Voices in the Wardrobe by Marlys Millhiser Read Free Book Online

hesitate to call me. And Luella? Be careful. There’s something uncomfortable about that place.”
    â€œOh Charlie, with you everything is a menace and a mystery.”
    â€œYeah. Murder does that to me.” But Charlie had no more than rung off than she felt a certain relief, lightening of the load. She straightened and drew in some serious oxygen and her back, neck, and shoulders sang with relief. Luella Ridgeway was small and no longer young, but she was one savvy lady. She didn’t miss much and put up with less.
    When Keegan Monroe, famous screenwriter—well okay, as famous as screenwriters ever get—called from the lobby, Charlie Greene was back in her dressed-to-kill outfit with all the lavender and chlorine washed from her hair and looking forward to the evening. And, after another day without the good life, prepared to party.

Seven
    The pre-conference dinner for the speakers had two purposes as did most dinners of this sort, no matter the type of information or talents being shared. One was so that the speakers could hobnob with each other, not nearly so tantalizing for them as supposed. And the other was to give the organizers a chance to hobnob with those who actually worked in the industry, perhaps wrangle an inside tip, make an important contact, convince someone on the inside to look at a treatment, script, teleplay, sometimes even a published novel that would make a hit film.
    That was all drearily predictable. What wasn’t was that the dinner was held at Le Crustacione. Without Mitch Hilsten and the metallic Dodge Ram Charlie made not a ripple, but this time she behaved herself and had poached fillet of sole. It was still fabulous. What wasn’t were the two other Hollywood literary agents at the long table in a private dining room she would not have guessed existed in so snooty a joint. It overlooked the parking lot and the bus that had brought them instead of the mer . But everyone was so busy impressing everyone, Charlie suspected few noticed.
    The gentleman who’d sat beside her on that bus explained that this way they had a designated driver and could start the conference off with a bang—nudge, nudge.
    Charlie sat next to Keegan now. The chief organizer Dr. Howard, administrator of one of the many “film institutes” that littered the area, sat on the other side of Charlie’s main source of income. On her other side sat one of the other agents. In younger more jaded days she’d have told herself everybody had to make a living—that’s the way the world is—get used to it. Now she very carefully avoided touching the jerk with her shoulder or arm, leaned closer into Keegan with her knees.
    This guy, Jason North, was a predator. They existed in every profession where dreams most often pay better than reality. He was known for scrawling Spielberg 2:30, Evan Black 5:00 across a chalkboard in his office to lure aspiring screenwriters to leave scripts and fees with him, wait for a phone call that would never come. Budding screenwriters were seduced by advertising in the trades, on the Internet, newspapers, magazines. These predators bought the mailing lists of conferences such as this. These sharks were bottom feeders.
    The other shark she knew by sight, but had forgotten his name. He sat across the table and down far enough that she couldn’t hear him but he kept gesturing toward her and Keegan to the woman next to him, and nodding at Charlie like they were buds. She ate more of her sole than she should have and nodded at the waiter, prepared to refill her wine glass, instead of the shark.
    Okay, so this is not nirvana—but it’s also not spa deprivation and murder. And you get to sleep in a bed without Maggie tonight and Luella is there to cover for you and you should be deliriously delighted.
    â€œI am.”
    â€œYou am what?” Her client turned to her and smiled fondly. Keegan had thinning hair and carried too much