Harry Jackson reclined in his leather chair with a long, long list of names in front of him—mostly young, hungry actors hoping to catch lightning in a bottle. A few he already knew from film circles, a few from late-night TV, and a good many from nothing more than a headshot and a gut feeling. There was a mild aroma of espresso in the air, thanks to Lisa, and Sparky—the golden retriever Harry adopted on a whim only a month ago—was sprawled out under the table asleep, lightly snoring.
Gregory had just left the office after a marathon call with the casting director and a couple of scheduling agents, and they had already begun working with a couple of talent managers on their shortlist— Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Ryan Gosling, and Jake Gyllenhaal. All great options but little-known, all relatively affordable if played smart.
Lisa popped her head in. "Harry, you have a visitor."
Harry furrowed his brow. "Greg again?"
Lisa smiled. "Worse. Your mother."
Before he could groan, Rachel Jackson whirled into the room in a flowing beige coat, her sharp eyes bouncing to the littered desk, the script pages scattered about, and landing on Sparky who was still nestled at his feet.
"Oh my God, is that Sparky?" she gasped.
Sparky lifted his head and trotted toward her instantly, wagging his tail like a metronome.
Rachel dropped to her knees, petting Sparky. "You didn't tell me he was this handsome!"
"I did, actually," Harry replied, amused.
Rachel clicked her tongue. "No, you said I got a dog. You didn't say I got the most perfect creature God ever made."
Harry leaned back and took a sip of his coffee. "I guess I didn't want to make you jealous."
Rachel was completely ignoring him, now cooing at Sparky. "Does the big bad man ignore you baby? Don't worry grandma's here now."
Harry raised his eyebrow. "Now you're calling yourself his grandma?"
She stood up and dusted off her hands. "Better than calling myself your mother, since you seem like you have forgotten how to answer your phone."
"I have been busy," Harry replied. "We are in casting now. The script is finished. Memento made fifty million dollars. I thought you would be impressed."
Rachel blinked. "Fifty million?"
"Yup," Harry nodded. "Budget was five."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You didn't even pick up the phone to call me and say, Mom, I did it?"
"I was going to," Harry said, massaging his temples like he had a headache, "but I had to stop and pick up bag dog food and buy this new leather couch and --"
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Spare me the excuses. But, it's okay. I read the Variety article. That photo of you in that black coat? You looked… well, important. You have grown."
They sat in a beat of silence, broken only by Sparky's tail thumping against the floor.
"I am proud of you, Harry," Rachel said, and she meant it this time. "Even though I despise how you left your father's company."
Harry's smile faded slightly. "He would have hated all of this."
Rachel sat down across from him, her voice softer, "But I don't."
For a moment, Harry let that sit. Then he stood and gestured to the piles of photos, "Want to help me pick our potential psychopaths and doomed to be eaten townspeople?"
"Thriller," Harry corrected. "Don't say horror. Makes it sound cheap."
Rachel gave him a puzzled look. "You're the one putting blood and cults in it."
Harry smiled. "It's called taste."
They continued to sort through their piles in comfortable silence for the next few minutes. Rachel rifled through a pile of headshots while Sparky settled between them.
"You know," she said after a while. "This Bale kid. Isn't he that weird skinny guy from *American Psycho*?"
"He bulked up a little since then," Harry said, "and he's good. Really good."
"And this one," she held up a photo of Jake Gyllenhaal, "he's got intense eyes. But he's... young."
"That's the point," Harry said. "Youthful desperation. Naive curiosity. The audience has to connect before everything goes to hell."
She nodded slowly. "You really are thinking like a director now."
Harry tapped his pen. "That's the idea."
As the day turned into evening, Lisa returned with more coffee and some light food. James dropped in briefly to talk schedules, and Maria—ever the observant housekeeper—brought Sparky's dinner. Everyone worked around the dog, who had unofficially become the most beloved member of the house.
By the time Rachel left, she kissed Sparky twice on the head and gave Harry a one-armed hug.
Later that night, as he stood on the balcony overlooking the Berkeley Hills, script pages fluttering in the warm breeze, he watched Sparky roll on his back in the garden, paws in the air, chasing a bug.
A small laugh escaped Harry's throat.