Revision of Justice Read Free Page A

at the Times . Don’t look so surprised, Templeton. I had my share of frivolous assignments when I was starting out.”
    As we moved on, I felt more and more imprisoned by bodies, and suffocated by the buzz of conversation that filled the rooms. The chief topics seemed to be the Sundance Film Festival, the odd career of a director named Quentin Tarantino, and how much a writer named Jake Novitz had been paid for his latest script.
    I was older by a good decade than most of those around me, who ranged in appearance from clean-cut to scruffy, from carefully businesslike to self-consciously bohemian. For all the varied styles on display, however, I sensed that the group was bound almost religiously by a singleminded social zeal. More than anything, I was struck by the restlessness of the eyes, most of which seemed to be searching the room.
    As we neared the kitchen, the babble and laughter rose in my ears like discordant music, and the crush of bodies began to feel claustrophobic. Kapono’s husky voice cut through the din.
    “You can usually spot the agents. They tend to be better dressed and more confident looking. Just as intense, but without that sense of anxiety and neediness. At least the successful ones.”
    We slipped past a small group that included the young woman with the knapsack we’d seen marching resolutely up the hill. She was handing fresh-looking, vinyl-covered scripts to two thirtyish men who resembled Armani models from the neck down but ambitious young salesmen from the neck up.
    “It’s very castable,” I heard the young woman say eagerly. “I think you’ll see plenty of foreign potential in the action scenes. I’m sure that pre-sell could cover half the budget.”
    We reached a breathing space in the big kitchen, which was mercifully free of bodies, except for a brown-skinned housekeeper who busied herself opening bags of chips. Kapono took the bottle of wine from my hands, found a corkscrew, and put it to work.
    “The party looks like quite a success,” Templeton said.
    “Give it more time. By eleven, it’ll be wall-to-wall people, every one of them with at least three new ideas for next year’s box-office blockbuster, and ready to pitch to anyone who will listen.”
    I glanced around at the faces.
    “It’s certainly a young crowd.”
    “And white,” Templeton added.
    Kapono’s eyes flickered knowingly.
    “Welcome to Hollywood.”
    I heard the pop of the cork as it came out and felt a surge of desire for the alcohol. Kapono poured the wine into a clear plastic cup, looking up and waiting for me to tell her to stop. I didn’t.
    When it was full, she handed it over.
    “Most of the people are here to make some kind of connection,” she explained. “Screenwriters looking to hook up with an agent or a development person, development people hoping to find a hot new script before someone else does. It’s a very social business, moviemaking. Connections and relationships count for a lot.”
    “And why are you here?” Templeton asked.
    “Why do I work as Gordon’s assistant?”
    Templeton nodded. Kapono fixed her with clear, confident eyes.
    “My goal is to meet enough people and acquire enough knowledge to work myself into a position of influence.”
    “Influence or power?” I asked.
    “I suppose they’re one and the same, aren’t they?”
    “And what is it that you hope to influence?”
    “What kind of movies get made. What kind of images we put on the screen for the world to see. How we reflect and shape the consciousness of the next generation. From a woman’s point of view.”
    “An Asian woman’s point of view?” Templeton asked.
    “Possibly.” Kapono cocked her head thoughtfully. “And a lesbian’s viewpoint as well, when it’s appropriate.”
    Kapono’s frankness surprised me, especially in front of a journalist gathering material for a story. Either times had changed more than I realized, or Kapono had lots of backbone. Maybe both.
    “You sound very serious