[Like Artie, I’m in over my head here. I am living the principle of “Fake it ’til you make it.” SB SM]
Sandy Beach’s Fishing Forecast for August
There are lots of big fish around, but they haven’t been easy to catch. In the early phases of the moon the currents are weak and wandering. This seems to make the fish lazy, and they don’t feed as actively even when there are plenty of baitfish around. I’m seeing sand eels, silversides, and even small mackerel in abundance, but I’ve only seen the bass busting them on the surface for very short periods early in the morning and just before sunset.
I’ve also noticed large clouds of isopods around. This can be bad news for the striper stalker, because isopods are tiny shrimp-like organisms that stripers love. They feed on them by getting right in the cloud, usually just below the surface, opening their mouths, closing their eyes and lollygaging about, practically inhaling their food. When fish are this fat, dumb, and happy, even the best-presented fly will not be effective. About the only thing you can do is cast the loudest surface-popping fly and try to taunt the fish into striking. It’s the fly fishing equivalent to insulting their masculinity, but it can shake them from their stupor.
The good news is that the isopods can disappear instantly, and it doesn’t take the bass long to remember their predatory instincts, so don’t stop fishing. My bones tell me to expect good things, especially as we march toward the full moon.
-Sandy Beach, from The Boston Globe
Elaine
Artie quietly gets up to pee and to check his cell phone messages. There is one from Elaine that came around 6 pm, asking him to call right back. Then there is one from her at 7 pm, 8 pm, and finally one at 9 pm that says she was on her way to LAX Airport to catch a red-eye to Boston. Her voice sounds agitated, but not dire. His best guess is that the Meiko thing has somehow exploded and that she is up to some vindictive mischief.
What the hell is going on? He tries to think through the possibilities. What would require Elaine’s physical presence? And why didn’t she just leave an explanation. He walks back to the bedroom. Oh yeah. Shea. For a moment he had forgotten.
She’s now stirring. She opens her eyes. “This could go either way,” Artie says to himself. She smiles. Whew.
“Talk to any possums lately?” she asks. “Not last night. Surprised?” he asks. “About talking to possums?”
“About being here?”
“Oh no,” she says calmly. Somehow during the night her clothes have been removed. “I’ve planned this for a long time.”
“You’re kidding! How long a time?”
“Maybe a week. I didn’t know exactly how, where, or when, but I knew. And you know what?” She pulls Artie down into the bed with her.
“What?” He knows he’s being toyed with, but he doesn’t mind.
“The next time you get to fuck me.”
“Hm-m-m-m. Well, that may not be tonight, because I just heard from my agent that she’s taking the red-eye from LA to tell me something important, but I don’t have any idea what’s up.”
“In that case,” says Shea, “You get to fuck me now.”
Shea is in the primitive kitchen of the cottage, wearing her clothes from yesterday. “I take mine black” she says to Artie who is holding up the coffee pot.
“I’m surprised you let a vile drug like caffeine pass into that temple of a body” says Artie, pouring her a mug.
“I haven’t had coffee since last March. I’ve been healing.”
“Healing from what?”
“Long story, another time.”
“So what changed your opinion about me?”
“Little things. When you first came, I was too sensitive and over-reacted to you. I took your ineptness personally, but I came to realize that you are not malicious so much as clueless. I’ve been able to see how you are with your son and cousin. You’re a decent guy. And with this deal with the Indians, you were the only voice of sanity. Also, I rented the video of My Mother, My Lover, My Wife, and Now, My Sales Manager, and I can see you’re a pretty accomplished director.”
“Like it?”
“I did. Very much. It made me realize that we’re in the same boat licking our wounds. We’re both on the mend. It made me think we could help each other out.”
The cab pulls up and Elaine wobbles out. She is disoriented. Luckily, Artie is there to greet her.
Elaine is short, with dark, curly hair now migrating to gray. She has been slim all her life, but now is fighting the battle of middle age bulge. She’s dressed entirely in black, with footwear that makes no sense whatsoever on Indian Mound. The cabby pulls her bag from the trunk. She hands him a bill that generates an enthusiastic thank-you.
“Hey, Beautiful.”
“Artie. Look at you!.” Artie is dressed in what has become his daily costume-a clean, but wrinkled t-shirt, blue shorts, and that’s it. For formal occasions he wears sandals. Other than that, the only clothes he wears are waders. “So tanned! Aside from the fact that you look like a bum, you look great.”
“Elaine, it’s great to see you, but what the hell’s going on?” “First, coffee.”
“I’ve got some made.”
Artie, this coffee isn’t half-bad, but the most remarkable feature is that I notice two dirty cups You got a companion you haven’t told me about? Artie? Ar-tie? Whatever! You’re a big boy.
Everything is fine, but life takes some interesting turns. My Mother, My Lover is still number one both in video sales and rentals. And this is with no media at all, unless you want to count your disastrous public relations. I think what’s going on is that the nerve we thought this movie would touch was there all along. People just couldn’t explore it in public by going to the theater, so they had to wait until they could see it in the privacy of their homes.
Yes, just like pornography.
By the way, I can’t believe you are living in this shack. It’s like camping out, but more primitive.
You think I’m staying here? What are you, nuts?
So your contract with the studio gave them a ninety-day option on the rights for any kind of sequel based on the original. The standard boilerplate. My Mother, My Lover was released on March 15 (beware the Ides of fucking, March, right Artie?) so the option expired on June 15.
June 15 comes and goes. I didn’t even call them to see if they were interested because on June 15 you ranked right up there with Hitler and the Boston Strangler on the popularity charts. Then on July 1 the movie is released on video, and by July 12, without any studio support, it’s #1.
Now it’s been #1 for three straight weeks, and even more interestingly, it’s getting stronger each week. No one’s ever seen a sales and rental pattern like this. So two days ago I get a call from that schmuck Lipshitz at the studio. Imagine having that little pissant call about anything. He makes nice and then slides in the fact that I must have made an oversight by not calling them on the option, but he’ll be a nice guy and not let my incompetence get in the way of a business deal.
One side of me is glad we’re getting the option picked up, because a hundred grand is a hundred grand, but another side of me is really pissed that they’d be calling with someone so low on the food chain. It’s an insult to me, and a slap in the face to you. Lipshitz, for chrissakes.
I’m listening to him run on about how great they are to be exercising the option, because, you know, who woulda thought they’d consider making a sequel to the world’s biggest turkey when Stephanie bursts into the office and hands me a slip of paper that says one word, “Spielberg!!”
“I gotta go,” I tell the little prick. Then I switch lines:
“Stephen! How are you?” Like I’ve ever met the guy. Actually I have, but I didn’t think he’d ever remember. But he does. Then he starts making small talk. SMALL TALK! Stephen Spielberg is asking me what I think is going on in the business these days. Then he tells me the reason for the call is to see if Jasper Mumphrey is making progress on his novel. Jasper Mumphrey, Jesus! I mean, I represent the guy, and I even kind of like him, but everyone in town knows that until he goes through re-hab you might as well be asking about Buster the Wonder Dog.
I tell him that Jasper’s been under the weather. And he says to let him know if anything develops, and then he sneaks in, “Oh, what’s Arthur Gordon up to these days?”
Jackpot.
Now I know he’s in the hunt for My Mother, My Lover, but I’m cool. Artie you’da been very proud of me. I say “He’s spending a lotta time fishing.” You like that? “A lotta time fishing.”
And he says “I like fishing. Maybe Arthur and I can go together sometime. Did Sony pick up the option of My Mother, My Lover? I tell him “no,” and he says, “Well, Dream Works is interested. You talk to Arthur much?” Of course, I lie and tell him I’m seeing you tomorrow. He says “Ask him what his plans are. Maybe we can work together.”
“Yeah,” I say, “I’ll try to remember.”
Then he says, you’ll love this, “Promise me you won’t commit to anyone on this until you’ve talked to me.”
Do you believe that? Stephen Spielberg saying to me Promise … me … you … won’t … commit … to … anyone … until … you’ve … talked … to … me.
Artie tells Elaine she should take a nap, but she is so caught up in the chase, that she can’t consider sleep. She wants to put the film rights to My Mother, My Lover up for auction while the interest is hot. She’s come to Boston anticipating some hot and heavy negotiating that will need Artie’s immediate input. Artie, however, has other plans.
“Low tide is at 1:36 pm. I want to explore Germantown Flats when I can see the structure and learn about the current and flow of the tides. You can come along.”
“Like this?”
“I’ll outfit you.”
“By the way, I heard back from research on your mentor, Sandy Beach.”
“Really!” Artie is suddenly leaning forward. “What did you learn?”
“There is no Sandy Beach, at least not any more. There was a guy by that name who wrote a fishing column for The Boston Globe back in the late 1950s. His biggest claim to fame was that he was a fishing buddy of Ted Williams. But he died while fishing in Tortola in 1960.”
“Natural causes?”
“Suspicious circumstances. He was found floating face down in about eighteen inches of water, wearing all his fishing gear. Apparently, Beach wasn’t entirely reliable as a Globe columnist, so a lot of his work was ghosted by other staffers and reader submissions. He had a lot of fans. When they heard he died, they already had been cobbling together the column for a while, so they just kept doing it. Over the years they’ve produced books, columns, and all kinds of other material using the name of Sandy Beach.”
“Something is fishy here. Wouldn’t his family object?”
“But here’s the rub, ‘Sandy Beach’ wasn’t his own name. He was already using a pseudonym.”
“Interesting. Hm-m-m. That explains some things, but also raises some new questions.”
“You haven’t asked his real name.” “I’ll bite. What was his real name?”
“Gordon Arthur.”
Artie still wears his tee shirt and shorts, but he now has a long-billed cap and polarized sunglasses. Elaine is similarly attired in Artie’s clothes. Her cell phone is glued to her ear. They are walking on the exposed mudflats of Germantown, surrounded by eelgrass. Her legs are like porcelain piano legs.
Stephanie, it’s me. I’m here with Artie. It wasn’t so bad. I took an Ambien. You wouldn’t believe where we are. I’m in the middle of a mudflat, with mud squishing between my toes. Artie’s checking out the place for fishing. I feel like I’m on a different planet. Any calls?
Oh-h-h! OH-H-H-H! So Mr. Big Cheese finally is calling. I guess Mr. Lipschitz got the message that this wasn’t going to be a gimmee. When did he call? Twice? I’ll call him back. Don’t leave the phone. There’s going to be lots of activity this morning.
Artie is making notes in his log. It’s about fifteen minutes from low tide. The area is well protected from wind. A clam bed has been exposed, along with a few rocks with mussels clinging to them. A smooth slick extends out into the bay, indicating where the outgoing tide is meeting deeper water. This could be a comfortable place for bass to rest. Then, as the tide turns, they come in over the clam and mussel beds looking for what has been left behind.
Artie takes the temperature of the water. 71 degrees. He nods when Elaine says, much too loud, “I knew it! Sidney Miller’s called! Twice! That little prick Lipschitz must have felt this one slipping away. Let’s see what Mr. Studio President has to say for himself.”
Sidney! Elaine Siegal. How are you, Sweetie? I’m perfect, maybe better. No I’m out of town. In fact I’m visiting Arthur Gordon at his seaside villa on Cape Cod? Just a little R & R.
Really? That is a coincidence. I can’t really put him on the line, Sidney, because he’s been very emphatic about no business talk. But that’s him, not me. I can talk business. You know me. The store is always open. 24/7. What are you thinking about?
Uh-huh … uh-huh … uh-huh … uh-huh … uh-huh. Well, that’s a little better than what Dipshit called with yesterday. I didn’t think he could really be representing your views on this project, Sidney. Oh, yes, I know how you’ve always been supportive of this project, even when the going got a little rough. Seems like ancient history, doesn’t it? Who’d of thought that we’d be laughing about Sixty Minutes one day. I couldn’t agree more! Mike Wallace is a shriveled old cocksucker who should have been sent off to the glue factory years ago.
Let me try to find Arthur to tell him about this. I think he’s out fishing. I’ll call you back, Sweetie.
“Artie, do I give good phone or do I give good phone? Miller, is offering a half-million, plus full artistic control. I’m sure he’ll go three, four times that when he hears Dream Works is in the picture.”
The tide has reached dead low. There’s no signal, no sound. Just a momentary stillness, then an imperceptible change in motion. He sketches what it looks like at dead low.
“Don’t forget, you need a visual reference.” It was Sandy Beach talking to Artie. He had told him this more than once. In fact his column that morning was on this exact subject.
It’s very easy for a fisherman to become so caught up in the thrill of the chase, that he forgets that the tide stops for no man. If you have waded out on the outgoing tide, and you don’t follow the tide in, you can find yourself swimming, and that’s not easy with a nine-foot fly rod.
The way around this is to establish a fixed visual reference at low tide that you can glance at and instantly get a sense of the tide’s progression. This simple tip has kept me from being stranded many times, but it took a few dunkings to teach me.
“What can I tell him, Artie? Want me call Spielberg? Maybe we should involve Universal. Not that we’d do anything with them, but they might drive up the bid. This is beautiful. We’ve got about six options here. Whaddya think?”
Artie looks directly at her:
I think I better be careful wading here. I need a visual reference. The way the tide comes in over that bar, and the holes that exist between here and the shore mean you could get cut off if you aren’t careful. There’s plenty of food here. Find the food; find the fish. It might be fun to try a crab imitation here, because, as the tide turns, the bass will scoot in looking for anything that has been in its terrestrial mode. I think this place is definitely worth a shot.
“Oh.” She is puzzled. “You’re talking about fish. Real fish. I’m talking about big fish.”
“Elaine, do you ever hear voices, like someone speaking right in your ear?”
“Yes, Artie. About two minutes ago Stephen Fucking Spielberg was speaking right in my ear, and he was saying that he will pay many dollars for the rights to make the sequel to My Mother, My Lover. So now will you now get with the program and get some of your greed juices flowing. Don’t you appreciate how the worm has turned?”
“Where did that phrase come from?”
“From the ancient Chinese. How the fuck do I know, Artie? What are we going to tell these guys now that we’ve got their attention.”
Artie continues his inspection of Germantown Flats, overturning rocks and inspecting their undersides.
“I hear what you are saying, Elaine, and you’re beautiful, and I love you, and the world’s best agent, not to mention best friend, and you’re not going to like this, but I want to take things slow. It’s not the best negotiating ploy, and it may not net the biggest bucks. I want to figure out what’s best for me, and right now, I really don’t know.”
Elaine suddenly sputters squeals of fright and disgust. “There are little things bumping into my feet!”
“Those are shrimp, just like you eat, but tiny.”
“I don’t like them. Ouch! I stepped on a piece of glass!” “Probably a clamshell. Are you bleeding?”
Elaine grabs her foot and looks at her sole. “I don’t think so. Jesus, Artie, what do you want me to do? Let me put it in your terms. We’ve got big fish fighting to bite our bait. When they do, we need to reel them in!”
“What are my options?”
“OK, here they are. #1 Do nothing. Just sit with your thumb up your ass, live in your shack, bypass millions of dollars, and let your reputation remain in the shitter.”
Artie pulls apart a clamshell and finds it filled with mud. “OK, I understand #1.”
“#2, sell the rights, let Spielberg or Sony make the sequel. You get a pile of money. You get no say in the production at all. It’s their baby. #3, put it up for auction, tell everyone it’s for sale with you as director, don’t ask for any points and hope they start a bidding war. And #4, work out a friendly deal, with you getting a lower fee upfront, a percentage of the gross, and full artistic control.”
“Any other options?”
“One more. Keep the rights. Take the independent route. Make the film yourself. Do a distribution deal with one of the studios, and live or die with the outcome.”
Artie drops the rock onto the mud. He extends his arm and draws Elaine to him.
“You are the best agent in the world. That’s why I’ve been with you for more than twenty years; that’s why you’re my son’s Godmother; that’s why I love you.”
Elaine leans her head into his chest for a second, then says “Cut the crap, Artie. What do you want to do?”
“You must be incredibly tired after the red-eye.”
“Cut the crap, Artie. What do you want to do?”
“I want to gather my loved ones around me and have them help me with this decision.”
“Cut the crap, Artie. What do you want to do?”
“That’s really what I want to do. I’m going to take you back to the cottage and put you down for a nap. I’m going to call Liam, Cuzzin, and my next door neighbor, and invite them to dinner tonight.”
“What do I tell Sidney and Spielberg?”
“Don’t tell them a thing. Take the phone off the fucking hook, or whatever the cell phone equivalent is.”