Dog Beach Read Free

yet—”
    â€œIt’s been a fucking year!”
    The yell startled Troy. Startled everyone.
    â€œI—I know,” Troy stammered, “but I’m experimenting with a few things that are still Jell-O and I want to nail it down first.”
    â€œOmigod, Troy,” said Zoe. There it was, that Valley Girl whine. “People usually say ‘nail down Jell-O’ to mean something’s, like, impossible. Talk about mixing your metaphors. You’re such a tool.”
    Avi looked at Durbin, caught the struggling writer wincing up at him. When Durbin lowered his eyes back to his iPad, Avi suggested that the boys (freeloaders, he called them) go for a walk on the beach.
    â€œI need to talk business with my director.”
    The guys, all but Troy, shuffled out onto the back porch, Indian-filed down the steps to the sand. Zoe stood off in the kitchen, hand on a big hip, sipping a glass of cool filtered water from the fridge.
    â€œYou have four weeks to turn in a cut,” Avi said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’ve put me in a very bad position with my investors. Four weeks, or your schoolboy ass is out of my house. And you pay me back every fucking penny, I don’t care if you have to call your mother in Connecticut . . . Baby Boy Troy.”
    Troy did a chilled take at the name, but then Avi was gone. Zoe finished her water, left the empty glass for the tenants to clean and put away. On her way out, she went to Troy’s desk, sorted through the color-coded strip board. “We shooting Monday or not?”
    â€œNot if it rains.”
    â€œWe’re in Southern California, duh.”
    â€œI think we got most of your stuff, Zoe. I know we want to do reshoots on the crying scene, but we have the rest of June.”
    â€œEasy on the liposuction. If you cut anything, cut that little porn star you’re fucking. The redhead from Charlie’s house. She can’t act her way out of a paper bag.”
    Zoe left the house. Troy stood there, waiting to hear the door latch. “Yeah, okay, Hepburn, you Armenian skank.”
    Someone touched his shoulder and he started.
    â€œDude,” Durbin said. “What’d he say?”
    The young filmmakers were back inside, forming a loose huddle. “I think he threatened me,” Troy said.
    â€œI told you,” T-Rich said. “The guy is sketchy.”
    â€œYou notice how he’s got a vampire accent?” Malone said. “I mean like a high-end vampire. The vampire one percent.”
    â€œHe’s giving me four weeks.”
    â€œOr what?”
    â€œI don’t know. But I think he’s tapped the phone. He knows what Alexis calls me, I mean her little nickname for me.”
    â€œDog House is tapped ?” Malone said.
    â€œWhat’s Alexis call you?” Durbin wanted to know. “Is it nasty?”
    â€œThis sucks, man.” Troy clutched for more stale bread, then threw the empty bag.
    Malone stood at the closet, checking on his surfboard. “What did the fourth Kardashian take out of our closet?”
    â€œA yoga mat,” said Durbin. “Troy, what are you going to do?”
    â€œI’m going nonlinear with the structure. I’m going to baffle myself into an inspired work of lunacy. And then I’m going to run.”
    â€œNonlinear is six years ago,” T-Rich said, picking up Zoe’s water glass and examining the perfect lipstick on the rim.
    â€œWell, you have any ideas for saving this piece of shit?” Troy looked at each of them. A dog barked at the waves outside; a woman called out to someone down the beach. The seagulls returned to the porch, determined. But not a single desperate idea from the Dogs of Entropy.
    Then Malone had a brainstorm: “I’d just run, bro.”

3
    MARINA DEL REY
    The sun had been up for twenty minutes, but Louie Mo and Dutch “the Clutch” Dupree were just waking in the front seat. They’d spent