Page 162 of Faking the Pass
As if there was any chance I’d ever say no to an opportunity like this one.
“I was so happy to hear from you,” I said. “Ecstatic actually.”
“I’m sure you were pretty happy a few nights ago, after that Ophelia special aired. I know you’re under an NDA, so I won’t ask you about it. We’ve got better things to talk about anyway. Have you had lunch yet?”
“No actually.” I’d literally run out of the apartment as soon as I’d hung up the phone, and now that she mentioned it, I was hungry.
“Good. I’ve got a spread out back by the pool.”
She motioned for me to follow her, and we went inside, walking through the gorgeous mansion toward a set of doors that opened to the back yard.
It was even more impressive than the front with a sun-drenched patio and sparkling pool surrounded by palm trees and lush tropical plants.
“I wasn’t sure if you were a vegan, carnivore, or somewhere in between,” Elka said, opening one of the back doors for me, “so we have a bit of everything here.”
“Sounds amazing. I’m not picky.”
Also, my stomach was churning with excitement—not sure how wise it was to fill it to the brim.
Not until I settled down a bit at least.
Randy’s house and grounds had been nice of course and had definitely looked like the estate of a rich person, but it had also been kind of cold and impersonal.
Elka’s home had so much more warmth and charm and appeal—like her.
She took a seat at the shaded poolside table and invited me to do the same then began filling her plate from the various platters.
“I’ve been working from home all morning,” she said, “so please excuse me if I inhale this without chewing.”
I laughed. “Inhale away.”
After we’d both dug in and enjoyed a few bites, Elka started telling me about the project she had in mind for me.
“After meeting you at the gala, I read the Margaret Oliphant book you suggested. Fabulous.”
It had actually been Presley who’d suggested it to her, trying to help my career, but I simply said, “It really is, isn’t it?”
Nerves were popping and firing all over my body in anticipation of what was coming next.
“I had a couple of writers work on an adaptation with me,” she said. “I think we’ve come up with something special, and of course, I want you for the project. If you’ve really read it that many times, no one knows Lucilla better than you.”
“I really have. In fact, I’ve read it a couple more times since I last saw you.”
We both laughed.
“Well, I’d love for you to take a look at the script and see if it’s something you’d like to be a part of. I think it has Academy Award potential.”
“You don’t have to persuade me,” I told her. “I already know I want to work with you, and I don’t think you knowhowto do a bad movie. This one is literally my dream project, like, the film of my heart, you know?”
She beamed at me. “We’re going to make one hell of a movie together.”
I smiled back, so big it kind of hurt my face. “Yes, we are.”
We talked for a while about the project, finishing lunch (which I actually did fill myself to the brim with.)
Already, I felt more comfortable working with Elka than I ever had with Randy. She acted like a colleague rather than a Machiavellian mentor, as he had.
This project would only be my second film, but I had no doubt the experience of working with her as a producer and director would be a vastly different—and probably infinitely better—experience.
