Syrup (34 page)

“How much longer?”

Jerry sucks in his breath. “Maybe another two hours. But probably no more than that.”

“So ... ?”

“My guess is ... you’ll have this thing by seven.”

I whoop. I can’t help it: I let out a big, good old whoop. 6’s eyes shine.

“It’ll take half an hour to dump onto film. I’ll do it fast and dirty, but you won’t notice the quality loss in a standard cinema projection. I’ll courier it to you by eight.”

“No, no couriers. I’ll pick it up personally. Just call me when it’s time, okay?”

“You got it,” Jerry says, and hangs up.

I turn to 6. “It’ll be finished.” The words sound like magic. “It’s not definite, but he thinks it’ll be finished.”

6 nods slowly. I think she is trying to keep a smile under control. “Good boy.”

LAUNCH AN INCENTIVE PROGRAM FOR THE STORES THAT SELL YOUR BRAND; SO THAT, FOR EXAMPLE, EVERY SALES ASSISTANT WHO SELLS A NUMBER OF YOUR STEREOS GETS A FREE STEREO THEMSELVES. FOR THIS, THEY WILL PERSUADE, DECEIVE, AND CAJOLE IGNORANT CUSTOMERS INTO BUYING YOUR PRODUCT OVER YOUR COMPETITORS’. PRACTICE THE LINE: “OUR COMPANY CANNOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE UNSCRUPULOUS ACTIONS OF A FEW RETAILERS.”

Jamieson arrives at five.

Sneaky Pete is with him, as is @. They stroll down the red carpet that’s still being brushed down, resplendent in their tailored suits. I think even their sunglasses match. They pass 6 and me in the lobby without even noticing us and head straight into the main theater. We watch them all the way in.

“He needs to decide if we’re going to make it or not,” 6 says.

I look at her. “Huh?”

“Sneaky Pete has to make a decision.” She turns to me. “If he thinks we’re going to make it, he has to claim the glory. But if he thinks we’re not going to make it, he’ll disown himself.”

I stare at her. “But as soon as he sees us here attending to all the details, he’ll know. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t have a film to show.”

6 sniffs. “Sure we would. We’d be here trying to make him think we’d finished, to trick him into claiming ownership of the project. ”

I blink. “We’re pretty smart.”

6 shrugs. “It’s what I would have done.”

“So now ...”

“Now we can’t let him know we’ve finished.” She steps closer, her eyes dark. “Do you understand this? If he finds out we’ve done it, he’ll stand up tonight and call
Backlash
his baby. He’ll take all the credit.”

“No way,” I say. “Oh, no way.”

“So you see,” 6 says, just a touch menacingly, “it’s critical that we let him continue to believe we’re not going to make it.”

“Uh,” I say, “and how are we going to do that?”

“By
lying.”

“Oh,” I say. “Of course.”

“Not to Jamieson. Sneaky Pete expects us to tell Jamieson everything’s okay regardless of whether we’ve actually finished or not, so that’s exactly what we’ll do. But when Sneaky Pete wants a private chat—and he will—we let him force it out of us that we haven’t made it.” She eyes me. “And we do this convincingly.”

“Right,” I say slowly. “Well, I can try.”

“You’ll do better than that,” 6 says darkly. “We’ve worked too hard to lose it to your conscience now.”

Jerry calls at six, just as night is falling. The streetlights are warming up, the traffic cops are moving the barricades into position and the early stargazers have already turned up for the best positions.

“We’re done,” he tells me. He sounds in desperate need of sleep. “I’m dumping it to film now. Be here by seven.”

“Count on it,” I say. “And, Jerry? If anyone else from Coke asks you about our progress, you say we haven’t finished yet, okay? ”

He pauses. “Should I ask why?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Jerry says.

I find 6 with California in a corner of the lobby and relay the news. “Good,” 6 says. “That’ll give us time to finish with Jamieson.”

I start. “Jamieson?”

“He wants to see us. To make sure everything’s under control.” She shrugs. “He’s still worried, of course. So we’ll sit down and reassure him. We’ll be finished in time for me to go collect the film from Jerry.”

“You?” I say, surprised. “Don’t you want me to go? So you can stay and, uh, keep things under control?”

“No,” 6 says, “you stay here. I can’t control everything, right?”

“Uh, 6,” I say, “you don’t have to begin your journey of self-discovery right now, okay? How about I go get the film?”

“Why?”

“Well ...” I swallow, then lean close to 6. “What if Sneaky Pete wants to talk to me?”

“He probably will. You just do what we talked about.”

“Right ...” I shift from one foot to the other. “You know, 6, I don’t feel real comfortable about this. What if I can’t fool him?”

“Then we’re fucked,” 6 says. “But that won’t happen. Right?”

“Yeah,” I say, not feeling sure about this at all. “Right.”

Jamieson gathers us inside the actual cinema, strung along the front row like late patrons. He separates 6 and me from @ and Sneaky Pete as if it was intentional.

“Team,” Jamieson says, “I want to say what a great job you’ve all done to get us to this point. This is going to be a sensational event. It’s a credit to all of you.”

I blush modestly. 6 says, “You’re too kind, Mr. Jamieson.”

“Not at all,” he says, then pauses. Not for long. It’s a tiny, tiny pause. But it’s long enough to telegraph that he’s about to get to the real reason he wanted to see us. “So how does the film look? In its finished form?”

The question isn’t directed squarely, but I think it’s fair to assume that it’s meant for 6 and me. It’s interesting, then, that @ jumps in first. “We haven’t actually seen the finished product,” she says, arching an eyebrow at us. Definitely not as good as 6’s. “I understand that Scat and 6 were too busy to send us a copy. And we haven’t been able to get in contact with either of them for the past two days, which is why, regrettably, we weren’t able to show you a preview as we originally intended. But I’m sure Scat and 6 would have reached us if there was any problem?”

“Of course,” 6 says. “The film is... finished. Of course.”

I glance at 6, surprised at her pause, then realize that this is part of the trap. She’s being deliberately unconvincing.

“So you have reviewed it?” Jamieson presses. “The entire product?”

“Yes,” 6 says, more firmly now. “We’ve seen it. It’s fine. It will be a credit to the organization.”

“Right,” Jamieson says slowly. “Good.” He almost leaves it at that, but can’t quite do it. “Are you sure? I don’t mean to go on about it, but . . .” He smirks. “This is quite important.”

“Mr. Jamieson,” 6 says, looking shocked, “it would be humiliating for this company if we didn’t have a film to present tonight. I wouldn’t expect to put the company in that situation and keep my job.”

“No,” Jamieson says. “Of course not. Good.” He favors us with a smile, but his lingering doubts leak through. I anticipate an urgent exchange with Sneaky Pete as soon as we leave. “Then let’s do it, team. We’ve got Hollywood arriving here tonight.”

“Are you
sure
you don’t want me to go?” I ask her anxiously.

“Scat,” 6 says, exasperated. She slides into the cab. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Okay,” I say nervously. I watch the cab until it’s lost in traffic.

“Hey!” someone in the crowd shouts. “There’s Bruce Willis!”

I just know he’s going to find me.

It’s not that I’m scared of him. I mean, okay, maybe a little. But I’ve gone up against him before, and even beaten him once. This, however, is different. Back then, I had the truth on my side. Now I have to lie.

I don’t know if I can do it.

I mean, I don’t have a moral problem with it. If there’s one person in the world I wouldn’t mind lying to right now, it’s Sneaky Pete. But the thing is, I’m not very good at lying. I’ve never been good at it. It’s like acting, and, like I said, I’m a terrible actor.

I can’t believe Sneaky Pete won’t see through me in an instant.

So I hide.

I ask California what I can do to help, and out of the long list of possible jobs, I pick the one that takes me up into the projection room. The projectionist, a little bald man named Harold, is already there, checking over the equipment, so I engage him in a long and slightly inane conversation about the history of film media. I figure I only have to hide for an hour, and then I can go downstairs and find 6 and we can tackle Sneaky Pete together.

As the minutes tick by, the rising noise level signals the growing accumulation of stars, press and Hollywood powermongers. At a quarter to eight, I can’t stand not knowing who’s out there any longer, and, figuring 6 should be back by now, I escape my conversation with Harold to head back down to the lobby. The band—which is actually a mini-orchestra—is playing the theme song from
Backlash,
and the bass reverberates through the staircase, mixing with four dozen Hollywood conversations. It sounds really exciting, and I probably hurry down the staircase just a little too quickly.

He catches me halfway down.

I freeze.

For a long moment, he just stares at me. His sunglasses glint dangerously. “Scat,” he says softly. “How are you?”

Again, I have forgotten his voice. It’s like an oiled massage. It’s a voice to open your soul to. If he wasn’t already worth upward of three million dollars, I’d suggest he consider a career as a telephone counselor.

“I’m good,” I say. My first lie! I’m off to a great start. I’d feel pretty pleased, if I wasn’t nervous enough to wet myself.

He cocks his head at me.

“No, really,” I say. “I am good. Very good. Really.” And that’s just pathetic. Ruined all my early work. “How are you?”

“I am concerned,” Sneaky Pete says, “that we may not have a film to show tonight.”

“Oh!” I say, in a truly humiliating attempt at surprise. “Really?” And already I’m in trouble, because I’ve forgotten what I’m meant to lie about. Was I meant to tell him that we haven’t finished it? Or was I meant to say that we have, and then, when he presses me, admit we haven’t? Yes, I think that was it. But the long seconds it’s taken me to get this straight haven’t done wonders for my credibility. “We’ve done it,” I say, a little breathlessly. “Yes. Film finished.”

“Where is it?” It’s a kind question. I could almost believe he just wants to help.

“It’s—” I say, but a blond model in a shiny pink dress abruptly pushes past us. She looks around uncertainly. “Bathroom?”

Sneaky Pete regards her expressionlessly, so I say helpfully, “Down the stairs, corridor on your right.”

“Thanks,” she says, patting my behind as she passes.

“Hoo,” I say, startled.

“Scat,” Sneaky Pete says. “I need to go out in front of these people tonight and tell them whether or not we have a film for them.”

“Yes,” I say. This much I understand.

“If there is no film, I need to know now. I need to apologize to them.”

“Yes,” I say.

“So,” he says. He takes a step toward me, and then, to my horror, removes his sunglasses. This is the first time I have ever seen Sneaky Pete’s eyes, and I am stunned to discover that they are beautiful. They are mesmerizing. They pierce me. “Is Backlash completed?”

“Yes,” I say convincingly.

It sounds very much as if this comes out of my mouth.

He stares at me for long moments. I literally feel the blood drain from my face. I have fucked up, and Sneaky Pete can see it.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

He turns, snaps his shades back on and descends the stairs.

“Oh my God,” I say weakly. I suddenly need very much to sit down. So I do. I sit on the stairs and hold my head in my hands.

“Hi, Scat,” someone says, and ruffles my hair.

I look up, startled, and see 6. She is balancing a stack of film cans. “6—”

“I’m taking the film up to the projection room.” Her face is flushed with success. “We’re about to start. This is it, Scat!”

“Wait—” I say, but Jamieson’s voice booms out across the lobby.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, a little too theatrically. “The Coca-Cola Company and Universal Pictures are proud to welcome you... to
Backlash.”

“Scat, get down there,” 6 says. “Here come your ideas. I’ll meet you in the cinema.” I open my mouth to protest, but at that moment the lights die and aliens burst into the lobby.

They look a little corny, I admit, but this is Hollywood. When a dozen guys in rubber alien suits from the movie pour inside, firing their fake laser guns, everyone cheers.