Eventually finding refuge in my apartment, I returned my tennis gear to the closet, poured myself an orange juice, improving it nicely with peach schnapps, sat at my desk and called Charley.

That's Charley Davenport, the producer of my first screenplay. He took a liking to me because of the conscientious way I handled the time-consuming rewriting of my first script and we've been friends ever since. Charley's been sort of a gruff yet caring father to me so I felt he should have the first crack at my latest box-office sensation.

Although it's nice to have someone pulling for you on the inside, Charley wouldn't green-light just any script of mine. It would have to have something special going for it and I was sure that Loophole fulfilled that requirement.

After the second ring, I heard, "Good morning, Davenport Productions."
"Good morning. May I . . . Dol, Dolores? This is Russ."
"Rusty, I thought I recognized your voice."
"How have you been?"
"I'm nursing a sprained ankle at the moment."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."
"But there's nothing wrong with my memory. Like the fact you were supposed to take me to dinner, three years ago."
"Sorry to say, I believe it's been more like a year and a half."
"Either way, I'm still waiting."
"You must be pretty hungry by now."
"I snack a lot."
"I honestly thought you'd be long gone from there."
"Where would I go?"
"Off somewhere, making movies, of course."
"Have you seen me in any trailers?"

I thought for a moment before saying, "I'm not touching that line."
"Why, what did I say?"
"I was just picturing you, in a trailer. You know, the kind with wheels."
"Your mind would go there. Let me put it this way. Have you seen me in any film trailers?"
"Well, no. I don't go to the movies. I just write them."
"And you know how tall I am. Did you think I had shrunk?"
"Oh, I hope not. I've always thought you were perfect just the way you are, tall and gorgeous."
"Thanks, but the casting agents don't usually choose an actress who's leading man has to stand on top of another actor in order to look their co-star in the eye."
"Isn't that how some of them rise to stardom?"
"That's corny, even you."
"Sorry. How about if I take you to lunch to make up for it?"
"Will that take another year and a half?"
"Only another week, if all goes well with Charley."
"He's playing golf and said he wouldn't be back until after two."
"In this weather?"
"He'll be okay. I gave him a golf umbrella last year for Christmas."
"Well have him call me, would you please?"
"Your memory is slipping. Have you forgotten that he never . . . ? Wait, he just walked in."

I could hear his cigar-chomping voice booming and singing through the phone. "I'm not here-ere."
"I already told the party you are here."
"Then you can rescind your last raise." I assumed that Charley took Dolores's phone, which seems like an unnecessary instrument in his case. "Who is this?"
I put on my best British accent. "Mr. Davenport, I'm Reginald P. Morgan of Morgan, Morgan and Kluzewski. I represent . . ."
"Cut the crap, Russ, you're not fooling anybody."
"I never could fool you, Charley."
"Don't even try. Have you've finally written the second leg . . . what did you call it?"
"My Preakness. I'm surprised you remembered. It's not finished yet, but I'd like to show you what I've got so. . ."
"Bring it in Tuesday, two o'clock. I gotta play golf in the morning. It's my only source of income, lately."
"That's a long way off. Suppose I find another buyer in the meantime?"
"Good. Whatever they offer you, I'll give you ten percent less."
"I don't think that's how a bidding war is supposed to work."
"Don't worry. You'll see how it works as soon as your writing merits it."
"Thanks, Charley. See you then. Would you put Dolores back on?"
"What am I, your pimp? See you Tuesday."
Like a caring father, he had given the phone back to Dolores. "I'm here."
"How about lunch next Tuesday? I have it on good authority that your slave driving boss won't be in until two."
The booming voice boomed back, "I heard that."