"David, I did a little extra shooting this morning that's kind of. . .
outside the plan. But it's really important. Want to hear about it?"
"What! I thought you were finished with principal photography." He
looked disoriented, the deer in the headlights. Hints of extra crew
time always had that effect on him. "You're saying this wasn't in the
budget?"
"Just listen first, okay?" Like a politician, I avoided giving him a
direct answer. I told him about the interview with Carly and the reason
for it.
"Nice of you to share the news with me." His eyes narrowed. "I think
we've got some big-time communication issues here."
"Look, don't worry. I'll figure out how to save some money somewhere
else."
"Morgy, before we continue this unnerving conversation, we've got to
have a serious review of the matter of cash flow." He frowned, then
went back to whirling the pencil, his hair backlighted from the wide
window, his eyes focused on its stubby eraser as though he'd just
discovered a new strain of bacteria. "So let me break some news
regarding the current budget."
He put down the pencil, adjusted its location on his desk, and looked
up. "I didn't want to have to upset you, since the picture seems to be
going so well, but we've drawn down almost all our cash. I actually
think that's why Nicky was here today, sniffing around, wanting to see
a rough cut. He's got a keen nose for indy cash-flow trouble."
"What are you saying?" It was unsettling to see David turning so
serious. "Are we--?"
"I'm saying we can cover the payroll here, all our fixed nut, even
Nicky's vig, for maybe six more weeks, if you and I don't pay
ourselves. Of course, if we can get an advance on some kind of cable
deal, that would tide us over more comfortably till this thing is in
the can. But right now we're sailing pretty close on the wind. I've bet
Applecore on your picture, Morgan. We can't screw this up."
I swallowed hard. I knew we were working on the edge, but I didn't know
the edge was down to six weeks.
"David, I'm all but ready for postproduction. I'm just thinking I may
need one more interview. Just a one-day shoot. I'm going to make this
picture work. You'll see."
He sighed. "All right, if you think it's essential, get the footage.
Maybe I can even shake another fifty out of Nicky, if I string him
along about the distribution deal--don't look so alarmed, I won't go
through with it. Anyway, I can tell he's impressed with the picture so
far. Happy now?"
No, I wasn't happy. What was I going to do if Hannah Klein had bad
news? Adoption? I finally was facing the fact I'd possibly been making
a movie about myself all this time. Like Yeats, penning his own
tombstone. "Cast a cold eye, on life, on death. ."
So why not give him the whole story?
"David, if it turns out Steve and I can't have a baby, I've begun
thinking about trying to adopt." There it was. More pain. "Maybe I'm
about to become the heroine of my own picture."
He stared at me incredulously.
"Morgy, you of all people should know by now that adopting would take
up all your energy, like a giant sponge. Come on. I've seen your
dailies. I got it, about how hard it is. You telling me now you didn't
get it?"
He was right. Righter than he realized. But then I thought again about
Carly Grove, who'd found Kevin in no time at all, with zero hassles.
The only troubling part was that it was all so mysterious. . . .
After I left David's office, I remembered I hadn't actually had lunch,
so I grabbed two hot dogs with sauerkraut (okay, it was junk, but I
secretly loved kosher franks) and a Diet Pepsi to go, from one of the
striped-umbrella vendors, then hailed a cab clutching the grungy brown
bag.
I was heading for Hannah Klein's office on the Upper West Side. And now
I had another clock ticking in addition to the biological one. The big
money clock in the sky was suddenly on final countdown.