Page 65 of Twelve Days and Twelfth Night

Something shifted in Melvin’s dark eyes—from his usual fatherly benevolence to the respectful way he looked at directors and producers. He cleared his throat. “That’s correct.”

“I know you’re concerned about my image, your image, and the studio’s ability to sell film rights. That’s why I would have used a pen name—Joseph P. Duke.”

Melvin murmured his approval.

Prescott opened his hand for his contract and tucked the document into his attaché case. “That’s the name I’ll use in my new life.”

“Your new life?”

“I refuse to be a hermit. I need to work. I’ll apply for factory jobs here in LA.” San Diego carried too many memories. “I’ll go back to being Joe. Not Joe Prescott—I’m not that man anymore. But I’m not really Prescott Duke anymore either.”

“You’ll always be—”

“Prescott Duke has a big fancy house in Beverly Hills. I plan to sell some of the art, rent out the house, and buy something smaller near my new job. Nothing fancy, but it’ll be mine.”

Melvin leaned back in his chair, tapped his fingers on his armrests, and scrutinized Prescott. “This is a new side of you.”

“A bright side?” A wry chuckle broke out at the memory of Maggie posing onstage, showing Prescott a new path. “Recently someone told me if you can’t find a bright side, make one. That’s what I’m doing.”

With a grunt, Melvin pushed his large frame out of his chair. “I believe you’ll do just that. I wish you the best.”

“Thank you.” He shook his agent’s hand and said goodbye to Edna.

Outside on Wilshire Boulevard in cool sunshine, he walked a few blocks to Valentine Ruben’s office.

When the secretary admitted Prescott, Val pumped his hand. “Good to see you. I was surprised to see you’d made an appointment.”

“I wanted to see you for two reasons.” Prescott took the offered chair across from Val’s carved mahogany desk. “First, I’d like to pick up my script if you haven’t thrown it away.”

Val frowned and sat in a chair that dwarfed him. “I still have it.”

“Good.” Although Maggie had created a carbon copy, Prescott wanted the original for a souvenir. “I also came to apologize. I ignored Melvin’s advice to give up writing, and I did what I thought best. I also took advantage of our friendship. I’m sorry, Val.”

“Not at all. I just wish you’d reconsider.”

“Reconsider what?”

“Giving up this project. Melvin was in a state, and I never got a chance to tell him how much I like your script.”

Prescott’s vision swam, and he blinked a few times. “Pardon?”

“I’d only read the first scene when I called him. But afterward, I kept reading. Couldn’t stop. It’s the best I’ve read in years. Any chance you’d reconsider?”

Thoughts circled Prescott’s brain, colliding with each other. Nothing made sense. “You—you liked it?”

Val shrugged narrow shoulders. “It’s got rough spots, needs work. I’d hook you up with a writer.”

Standard practice in Hollywood. “You’re serious?”

Val inclined his head, and his dark eyes narrowed. “Are you? Are you serious about writing?”

“I—I was. I am. Are you saying you want to pursue this project?”

A chuckle, and Val leaned his elbows on his desk. “I’m saying I’d like another Oscar. You want one?”

All he could hear was Maggie’s cheery voice proclaiming, “Oscars all around,” and he nodded. “We need to call Melvin.”

“He only read the first page, you said? Ha! I can’t wait to tell the great Melvin Underwood that he was wrong.” Val chuckled, picked up his phone, and dialed. “You’ve heard the saying ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em.’ Well, you’re about to achieve greatness, and I’ve had greatness thrust upon me.”