.

~ * ~

Corey takes in the glorious sunset before them. ‘So, I’ve been working on a pitch - a movie pitch.’

Lola turns to him. ‘Really? Excellent.’

‘Well, you know, being here these last few weeks got my creative juices flowing. Well, maybe they’re not
creative,
but something’s definitely flowing.’

‘What’s the idea? Pitch it.’

‘It’s just a thought at the moment.’

‘Well, turn it into an idea.’

‘You really want to do this on a night off?’

‘There are no nights off. Let’s hear it.’

‘Okay, but you have to be brutally honest. If it’s terrible, it’s terrible, okay?’

‘If it’s terrible, it’s terrible.’

‘Okay.’ He takes a breath, a little nervous. ‘I’m starting now: Hello, Ms Studio Executive Lady, how are you today?’ He speaks in a stiff, formal voice.

‘Very well. Thanks for coming in.’

‘No, thank you, my lady - I don’t know why I’m speaking in an olde English accent but I’ll push on, shall I?’

She does her best cockney British accent: ‘I prefer the Aussie accent myself, guv’nor, but, yes, let’s push on.’

That puts him at ease. ‘Okay, continuing.’ He takes a breath. ‘Now, let me ask you a very important question: which do you prefer, vampires or zombies?’

‘Vampires.’

‘Ba-baum.
Family Feud
sound for wrong answer. The correct choice is both.’

‘Both?’

‘Exactly! You mash them together and get
Zompire,
the first movie to feature a vampire zombie as the main character. He’s undead,
twice.
People have always loved vampires and now they love zombies so it only makes sense to combine them in an irresistible collision of blood-sucking flesh eating. That’s all I’ve got so far.’

Lola nods. ‘Not bad. “He’s undead -
twice”
is a good tag line.’

‘Great.’ He nods happily, then: ‘What’s a tag line?’

‘You know, the slogan on a movie poster.’

‘Oh. Of course. Right. So the idea’s not a complete shocker?’

‘It’s good, but if you want to take it to a studio you’ll need to think up an exciting plot that you can explain in twenty-five words or less, create vivid characters who grow and change over the course of that story, and create a compelling mythology that explains how and why Zompires exist. Also, consider what the subtext of the story is.’

‘I’ve never really understood what subtext is.’

‘It’s the underlying meaning of the film. Also, is there a love story? Where is it set? And when? Who’s the bad guy? You always need an interesting bad guy with a believable motivation. Is it a comedy or a drama? The title
Zompire
almost makes it sound like a comedy, but if, for example, it’s called VZ, shorthand for the vampire-zombie hybrid, suddenly it seems more serious. On a poster I can see the V in blood red and the Z in raggedy grey. It’s intriguing, and graphically they’re strong letters.’

Corey studies her. ‘Now I know why you’ve got such a big house. You’re good at this.’

‘Well, yeah, it’s my business and I’ve had a lot of practice and I love movies. So, the takeaway is this: if you want people to take it seriously you need to flesh it out, no pun. Even little things, like is there a hero car of some kind?’

‘Hero car?’

‘You know, like the Tumbler from
Batman Begins,
or the Millennium Falcon from
Star Wars,
or the Minis in
The Italian Job.
It doesn’t have to be a car, just some sort of groovy transportation.’

It makes perfect sense to him. ‘Of course.’

‘And think about who could be in it. Makes it easier when you’re pitching a studio if they have an actor in mind for the lead role.’

He raises his hand. ‘Oh! I know who’d be great. That guy, the one in the tights —’ He can’t quite place the name. ‘You know, that movie about the bloke who turns into a tornado —’

‘The Blue Cyclone.’’

‘The Blue Cyclone!
Yeah! Him. That guy. What’s his name? Steve…’

‘Scott. Scott Ford.’

‘That’s it. Scott! I guess everyone wants him in their movie.’

‘Oh. Well, yeah, they do. He’s, you know, a big star.’ She takes a moment, then gestures to the road ahead. ‘So, where are we going?’

‘Nearly there.’

~ * ~

Lola’s flustered. When Corey mentioned Scott Ford she had to change the subject.
Oh man.
It’s not like she’s doing anything wrong being here, but, gee, it sure feels like it. She needs to deal with this ASAP.

‘Ta-da. We’re here.’ Corey’s voice pulls her from her thoughts as he directs the BMW onto a patch of grass that overlooks a deserted beach.

She looks around. ‘Malibu?’

‘Yep, not far from Bowen’s place. I walk down here at night sometimes, look out at the ocean.’

~ * ~

In fact, the house where Corey’s been staying, which belongs to Matty Bowen, Corey’s agent and Lola’s boss, is just up the beach a little way, in case they want to ‘repair for a nightcap’, as it were. Not that Corey’s expecting any ‘repairing’ or ‘nightcap’ activity. So far the relationship has been completely chaste, not even a kiss - though he’s hoping that might change tonight. He has a plan. It’s not a particularly sophisticated plan, in fact it could be described as both rudimentary
and
amateurish, but it’s all he’s got and he’s gonna take it to the hoop.

They climb out of the car and Corey pulls a small wicker picnic hamper and a tartan blanket from the boot. He wanted the evening to be just right so he thought a hand-packed picnic was the way to go. He’d raided Bowen’s enormous fridge for supplies.