New York Nights [Virex 01] by Eric Brown Read Free Book Online

about rewriting the earlier scene where Sasha approaches Jo for the job? How about sexing it up a little? That’s it! Sasha fancies Jo as well as Amanda, and the last scene brings them together and Sasha gets the job. How does that sound?’
     
    It sounded lousy. Felicity had obviously not followed the character’s motivations through the earlier episodes. . . But what the hell? She was being paid a hundred thousand dollars per episode, and the crap was appearing under a pseudonym. So what had she to lose?
     
    She nodded. ‘You might have something there. It’d certainly end episode five with a bang.’
     
    Felicity smiled. ‘Thought you’d like it. Okay, leave it with you? Need the rewrite by tomorrow early, okay?’
     
    Anna nodded. She could do the work in fifteen minutes. ‘It’ll be with you tonight.’
     
    ‘Terrific, sweetie. See you!’ She waved fingers again and was gone.
     
    Sighing, Anna stood and found her headphone and mic. She slipped the unit around her neck and walked to the window. ‘TrueVoc, on.’ She waited a few seconds. ‘Sapphic Island, episode five, scene fifteen. Cut lines . . .’ She approached the screen and peered at the text. ‘Cut lines five through to thirty. Replace with the following
     
    She moved from the study to the lounge, dictating. She rented a big apartment in East Village, four big second-floor rooms overlooking Tompkins Square. She’d moved here late last year, after Sapphic Island took off, and was already beginning to feel guilty. For how many years had she lived in a tiny bedsit in the Bronx, practically starving while she wrote novel after novel which were met with the standard publishers’ rejection: We thought this work showed great artistry and intelligence. However, we would find it hard to market in the current cultural climate . . .
     
    Two years ago, on the advice of a friend in the holo-business, she’d developed the idea of a drama set on a holiday island catering for lesbians. Some dyke in production had liked the treatment and commissioned Anna to do a pilot episode. The original one hour holo-drama had gone down well, and she’d been commissioned to write six more.
     
    She’d started the project with high ideals. She had intended the series to explore the psychology and sociology of alternative women, but done with a light touch so as not to alienate the mainstream audience. Felicity had greeted each draft with exaggerated enthusiasm . . . and then asked for a few minor changes. The Sapphic Island that showed to rave reviews at Christmas bore little resemblance to the original Sapphire Island. Come the second series, Anna had known exactly what Felicity required, and had hacked out the episodes in record time.
     
    Each script contained about as much work as a page of her serious novels, and earned her about ten times as much as the elusive advance on a literary novel . . . each of which took her a year to write.
     
    She finished the scene, reworked the dialogue to include the added oral sex, and emailed it off to Felicity. The irony was, Felicity was a tight-assed little straight who’d never even kissed a dyke, never mind experienced the pleasures of a woman going down on her.
     
    Anna quit the apartment before the producer could get back to her.
     
    It was a day rare for January, a bright blue sky, brittle sunlight, frost underfoot. She huddled into her coat and tried to shut out the ever-present noise of the city. It seemed impossible for New Yorkers to conduct a conversation without shouting: every few metres she passed people arguing and beggars calling for dollars. The piercing whine of road drills was a constant background effect, interspersed with snatches of mood-music belting at full volume from stores and private apartments.
     
    She considered taking a train, then had second thoughts. The subway was unpleasantly crowded these days: a combination of refugees making the platforms their temporary homes and more city dwellers