Chapter 6
Jane Wickford’s shift at the Star-Crossed Diner started at two, and as much as Perlmutter was dying to fill her in about his latest news, he didn’t want to appear too eager, so he waited until two thirty before heading over to the diner. Since ambushing Getzler at the Beverly Hills restaurant, he had returned to his small studio apartment above a Korean barbecue joint in K-town so he could shower and change into mostly clean clothes. As he drove to the famous downtown Los Angeles diner where Jane worked, he detected a faint mustiness from his shirt and considered stopping someplace to buy a new one. After a few moments of internal debate, he decided not to bother. The shirt was one of his favorites: A light blue crew-neck T-shirt that made him look ten pounds lighter.
It was almost three by the time he entered the diner, and his stomach had begun rumbling during the drive. He didn’t order any breakfast earlier while he was waiting for the right moment to grab a seat at Getzler’s table—both because he was too anxious to eat, and he didn’t want to risk pitching his ideas to the studio executive with egg yolk or some other sticky food substance smeared on his face. Afterwards he was too excited to think about eating. Now, though, he realized how completely empty inside he was feeling. Like his stomach was a bottomless pit that would never fill up. He smiled inwardly. At least this time Jane wouldn’t be able to accuse him of coming there simply to annoy her.
Trudy, the diner’s longtime hostess, sighed noticeably when she spotted him, and gave him what could only be described as a look of pity when he asked to be seated at one of Jane’s booths, but this time she didn’t tell him that he was only wasting his time. That was too bad. Perlmutter had been looking forward to seeing the expression on her face when he explained to her why this time would be different. But since she didn’t say anything to him, he decided he’d keep his news to himself for now. After Trudy left him at his booth, he sat back and imagined how Jane was going to react when he told her what had happened, and soon he was giggling to himself. He couldn’t help it. It had been such a long, hard struggle with so many sacrifices, and he’d finally gotten the break he’d been hoping for. Forget that. The break he’d been working his ass off for! Jane was going to see him in a whole new light after today.
Perlmutter’s face flushed as he pictured her. What a beauty! Blond, dimples, and a gorgeous, voluptuous figure. He’d been smitten since the first moment he laid eyes on her. That was eighteen months ago, when they were both taking the same acting class. Back then Perlmutter was still thinking he could be a triple threat—acting, writing, and directing, but he had since realized he was spreading himself too thin and it would be better for him to focus on writing and directing. Of course, he would still make cameo appearances in his movies, but that would be for later.
“Oh Jesus, you again?”
Perlmutter had been so absorbed in his daydream that he missed Jane coming over to his booth. He looked up to see her standing with her hands on her hips, smirking scornfully at him.
“That’s right, darling, me again.”
“I told you not to call me that,” she snapped.
“Sure thing, Miss Wickford. Or can I still call you Jane?”
“I don’t care. Just don’t call me darling.” She shook her head, her eyes momentarily rolling upward. “What is wrong with you?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“No? Then why do you keep pestering me?”
“Because I’m going to win your heart.”
She gave him a pitiful look. “That’s never going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m well out of your league.”
Perlmutter flinched. She had implied as much in the past, but this was the first time she had been cruel enough to say the words. For a brief moment he felt his confidence ebbing, but then reminded himself about what had happened earlier.
“Yeah, you think so? What if I give you a role in my movie? You’d still think I’m out of your league?”
“Ha! What a laugh.”
“Laugh all you want. I had a meeting this morning with Larry Getzler. Do you know who he is?”
Jane’s eyes narrowed as she tried to decide whether Perlmutter was full of it. “Of course I know who he is. There’s no way Getzler would meet with you.”
“Okay, so it wasn’t an official meeting. I crashed the restaurant where he eats breakfast. But he let me pitch him, and he loved one of my pitches enough to give me the go-ahead to develop a treatment and script.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she tried to decide whether he was lying.
“You’re lying,” she said at last.
“Uh-uh, this is real. The break I’ve been waiting for. And it can be a break for you too.”
“Tell me the pitch.”
Perlmutter shook his head. “You’ll know it after I have the deal wrapped up with Getzler. But I promise you there will be a nice, juicy role for you. One that will make you the star you deserve to be.”
Jane stood silently for a long moment, considering him. Then her features relaxed and she showed him a sad smile.
“Allen, even if you’re telling me the truth, it doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Getzler gave me the go-ahead. This is real!”
She gave him a look as if he were a lost child she was trying to comfort. “How much money do you have left from what your mom left you?”
Perlmutter was confused by the question. When his mom died ten months ago, she had left him $40,000, and he immediately quit his job at a copy store so he could pursue his dream full-time. He had exaggerated the amount when he had told her about his inheritance, hinting he’d been left over a hundred grand. But what did that have to do with anything?
“Plenty,” he lied, because the money was almost all gone.
“You should save what’s left, get your old job back, and forget about this movie business, because it’s not going to work out for you.”
“I’m sure plenty of people were telling M. Night Shyamalan the same when he was trying to make The Sixth Sense, and also Billy Bob Thornton when he was pitching Sling Blade.”
“You do realize that The Sixth Sense wasn’t Shyamalan’s first movie, and that Thornton had been acting and writing long before he made Sling Blade? I hope you also realize that you’re no Shyamalan, and you’re certainly no Billy Bob Thornton.”
She had him so rattled he could barely think straight. Didn’t she understand that Getzler had given him his blessing?
“What am I then?” he demanded.
She sighed and gave him a pitying look. “Allen, I’m telling you this straight because you need to hear it. You’re a loser like all those other losers you hang out with. The ones you’re always calling no-talent hacks. Even if you’re not grossly exaggerating Getzler’s interest in your pitch, you’ll find a way to mess this up. There’s not going to be any movie.”
Tears welled in his eyes as stared at her. For a long moment he was consumed with the thought of taking the knife that had been set on the table and shoving it deep into Jane’s throat. He trembled in his rage and hurt as he hurried out of the booth so he could get away from her.
“You just blew it big-time,” he called out over his shoulder to her, his voice ragged as he fought to keep from sobbing. “This movie’s getting made and you no longer get to be a part of it. Oh yeah, go to hell. You can suffer the rest of your life in obscurity for all I care!”
Tears began spilling out of Perlmutter’s eyes. He lowered his head and ran past the hostess station and out of the diner.