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“Hi, honey,” Gillian says, abjectly ignoring Axel as she kisses Lola on the cheek.
I manage to slink away before I have to exchange any pleasantries with the sibling pair or endure any more scolding from my dad.
Fine, so I’m not the best host. I just can’t do the whole, “Oh, I’m so happy to see you!” thing.
Not when I have so much on my mind.
I shake my empty beer bottle. Need another one if I’m going to get through tonight. And to my chagrin, Grant and his crew have commandeered the space around the cooler. The bright red and white box sits idly by his calf.
If I want a drink, I’m going to have to get through him first.
I take a deep breath. It won’t be so bad, will it? I’m just grabbing a drink. Nothing unusual about that. Just a normal, regular thing to do.
Unfortunately, when I’m attracted to someone and all my nerves are on fire, it’s hard for me to feel I don’t look crazy.
I walk over to the cooler as naturally as I can, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. But when I’m in the vicinity of Grant, his eyes immediately shoot to me. I try to ignore it, but I can’t. His eyes are too powerful. They’re like magnets to mine. I look up at him and smile politely. He smiles back and nods before returning to his conversation. “Existing IPs are the only way to go these days,” he says, conversing with several people around him.
No words are exchanged. That’s for the best, although I wish he would say something. I’m too much of a coward to.
I bend down and shuffle through the half-melted ice for another Corona. I’m right at Grant’s knee. I could just lose my balance and press my face into his leg. Feel his touch if only for one more moment.
Harley, you sound like a literal crazy person. Stop it.
“There’s no market for original content anymore,” Grant continues.
I frown. That’s a preposterous thing to say. I find a Corona, but bury it under the ice, pretending to continue my search so I can listen a little longer.
“There’s too much risk involved,” he goes on. “Unless it’s a miniseries.”
“But there’s no money in a miniseries,” another gentleman replies.
Grant laughs. “Exactly. It’s like investing in a new car. The value immediately plummets.”
I snatch my beer out of the cooler and stand up. “That’s a pretty bleak outlook,” I murmur with a smirk.
His eyes shoot at me, and I immediately regret saying anything. “Sorry?”
I look at Grant and then at the people around him. They’re all staring at me with interest or…disdain? I’m assuming they’re all in the film industry since they’re engaged in a discussion about intellectual property and production. “I just mean…” I swallow. Who am I to speak on this? Sure, I’m in the entertainment world, but I’m in radio. People usually assume it’s a volunteer-level position. “It’s just sad. All content was original at some point. Now we have a moratorium on what’s original?”
A smile creeps onto Grant’s lips. “I get what you mean. And of course, there’s plenty of original content out there. But working with an IP is just a slam dunk. If it’s good, people are eating up the nostalgia. And if it’s bad, they hate-watch it. A win either way,” he says, throwing a flashy white grin to the group.
“Is that why you got into the entertainment industry? To produce content–or should I say, toreproduce content that’s already been made?”
His eyebrows jump and the smile fades.
Someone speaks before he can, a woman with a cropped, spikey haircut dyed an unrealistic shade of orange. “Well, it’s not just reproduction. Sometimes it’s adaptation or–”
“I like the term ‘in conversation with’,” a towering man with coke bottle glasses says in a voice similar to Eeyore.
I laugh, “’ In conversation with’. I like that.” I hold up my hands in surrender. But I’m not surrendering.
I never surrender.
“Listen, I’m not in the film industry. Maybe I’m not one to talk. But I am a consumer. And when I tell you that these remakes and reproductions and adaptations and–” I scan the group as I speak, stopping on Grant. Not that he gives me much choice with those ocean-blue eyes. “They’re getting stale. I’m bored.”
The group is silent. Until Grant’s mouth splits into a bewildered smile. “Really? You’re bored.”
“Absolutely! I don’t need another version of Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. A live-action remake ofThe Lion King. I mean, who wants that?” I look for someone to answer. They’re silent. “Not me! And not my niece. She hated that movie.”
