Luis..Ruiz..Luis..Ruiz..he was an expert. He barely drank his coffee and he edited my script on Kristi's tablet while I watched the changes on mine. I'm sorry if I can't remember his name was Luis or Ruiz..we don't have Mexicans in Portland.
"Ruiz is an expert."
"Um-hmm."
"No he worked on Ransom 2 and Evil Chainsaw 3.
"It's Ransom 2 and Evil Chainsaw 2."
"Oh, are they working on an Evil Chainsaw 3?" Kristi asked her friend.
"Not that I'm aware of," Ruiz said over the top of his glasses.
"Ruiz is an expert."
"So what do you think? Ruiz."
"Well you have some fairly ridiculous dialogue here. And you're not following the three-line rule?"
"What's the three-line rule?"
"You never have descriptive paragraphs—action—in more than three-line chunks."
"Ok, but why not?"
"Producers."
Kristi nods.
"What about them?"
Ruiz is tapping on K's tablet, rapidly changing my script into something unrecognizable.
"What about who?"
"What about producers. And the three-line rule."
"Producers can't read," Ruiz says.
Kristi puts her arm on Ruiz's shoulder and nods.
"Can you be more specific?"
"Well, producers can't read a paragraph that's longer than three lines."
"That can't be true."
Kristi and Ruiz look at me like I'm crazy.
"You mean this literally?" I say.
Kristi and Ruiz nod.
Ruiz keeps typing.
"This is a good script. Just needs some polishing."
"Kristi and I hadn't discussed your payment."
"Oh, this is a deed?"
"A deed?"
"Film people work for free for each other from time to time. It's part of the business. This is a deed?"
"A deed?"
"I want to meet you, Lauren..Teacup. Meeting a new director is sometimes worth more than the cost of a single job. It's about the relationship."
"I get it. Well I appreciate what you're doing. We really need your help. I'd like to offer you a lifetime supply of Starbucks coffee for your help."
"Haaaaaa missy! Hollywood people get free coffee in Hollywood anyway." He laughs. "But thaaaaaaank you!!!!"
"Did I offend him?" I ask Kristi.
"I don't think so. He's working."
And when he was done working, Ruiz—whatever his last name was—tossed the tablet across our table.
"What you have here is a newly Americanized fully beat-oriented standard-style recent-ized you know typical Hollywood standard screenplay of the age. I recommend you re-periodize some of the obvious references you have to the new Lolita and others. But, trust me, the more common constructions I have put in for you in the vast majority of cases will not only get this script produced but will attract actors and such."
"Don't we owe you more than a cup of coffee?"
"Let me tell you something," Ruiz says. "Hollywood scripts are made in Starbucks. Mostly same with Hollywood films as well. I can tell you something the Oracle of Hollywood didn't tell you."
Ruiz looks at his pet, Kristi.
"This is a great script. You are a great artist. Now no Oracle of Hollywood and no producer is going to tell you this, because they don't know what a great artist is. But I've read 10,000 scripts and I ain't read one like that in three or four years. You give me chills, Lauren Teacup. Where did you come from? The midwest? We need more people like you in this vacant town, Miss Teacup. So anytime you need a script polish, you call Kristi and have her call me and we'll make quick work of the motherfucker."
"Thank you, Ruiz."
"Isn't he great?"
"Yeah, I wish he would wax my bush."
Kristi and Ruiz look at me.
"Must be that midwest sense of humor coming in."
"Thank you for giving me the honor of working on your work."
He bows a little.
"No, stay! Stay and we'll have a white girl pajama party like you wouldn't believe."
Ruiz smiles.
"I have a pajama party already like I wouldn't believe..I have six daughters!!"
"Jesus," Kristi says.
And I think what it would be like to have a life with a husband like Ruiz and six daughters.
When you have an idea, you're like a tree that needs to bear fruit. An apple tree needs to make apples. If it doesn't, it's not much of an apple, tree, is it?
That's how I was with my movie.
They say men have more of a need to create because they can't make babies. Women have this intrinsic way they can make something of value. Men need to make symphonies—and do make more of them than women—because the fuckers can't get pregnant.
That's one theory and I think it's basically horse shit, but making something is like having a baby.
Maybe you think that metaphor is bullshit.
But one thing that's the same is that once you get started..or once you get past a certain point..you are going to have that baby. There's an irreversibility to the act of creation. A need.
I had that need and every night Kristi and I worked on our screenplay it got worse. I don't mean it got more intense. It got worse, like a sickness. I had a movie pimple..and that pimple wasn't going away till I popped it.
"People don't really say, 'dope,' anymore," Kristi says, with the tablet in her lap.
We each fist a Keystone Ice.
"Why don't they say dope?"
"Well..they just don't."
"Can we have 'em say 'phat?' "
Kristen swigs her Keystone Ice and looks at me like I'm a dinosaur.
"No. Besides. You have it spelled with an h."
I look at her.
She laughs.
"What's wrong with the h??"
"That's an east-coast spelling!!" she shouts.
"Well how do I know it if I'm from Portland?"
"I don't know. You're probably not even from Portland. You're a Columbian spy!"
"I'll show you my license, bitch."
"Better get a California one. They'll arrest you for that."
"They'll arrest me for my Oregon license?"
"Arrest you for jaywalking," Kristi says.