“We’ll hire location scouts, all right? We have the money for it.”
“Fine,” Cowan says and waves a dismissive hand. “We’ll need to increase the budget.”
“You have plenty,” I say, working my jaw. “What’s with you today? You’re worse than usual.”
“Nothing iswithme, thank you.” Cowan rubs his temples and finishes his third espresso. “I am, however, dealing with a lot of stress at the moment. This film hangs by a thread—”
“How?” Blair asks, looking around. “You haven’t done anything yet. How is the film hanging by a thread when you haven’t shot a single frame?”
“Stop interrupting me.” Cowan snaps at her, which is a first. He doesn’t usually lose his temper and I wonder if he isn’t lying about the stress. But what the hell does he have to feel stressed about? Blair and I have done all the groundwork for this, and he’s been sitting in an expensive hotel room feeding heroin to his leading man.
Cowan looks annoyed, and reluctantly says, “Every film is like a freshly planted tree. You must take care of it or it will wither and die. This project is at the critical junction where it can either flourish or fail, and I do not want another failure.”
I study him and exchange a look with Blair. This is the first time Cowan’s expressing any real desire to make this movie happen beyond the usual platitudes. I was beginning to think he didn’t actually give a damn, but maybe I was wrong. Cowan hasn’t made a decent film in years—and it’s possible the old director is beginning to feel the weight of time pressing down against him.
“We’re not going in that house,” I say finally and Blair nods her agreement. “If you want to make this movie for real, then you need to start acting like a damn professional and not like some insane control freak. Hire people, Cowan.”
“Fine.” He slams a hand down on the table and leaps to his feet. “You two are about the most worthless producers I’ve ever worked with.”
“I doubt that,” Blair says. “I bet you’ve never worked with anyone willing to go through half the crap we’ve been through so far.”
“Irrelevant.” Cowan turns away. “This meeting is over.”
I stand up. “I want to check on Rodrick,” I say before Cowan can stalk off.
He gives me a look like he’s not sure what to make of that. “What do you care about my leading man?”
“I want to make sure he’s all right. I want to see if he needs anything. The last time he was left in your care, the guy lived on drugs and fast food for what looks like a couple weeks. I’m not going to do that to him again.”
“He has room service this time.”
I take a breath to keep myself from losing it completely and step closer. “Cowan, I’m finished with the games. I’m going up and I don’t want to hear you fucking complain. It’s bad enough that I’m going along with your batshit-crazy whims, but I will at least look after Rodrick while you’re keeping him strung out.”
Cowan looks at me curiously as I walk past him toward the elevators. Blair hurries to catch up and stands with me as I press the call button and wait.
“You okay? That seemed pretty aggressive back there.”
“I’m fine, but I’m starting to wonder if I made the right choice here.”
The elevator dings and we get in. Cowan remains behind, standing in line to get more coffee, when the doors shut and we slide upwards.
“I don’t think anything we do right now is going to beright.” Blair chews on her lip and shakes her head. “Cowan has a very gray moral compass, and if we’re going to work with him, I suspect we’ll have to leave some of our hang-ups behind.”
I let out a long breath and nod slightly, still not looking at her. If she knew what happened to my father after the Crawford family got their hooks into him, she might understand how I was feeling—but I haven’t been able to tell her. I keep wanting to, keep coming close, but the truth is too difficult.
Not even Ansell knows the full story, and he’s about as close a friend as I’ll ever have.
My moral compass is suitably gray. Hell, it’s probably pitch-black at this point. But I have a complicated relationship with drugs, and I’m not sure if I can handle this uncertainty around Rodrick moving forward.
We step out into the hall and head to Rodrick’s room. I knock once, twice, three times, but there’s no answer. Blair moves me aside and swipes a key card, unlocking the handle with a grin. “Made the front desk give me a copy,” she explains, shrugging. “They were surprisingly fine with it.”
The room is clean this time. It doesn’t smell like death and rotting food. But as I flip the lights on and look around, my stomach sinks into my knees.
It’s empty.
“Uh,” Blair says, poking her head into the bathroom. “Where thefuckis he?”
I sink down onto the end of the bed and stare at the ceiling. Rage rolls through me, hot and deep. My fingers grip the blankets and I have to breathe deeply to keep my cool, otherwise I’m going to strangle Cowan to death right here and now, to hell with the consequences.