“All right. Let’s get this started,” she said. “Gentlemen, this is Frank Porter, one of our top artists. As I’m sure you’re aware, he’s drawing our royal frog. He’s come up with a proposal for a significant change to one of the scenes, and it’s a good one. I’ll let him tell you the details.” She shot Frank a quick smile before taking a seat.
Frank envied her confidence. He’d never been comfortable speaking in front of groups of people. For just a brief moment he allowed himself to recall the way that Carver had looked at him while listing his good qualities, and that memory gave him the courage he needed. Although he clutched his cane hard enough to make his hand ache, he spoke in a clear, strong voice.
“Thank you, Sylvia. I’ll keep this brief because I’m aware that you’re all busy.”
“My in-laws are visiting this week for Christmas,” interjected one of the writers. “So take all the time you want.”
Frank waited for the chorus of laughter to die down. “I’ve been working on the scene in which the frog has just entered the castle and the king’s taking him down the hallway. It’s not a long scene, but there’s a lot of visual interest due to the complexity of the background. A lot of paintings, statues, suits of armor…. Fancy wallpaper too. As it stands, there’s not much going on with our characters other than some forward movement.”
“There’s no dialogue at all,” Paul pointed out.
“Right. Which is fine. It’s funny as is, with the king sort of sailing along and the frog hopping behind him. But I think we could do more with it. Let me show you what I mean.”
This room had a bulletin board on the wall beside the door. Frank had sat in here several times and watched other people pin their storyboard sketches up, but this was the first time he’d done it himself. His hands shook only a little.
“What I thought we could do,” he said, “is have the frog explore the space as they go. He could make little detours, such as hop on top of this bust or even hop inside the helmet of this suit of armor.” Frank pointed to the appropriate drawings and was relieved when several people in the room laughed—at the concepts rather than at him. He briefly described the other drawings as well.
Then he let out a breath and waited. Everyone waited. Mr. Rask clicked his ballpoint pen several times. Finally, he spoke. “This would be more expensive.”
Frank nodded. “Yes, sir. It would be worth it, though. For one thing, it’s funnier. But it also shows a lot more about the frog’s personality, and the audience will identify with him more strongly. And frankly, sir, it allows more of Car—Mr. Reed to show through.”
Mr. Rask stopped playing with his pen and tilted his head quizzically. “How so?”
“Well, Sylvia thought I’d be better inspired if I met Mr. Reed and had a chance to, um, observe him in person. And he does this, you see. When he enters a room, he wanders around. If there are people there, he stops to talk to every one of them. And he touches everything. It’s like he’s an explorer or a researcher.” With effort, Frank held his tongue instead of expounding on Carver’s many virtues.
Mr. Rask and a few of the other men were nodding as if they had experienced this themselves. Which they likely had—Carver must have had meetings with some of them when he was offered the part. Ridiculously, Frank felt jealous. How dare these people know important things about his Carver.
Oh boy. He wished he were a drinker.
After a very pregnant pause, Mr. Rask turned to the thin man sitting beside him. “Could you compose an appropriate score for this scene, Tommaso?”
“Of course,” Tommaso replied in a heavy Italian accent. “It would be amusing. Hop, hop, hop, interlude, repeat.” The tune he hummed fit Frank’s mental image of the scene perfectly.
“Good.” Mr. Rask looked at Frank again. “What’s the king doing while this is happening?”
Frank had given this some thought. “He could be watching the frog with concern on his face. Or he could be droning on with a tour of all the stuff they pass. He might not even notice what the frog’s up to, if the king’s facing ahead and the frog’s behind him.”
Paul raised his pen. “I like that idea. And what if a few of the palace employees—guards, servants—do notice? Their reactions would add to the humor.”
“And the costs,” Mr. Rask pointed out. Which was true. Backgrounds were fairly cheap to produce, but characters in motion required a lot of drawing.
To Frank’s relief, Sylvia spoke up on his behalf. “You’re already paying a fortune for Mr. Reed. Wouldn’t it make sense to make full use of him? To remind the audience more deeply about who the man behind the frog actually is?”
Silence fell. It could have been worse—Frank had heard gossip about storyboard meetings in which proposals were met with hooting derision, crude suggestions, and even the occasional thrown item. At least nobody was lobbing ballpoint pens his way. His foot began to ache, making him wish he’d sat, but he wasn’t about to do it now.
After approximately a hundred years, Mr. Rask slipped his pen into his shirt pocket. “All right. Let’s get on it.” He stood and walked to the door, pausing when he was abreast of Frank. “Good work, Porter. Keep it up.” Then he left.
Most of the remaining people followed suit, although Sylvia stopped to point a finger at Frank. “Come see me in my office, please.”
“Okay. And thanks for the support.”
“It was a good suggestion, Frank. It deserved support.” She smiled and exited.
That left nobody in the room except Frank and Paul, who seemed to be making a few last notes. Frank started collecting his drawings from the board. “Thanks to you, too, Paul.”
“It’s like Sylvia says. You deserved it.” Groaning softly, Paul stood and tucked his notebook under an arm. “You sure you won’t join us, kid? Lillian says she hasn’t seen you in ages, and Carol’s going to be disappointed to miss out on some drawing lessons.” Carol was one of his granddaughters, a precocious eight-year-old who had a genuine talent for drawing. A quiet girl, during family celebrations she preferred to stick near Frank and make sketches instead of playing with her more boisterous siblings and cousins. Frank liked her a lot.
“I’m sorry, Paul. It’s only?—”
