MAX

Ivan insists despite the bored look on my face, “Your film is shit if it doesn’t get on the big screen, or festivals, at least!”

“Because it needs approval from the film community?”

“Yes!”

Tired of his antiquated ideas, my gaze follows the female bartender who’s working solo tonight. I love watching a woman craft cocktails. Zipping around the bar, bending for bottles, smiling for tips. She’s more fun than the yawn to my right.

After too much silence, Ivan says, “Max, you need to play their game.”

“You’ve mistaken me for someone who wants the approval of those people.”

The bartender catches me staring. I hold her eyes until she gives me a sexy smile, which I return. Anything to get out of this conversation.

“The system is set up for a reason!”

“I’m doing this for me,” I tell Ivan for the third time.

“Why?”

Struggling as to whether I want to share this with him, I finally give in because I feel so strongly about it. My family means the world to me. “I’m making this movie to get closer to my father. To understand him better. What he went through before he met my mom. And I don’t care if the film community likes it or not.” He stares at me blankly so I take a sip and mutter, “I’m making this movie for me. It’s one hell of a story and it needs to be told. I’m the man to do it.”

Ivan barks, “You’re going to fail!”

My eyes go dead.

Nobody should ever tell anyone they’re going to fail. Who the fuck talks like that to people? No friend of mine.

“Then so be it. If I fall on my face I’ll get back up and try again. Like every great success story. They failed more than they succeeded. Walt Disney, P.T. Barnum, Milton Hershey, Heinz—the ketchup guy—they all filed bankruptcy before their ideas worked. Some of them more than once! Read a book sometime.”

“Max!” he groans. “If you get into Sundance, Tribeca, South by Southwest, Cannes, that means something!”

“To who?”

“Everyone!”

“Let everyone aim for that then.”

“Max!”

“I’m gonna be me.”

He throws up his hands. “Why am I even trying?”

“That’s a fantastic question. Why do you need to? How does this have anything to do with you? Your project is yours, mine is mine.”

“You’re going to waste not only your time and money, but everyone else’s, too! It takes months to film a movie—”

“Mine will be filmed in three and a half weeks. Fewer locations. Less cost.”

“You’re crazy!”

Miss Bartender walks up, eyes locked with mine. Now this is what I’m talking about right here. She makes a white button-up and black tie look feminine. Her voice is honey as she leans on the bar and holds my look. “Can I get you another beer?”

“I have a taste for something stronger.”

Her lips twitch at the corners. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Your phone number. Here’s my cell. Put it in there, will ya?” I slide it across the bar.

Her eyelashes flutter. She expected me to flirt a little more, maybe wimp out and never ask, but that’s not my style. She chuckles, “Well aren’t you cocky!”

“So they tell me.” Pushing my phone a little closer I introduce myself, “I’m Max, nice to be in your bed later.”

Her jaw drops. “Oh my God,” she laughs, shaking my hand, eyes flicking to Ivan like she wants confirmation I’m for real.

The decision sparks in her eyes. She picks up the phone, finds it unlocked, and starts tapping around for my contacts. Ivan and I exchange a look. He’d never do something like this. But those are his missed opportunities. This is why my film might work. I take chances.

“What’s your name?”

She turns the screen around to show me. “Callie.”

“Nice to meet you, Callie.”

She hands me my phone. “You’re fast, Max.”

“Not when it counts.”

Big shocked smile. She covers her eyes and walks away to help other customers, completely forgetting to ask if I really did want another beer. I smile to myself as I tuck my phone away, knowing I tilted her world a little bit. Always fun to make a woman smile.

Under his breath, Ivan says, “Only you could pull that off.”

Finishing off my pint, I tap the glass to make the liquid fall faster, and meet his eyes. “All you’ve gotta do is try.”

Standing, I shake grey jeans out to make room for my package, and reach for the coat I laid on the next barstool. Slipping it on I explain to deaf ears, “I don’t want to ask anyone for permission to put my creation into the world. And I don’t have to. I’ll submit it to the festivals, but only on the off chance that someone digs it and helps me advertise. However, if they don’t, I’ll self-publish my movie. You know why? Let the people decide. The real people, not the ones sitting on a pedestal deciding the fates of newbies like you and me. All I care about is moving those real people, opening their hearts, their minds, with a story worth telling. If nobody likes it, at least I got it out of my system. Every day I wake up thinking about it. This movie needs to be made. So I’m making it. You have a good night. I’m glad we got to catch up again.”

Ivan calls after me. “Oh, I see what you’re doing! You’re gonna use daddy’s connections to get the word out! Call your famous papa and pull some strings! Or maybe your sappy rockstar cousin will talk to his fans, huh?!”

Anger lashes into me faster than you can say Cocker Family. I flip around, rush up, get right in his face. “Don’t ever talk about my family again, you hear me? I will knock your ass out of Atlanta, Ivan, with my fists. Got me, you little-brain fuck?!”

He backs down. “I was only kidding.”

I snarl, “The hell you were,” and walk away.