“Oh.”
Shells said, “G is the owner of several companies that hit large fields in Russia. He is very rich.” He added, “And a renaissance man, as you can tell from the script and what Mandy told you of his plans.”
“Why, thank you, David,” I said. “That information is so good to know. So he’s got deep pockets?”
David said, “He said he will spare no expense to make this film, even if it takes years to shoot.”
That’s movie talk, which means everyone continues to be paid at full wages for a long time, and that’s good for all of us. Not necessarily for the art, but for the money. I could live with that, at least for a while.
Mandy said, “He has money, but this is about the art of the story. G feels, well, we feel that his script with me as the lead could be a new classic, like a modern day Gone With The Wind.”
Hondo said, “If Gone With the Wind had time travel and Vikings and the Mafia and supernatural things in it, and it was set in a war, then yeah, I can see it, sure.” He turned and winked at me so they couldn’t see.
I nodded, “Let’s get this epic rolling.”
Mandy beamed, “I knew you two would be perfect for the story.”
“I can feel it, too.”
She pulled the script in front of her, “Shall we begin the read-through?”
~*~
Two hours later, after we finished the reading and a visit to wardrobe for measurements and fittings, I said to Hondo, “You ready to go fishing?”
“Yes I am. My brain feels like someone shot tiny darts in it. What a god-awful script. ”
“I know, but we’ve never been paid this much before, so it’s a tradeoff. Some fresh sea air and being on the water will fix it. Hey, I think I’ll see if Amber wants to go.” I texted her and got an immediate reply: OMG YES! Meet you there.
Hondo had his phone and punched in a number and said, “Your offer still good on the yacht?” Hondo gave me a thumbs-up, “Appreciate it.” Then he dialed Bob Masters’ number. When Bob answered, Hondo set the phone so we both could hear and talk. Hondo said, “You have any bait?”
Bob said, “I happen to have a plethora of bait at the moment.”
I said, “You watched The Three Amigos again, didn’t you?”
“Me and the infamous El Guapo.” We knew he meant his dog, a mixed-breed rescue pet so large I figured it was part dinosaur. El Guapo was a sweetheart, too, and smart as a whip. The only problems were, one: that he didn’t realize how large he was and he liked to get in people’s laps, and two: when he wagged his big tail, which was often, it could leave welts on your leg like someone whacked you with the large end of a pool cue.
Hondo said, “We’ll meet yo
u at Marina Del Rey and load the boat.”
Bob said, “Are you bringing enough beer?”
“Yes we are.”
“Epic. See you there.”
An hour later we all boarded the forty-foot Hatteras as Hondo captained the yacht and steered it out of the marina into the Pacific. Bob brought a large assortment of both live and artificial baits. The day looked perfect, with no clouds and little chop on the water. We took our time, so everyone enjoyed the feel of moving across the water and hearing the soft hiss of it passing beside the hull. The ocean smelled fresh and clean.
I stood at the bow of the yacht pantomiming throwing out a line with a weight on it, and turned back to Hondo, saying, “Mark…twain!” like I was measuring water depth on an old-time Riverboat. I waited another half minute and did it again.
When I said it the third time, Hondo said, “I don’t think the water is staying twelve feet deep every time. Besides, you don’t even have an actual rope to measure it. You’re guessing.”
“I wasn’t measuring anything, I just liked calling it out.”
Hondo laughed. “We’ll be at a good spot in about five minutes if you and Bob want to start rigging the rods.”
I went aft and saw Bob and Amber already busy. The engine slowed to an idle as Hondo joined us. He said, “We’ll slow drift from here at about eighty feet and follow the rise up to thirty feet. The bottom here is sandy, so perfect for halibut. What are you thinking, Bob?”