"May I speak to Alan Goldberg, please." My voice was scratchy from sleep, and it was coming up on six o'clock. These were Hollywood agents, of course they were still working.
"May I tell him who's calling?" asked the receptionist.
I sighed. "Sawyer Fitzgerald."
"One moment."
She seemed irritated that I wasn't someone important.
"Sawyer Fitzgerald," a smooth voice answered a brief moment later. "I was beginning to think I wouldn't hear from you."
I steeled myself. "Listen, here's how this is gonna work. I'll sell my script—as-is only, no edits. If this thing ever gets greenlit, I need to be completely involved. Casting, production, editing, whatever. I get final approval. This is my dad's life. My life. Do you understand how personal this is to me, Mr. Goldberg?"
Radio silence.
"Mr. Goldberg?"
"Lucien told me you were feisty, but you...it takes years for most of my clients to talk like that."
I rolled my eyes. Whether he was offended or impressed, I couldn't tell, and didn't much care. "Listen man," I dropped the formality. "I want to sell my script. And I want to make this film. But I want to do it on my terms. I won't have my name, nor my father's name on another abomination like the 1993 version," I sighed. "Please."
That marked the first time I'd admitted I wanted to make a movie.
"I'll talk to Summit and get back to you. Is this the best number to reach you on?"
"Yes sir."
The call came as I was driving to surprise Micki and pick her up at Bay City. Someone named Rob Friedman, the studio head at Summit Entertainment, had agreed to my terms. And, if the script he'd just agreed to purchase for the ridiculous amount of $750,000 ever went to production, I would be an executive producer on the project.
Who's afraid now?
YOU ARE READING
The Beautiful Truth
RomanceSawyer Fitzgerald thought she knew the story of her now-divorced parents. It's colored her whole life thus far. Now in college, her English professor assigns her class to read the book that made her dad famous -- the one that he wrote for her mom ne...
