5 May


My son Devon flew out for a week and I took some vacation time, which means I’m cut off from my computer at work. Living in an illegal sublet makes it impossible for me to be hooked up to the Internet. So when I wanted to reconnoiter with Michael about Mambo Sun we have to make plans to meet at Surfers Point in Ventura.

Devon and I drive down the 101 to Ventura as Devon searches the dial for a decent song. We pull into Surfers Point and sit on a bench, looking out at the ocean. In April, after heavy rains and runoff, the surf is churning brown, inspiring a hepatitis warning to would-be swimmers. I tell Devon my favorite opening line from a book is by William Burroughs, The Place of Dead Roads.

“The old writer lived in a boxcar by the river.”

Michael comes rolling up. I turn my laptop on and Michael takes it to his car where out of the sun he can read the screen. This lack of being wired makes me feel like a Greek runner in the Trojan War carrying messages back and forth between Menalaus and Ajax.

Michael comes back in minutes. We discuss a few changes and Michael deems it, “Close enough for government work.”

The goal is to get the outline to Matt’s liking. Then we’ll come in and pitch Mambo to Matt’s boss, Simon Fields. Presumably, if JLo’s company wants to move forward, they’ll pay us to write a first draft.

Presumptions are dangerous in Hollywood, but Michael and I won’t write a custom-designed script for Marc Anthony if we’re not getting paid.



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