“Valentine explained. “Think Get Shorty . . . with vampires.” “Okay, I see that,” the man sitting on the couch across from her answered. He leafed through the script pages she’d given him to read. He sounded less than enthusiastic. She knew he’d only come to her home because of the chance to say he’d actually met the writer who was so reclusive she didn’t even allow her name to appear on the title credits of the hits she’d scripted. His name was Art Rasmussen. He like to boast that his name was ...Art, but he wasn’t interested in art. That was fine with Valentine. She was trying to get a movie made. “You have some good stuff here,” he told her. “Story’s not quite there yet, is it?” His instincts were good, whether he believed in art or not. She glanced at the script. “I’m still working on it.” There was a CD playing quietly on the stereo, David Bowie’s Diamond Dogs as background music on continuous replay. She’d had this need to listen to “We Are the Dead”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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