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It’s warm here, under the covers. What time is it?
I push aside a stack of books on his nightstand and get my first peek at the clock. Yikes! It’s almost noon.
No wonder Outlaw’s now wagging his tail against the bed, an excited look in his eye.
He’s way past due for morning outs.
I’m about to get him more excited with a mention of his morning walky-walk, when a distant sound makes me pause.
My phone.
It’s ringing.
Not the creepyHalloweentheme song ringtone, either—thank goodness.
I throw off the covers and jog down the stairs. Yesterday evening I left messages for five different agents. Is one of them calling me back?
It takes me a minute to find my phone in the mess of fleece on the couch. My breath catches when I see the number.
It is!
It’s an agent.
I pick up in a rush. “Maddison Bradshaw speaking.”
“Maddison, Clint Callamaro here, returning your call. I received the script you emailed over. Spent the morning reading it, actually.”
“You—you did?” Now brimming with anxiety, I pace to the window and chew the side of one nail.
“I picked it up, took a glance, got hooked… You’ve got something on your hands here, I believe.”
I ball my hand into a fist and squeeze my eyes closed in a silent prayer of gratitude:Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Clint continues. “Have you signed with anyone yet, to sell it for you?”
“I—I haven’t, yet, but I’m looking.”
“Not too hard, I hope,” he says with a chuckle, “because I’m interested in representing you, and I don’t like to waste time convincing writers to accept my services. I have a proven record, Maddison. I have contacts in high places, and I get top dollar for my clients. Last year I sold three movies to Rising Moon Pictures, four to Bobcat, and six to Motion Films. And that was onlylast year. You go back another decade, and now the numbers are so big, I can’t even keep track. You let me sell this thing for you, I’ll have a meeting lined up with a big-name production company by next week, guaranteed.”
This is happening fast.
So fast.
My blood is rushing, and there’s a buzzing sensation coursing through my body.
Is this what it feels like, to have a lifelong dream come true?
I reach for the back of the couch and clutch onto it for stability. If I don’t, I might levitate to the ceiling and get sucked out through a window.
“I—wow, Mr. Callamaro, I’m really honored. You don’t have to tell me about your record. I know. You were my top choice, when it comes to agents to work with. I hoped—but I didn’t—I just wasn’t sure… Sorry, I think I’m flustered.” I push my bangs back and take a breath.
I heard so many warnings about this, back in grad school. Students wrote stellar scripts, then never managed to sell them because they weren’t good at the business side of things.
We even took classes about how to pitch movies. How to handle phone conversations exactly like these.
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose.
Focus, Maddison.
