Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“Director of Photography. He’s—”
“Sorry, sorry. You want me to work on a movie set? Be in charge on a movie set?”
Andrew’s head falls back a little. He lets out a throaty laugh. A smoker’s laugh. “Head spark assist. Supervisor level, you could say. I wouldn’t recommend you if I didn’t think you were capable.”
“I mean, I’m flattered, truly…and grateful, but I have zero experience in that industry.”
“If you say yes, you’ll get it. Most of this industry is built on who you know, and not what you know.”
It can’t be that simple.
“I won’t lie to you, William. It’s long days, labour intensive. As I said earlier, you’ll have to commute, stay away from home. You’ll need to learn a lot and learn fast. Usually, folk enter this industry at the bottom, climb the ladder with only dreams of making it to the rung that holds a movie like this one. I can get you in at the top, earning the big bucks from the off. Come on, what do you say?”
“Why?” is what I say. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but you don’t really know me, Mr Cobbe.” For some reason, returning to formalities feels appropriate here. “I can’t see a reason for you to give me this opportunity.”
Andrew Cobbe leans back in the dining chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Honestly?” He nods his head slowly, like the bobblehead dog in the back of my father’s car. “I think I see something of myself in you. I see you working hard, providing for your family, trying to make something for yourself but getting nowhere. No offence, of course.”
“None taken,” I lie. I like to think I’ve done pretty well for myself. My house might not be a mansion in the golden circle, but it’s comfortable, well taken care of, spacious enough for our family.
“I was just like you…until someone offered me an opportunity. Plus, my old man was a spark. Good man, he was. Raised us kids right. I’ve got a gut for these things, William. My gut’s telling me to take a chance on you.” He rolls his hands in the air. “My gut hasn’t failed me yet. That’s really all there is to it.”
Unable to think of a decent response, I nod.
“Look, there are no strings here. It’s an offer, and I won’t be offended either way. If you say yes, I’ll have all the details you need by tomorrow. If it’s a no, it’s been a pleasure knowing you for these last few years, I wish you the best of luck in your next endeavours and, as I’ve said, you’ve always got a customer here.”
Still nodding. It’s all my body seems able to do. “I, erm…” I risk a glance in Andrew’s direction, find him looking right into my eyes expectantly. Yes? No? Should I discuss it with Becca? Does he want an answer right now? I don’t kn- “Yes.” The word spills from my mouth unexpectedly. “I’ll do it.” Goddammit, stop talking. “Thanks, Andrew. Seriously.” Becca is going to kill me. So why can’t I stop grinning as I stand up to shake his hand. “I…I’m still a bit blown away I think, but…” The words fade on my tongue and I’m unsure what the feeling is in my chest.
“I’m pleased!” He breaks the handshake to stand, tugs on the hem of his jacket and then pats my shoulder. “I’ll be back in touch tomorrow. You’ve made a great decision tonight, William.”
Shit, I hope so.
I walk Andrew out and past my dad as quickly as I walked him in. I’m grateful that he doesn’t mention it when we say our goodbyes at the door. I suppose I should retain some thanks for my father for staying in his chair and keeping his gob shut the entire time as well. The gratitude ends there, though. At a passing thought. It’s time for him to go now.
“Look, Dad,” I say, re-entering the living room. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow. You’re going to have to get off. I’m calling you a taxi.” He’s certainly drunk too much to drive, which wouldn’t bother me if it was only his own life he’d be putting at risk.
My dad taps his watch. “No can do, son. Brenda will still be up.”
Huffing, I storm back into the hall. “I’m serious, Dad!”
“You get that off your mother, you know!” he calls. “It’s that Greek in ya! She was ne’er happy either!”
My blood starts to simmer, the bubbles rising into my throat. My dad’s not wrong. My mother wasn’t a happy woman. Probably still isn’t. I wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen her in twenty years, and even that was a mistake that resulted in her telling me not to go back. However, I think it’s less likely to do with the Greek DNA she inherited from her father – who, apparently, disowned her for getting pregnant with me before marrying my father, and more to do with the fact she drank vodka for breakfast, took Prozac for lunch, and received a slap around the face from my dad after every evening meal.