Last lines of Chapter 12:

As I was leaving, she said, "Don't forget my offer . . ." Maybe I've been wrong about her. ". . . you don't have to pay me in cash." Then again, maybe not.

Who's Next?

". . . you don't have to pay me in cash," were the last words Yolanda uttered, as I was leaving her apartment and the only words Dolores had to hear, before throwing my phone at me and running out of the building.

Picking up the phone fragments cost me the chance to catch up with her. I fit the pieces together, punched in some numbers and my phone was back to normal. Mending my relationship with Dolores may not be as simple.

- - - < > - - -

After breakfast the next morning I poured a coffee, sat at my kitchen table and opened the latest edition of The Call Sheet, the one I "borrowed" from Charley's waiting room. It's the standard trade magazine of the industry.

I tore through pages and pages of articles, announcements and gossip columns until I found what I was looking for: ads placed by producers and others, who are looking for screenplays to produce or to back. In other words, people like Charley.

There appeared to be hundreds of them, in all sorts of categories. I couldn't help but glance at the ones in bold type.

"WE PAY TOP DOLLAR!" and "NOBODY BEATS OUR PRICES!!!"

were just two of the many ads with the same theme. You'd think they were referring to used cars.

Ads with a minimum of copy surrounded by much white space were also easily noticeable.

"FIRST TIME SCRIPTS A SPECIALTY", etc., etc.

or

"WE WELCOME YOUR FIRST SCREENPLAY!", etc., etc., etc.

I wondered if Marty checked out any of these ads before hooking up with Charley. Either way, he made the right choice.

As I was considering getting my feet wet and calling one of them, an ad for Shultz Enterprises beckoned me. I dialed the number.

The phone rang several times before I heard an irritating voice of an irritated man.

"Who is this?" he yelled. He could have announced, "You've won first prize in a beauty contest" and it wouldn't have mattered to me. My opening line was all set.

"Good morning. My name is Russell Walker. I've just written a . . ."

"Who gave you this number?"

"I saw your ad in Call Sheet and . . ."

"Flo, I thought I told you to take our ad out of the Trades." There was the subtle sound of a phone slamming against another object. I do hope the other object wasn't Flo.

This would have been a good time to be asked to take a survey about how I had just been treated. I knew exactly what I'd have done. I'd have stared at my phone, with my angriest look and sternly said, "You know what I'm thinking," and hung up, without even waiting for an apology. That would have show them.

When I had sufficiently calmed down, I looked no further than the next ad in the column. Prompted by an old saying, I couldn't wait to get back on the horse. The next call could lead to finishing my "Preakness."