"Coldheart Canyon (preview edition)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive - Coldheart Canyon)

nodded. "You want an escort to your car?"
"Yeah, thanks."
One of the executive producers, an over-eager Englishman called George
Dipper, with whom Todd had never worked before, was standing on the red carpet, his
presence ignored by the press, who were standing around chatting to one another, or
checking their cameras before the luminaries reappeared. George caught Todd's eye,
and hurried over, dragging on his own cigarette as though his life depended on its
nicotine content.
There was scattered applause from inside, which quickly died away.
The picture was over.
"I think it played brilliantly," George said, his eyes begging for a
syllable of agreement. "They were with us all the way. Don't you think so?"
"It was fine," Todd said, without commitment.
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Barker, Clive - Coldheart Canyon
"Forty million, the first weekend."
"Don't get your hopes up."
"You don't think we'll do forty?"
"I think it'll do fine."
George's face lit up. Todd Pickett, the man he'd paid twenty million dollars
to (plus a sizable portion of the back-end) was declaring it fine. God was in His
Heaven. For a terrible moment Todd thought the man was going to weep with relief.
"At least there's nothing big opening against it," Todd said, "So we've got
one weekend clear."
мAnd your fans are loyal," George said. Again, the desperation in the eyes.
Todd couldn't bear to look at him any longer.
"I'm just goin' to make a quick getaway," Todd said, glancing towards the
theater doors.
The first of the crowd were emerging. If the expressions on the first five
faces he scanned were an omen, his instincts were right: they did not have a hit. He
turned his back on the crowd, telling George he'd see him later.
"You are coming to the party?" George said, hanging on to him as he headed
down the carpet.
Where was Marco? Todd thought. Trusty Marco, who was always there when he
was needed. "Yes, I'll pop in later," he said, glancing back over his shoulder at
George to reassure him.
In the seconds since he'd turned away the audience spilling from the theatre
door had jumped from five to a hundred. Half of them saw him. In just a few seconds
they'd be surrounding him, yelling his name, telling him they loved this and they
hated that, touching him, pulling on himу
"Here, boss!"
Marco called to him from the curb. The limo door was open. God bless him!
Todd raced down the carpet as people behind him started to call his name; cameras
started to flash. Into the limo. Marco slammed the door. Todd locked it. Then Marco
dashed around to the driver's seat with a remarkable turn of speed given his
poundage, and got in.
"Where to?"
"Mulholland."
Mulholland Drive winds through the city like a lazy serpent for many miles;
but Marco didn't need to know where along its length his boss wanted to be taken.