Running with Ghosts

"The real estate blurbs paid way more, and you wouldn't be impressed if you could see the

publisher's office. It's in a garage, and the chief executive does casual shifts at a computer store to

make ends meet – a point that Vi made when I last spoke to her. Writers are low, according to her."

"At least it makes more sense that you talked yourself down," said Meghan. "You were in

love with this Violet?"

"After three and a half years I thought it would go all the way. Then I came in just as she

was about to charge off to New York with this guy who could get her a job. Then she basically said

she'd just been acting, and she stole from me by using our joint credit card, knowing she wouldn't

get the bill. Three thousand two hundred and twenty three dollars and forty three cents. I counted

carefully."

"Ouch!" said Meghan.

"Now I'm convinced that all actresses are faithless, heartless, scheming, hateful creatures."

"Hey, we're not that bad. I've a grudge against men. I've been dumped heaps of times."

"Yeah, right. Clarise Chalmers has been dumped," said Will.

"I have to."

As far as I'm concerned all actresses are hateful," said Will, although without any heat, "and

they should all be dumped."

Meg rolled her eyes. "Oh, suit yourself. Have you spoken to Violet since?"

"You remember when we met, I didn't see you come in because I was looking at the screen

above the bar?"

"And you nearly choked to death when you saw me," said Meghan, smiling. "I remember."

"I was distracted because I could see Violet on the screen. She was in a commercial,

presenting an exercise machine. Only time I've seen her since she left. I haven't spoken to her at

all."

"No one else since?"

"My roomie's Goth girlfriend wants to set me up with her Goth girlfriends."

"Not into Goths?"

"Don't look so good in leather with purple hair," said Will. "Can I go now, not-boss Meg? I

have your work to do."

"Are you going to keep playing the victim?"

"I am a victim – of actresses."

"Ha!"

"I'm a victim in other ways," said Will.

"How so?"

"I'm a fashion victim."

Meghan laughed. "I'd noticed," she said. "Oh, go away and do my work, but this isn't over,

Will Moreland."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't call me ma'am," she yelled at Will as he retreated out the study door.

"She also isn't a diva," he whispered to Mia, who giggled then tried to keep her face straight

when Meghan glared at her through the study door.

Shortly after Meghan's interrogation of Will, she was distracted by her boyfriend and major

screen heart throb, Robin Hawke, finally coming back to town, and Will had an adventure of his

own. This started at a small supermarket close to Meghan's house where he stopped for groceries

on his way home. After a day of calls from the sacked agency demanding to be put through to

Meghan so that they could lobby for reinstatement, and unhappy with the response that she was on a

photo shoot, Will was thinking about the script he was rewriting for Hap.

Will had not written a script before but after reading up online he thought he could present it

properly and, more importantly, estimate the screen time required for what he had written. He was

aiming for a film of somewhere between ninety to one hundred and twenty minutes. But the real

trick was to keep enough of the content written by Hap, the client, to ensure the embryonic producer

remained on board while making the film coherent and suspenseful. Will thought he had mostly

solved the problems, but there were still details to attend to and, while thinking of those the girl at

the checkout counter – the store was too small for automated check-outs – offered him a

promotional card, one of a series of cards connected to a popular Disney children's film. Those who

collected enough of them would assemble a set and get some sort of prize.

"I don't have any use for them," said Will, taking it. "But perhaps this lady might have," and

handed the card on to the woman behind whose very young daughter holding onto the woman's

shopping trolley, he realised, was gazing at the card.

"Thanks, mister," she said, "we're trying for that set."

"Thank you," said the girl.

"No trouble. I have no use for them myself at all," said Will, smiling.

He turned away and was outside with his bag of groceries when someone behind him said

"that was nice of you".

Will turned around to see a woman perhaps a few years older than himself, with auburn hair

in a pixie cut and wearing outsized, red-framed glasses. Her chin was too pointed for her to be

considered beautiful, but her features were symmetrical and the eyes behind the glasses sparkled

with intelligence. Wearing a smart grey business dress and blazer, she looked as if she had come

from a corporate meeting which, in fact, she had.

"It was really no trouble," said Will, surprised. "Like I said, I've got no use for them

myself."

"Couple of frozen dinners," she said, nodding at the bag. "A night in?"

"Sometimes my roomie and his girlfriend are there for dinner but I don't think so tonight,"

said Will. "I just like to buy backups."

She smiled. "You want to grab some coffee…"

"Will, my name's Will and sure, although my frozen stuff will melt if I stay too long. It's a

long drive home for me."

"I'm Charlotte, Will, and in that case why don't we have coffee at my serviced apartment?

It's not far from here and there's a freezer."

Will thought that was an invitation if ever there was one, and it had been a long time since

Violet had left. Why not?

"Sure," he said.

The scriptwriting could wait.