The first time she read the script, all she noticed were the liberties that Simone Harper had taken with her life and with real events. But Eve knew some of that was inevitable when trying to compress months, and a lot of dull investigation, into an entertaining forty-four-minute show.
The second time she read it, she tried to accept that it wasn’t a documentary and judge if the story, in general, was true to how events actually played out. But she still kept bumping on the character of “Eve Ronin.” This Eve Ronin wasn’t her but some idealized and yet also deeply flawed and somewhat unlikable version of herself imagined by someone else.
Was this how people saw her? God, she hoped not, because this was not the woman she wanted to be. But at least she wasn’t portrayed as a martial arts superstar with blonde hair, big boobs, and a sports car. The question she had to ask herself was not whether this was a good series character but if this characterization of her was one that she could live with.
It wasn’t the character’s inexperience or procedural mistakes that bothered her, even if they weren’t factually correct. What bothered her was the heroine’s political gamesmanship and, in particular, her ridiculous heroism, blindly running into danger without a second thought. This Eve Ronin felt no fear. Her heroics seemed overwrought, as if written for a bombastic orchestral score. All of that would have to be toned way down. But, overall, after four readings, Eve wasn’t as troubled by the script as she thought she’d be. She could work with the writer on a rewrite that might not be an accurate reflection of who she was, or aspired to be, but at least would be an image she could live with, if not necessarily live up to.
Eve called Linwood’s mobile number, which she found on her phone from the multiple times he’d tried calling her after the shoot-out story broke. He answered after one ring.
“Stop hounding me with all of these calls,” he yelled. “You’re not my only client.”
“I’ve only called twice in the last two days.”
“I’m being sarcastic. Where’s your sense of humor? That’s two more times than you’ve ever called me before. I’m in shock. Have you read the script?”
“I have and I think it’s okay for now.”
“What do you mean, ‘for now’?”
“As a sales tool, for you to sell the script and get a network to order the series,” Eve said. “But before a frame of this is shot, there will need to be some significant changes.”
“Like what?”
“The police procedure is all wrong, more TV than reality.”
Linwood snorted. “Have you seen Law & Order? The trials are held a week after the bad guy is arrested.”
“I understand the need for compression for dramatic reasons, but some of what Simone has got here is just ridiculous.” Eve listed some of the errors and wild deviations from reality.
“That’s all minor stuff. Easily fixed. Is that all?”
“I never said or even thought a lot of the things coming out of my character’s mouth, so that needs to go,” Eve said. “And the character is too manipulative and premeditated, immediately seeing how to leverage any situation for her own personal political advantage.”
“That’s you,” Linwood said.
“No, it isn’t, and even if it is, that’s not how I want to be portrayed on TV.”
Linwood laughed. “Do you also want her to be ten pounds lighter?”
“Are you saying I’m fat?”
“No, I’m just saying a perfect character is boring. She has to have flaws, even if you don’t.”
“The flaws are fine. I like them better than the insane bravery and sanctimonious heroics. But I don’t want to be seen as someone who puts her selfish interests first and her job second.”
“Got it. Lose the Wonder Woman outfit and Lasso of Power.”
“I believe it’s a Lasso of Truth,” Eve said.
“You would know. But overall, did you like it?”
Eve thought about that. It wasn’t a simple question. “Simone treated me fairly and handled the murder case with sensitivity.”
“Does this mean you trust Simone now to tell your story?”
“It means I can work with her. It will take a lot more to earn my trust.”
“Have I earned it?”
Now Eve laughed. “You’re a Hollywood agent!”
“So?”
“That is the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of untrustworthy.”
“Okay, baby steps then. I can live with that,” Linwood said. “Okay, I’ve got to go and make you a million bucks.”
She hoped he wasn’t joking, though there was a fifty-fifty chance if he succeeded that every penny would probably go to the lawyers and the family of the corrupt deputy who’d killed himself.
At least she wouldn’t end up living under an overpass in a cardboard box on urine-soaked dirt.
She called Michael Green on her cell phone from her desk at the Lost Hills station at 9:00 a.m. as Duncan and Shaw stood on either side of her chair. They’d researched Green prior to the call. They’d learned he was a divorced father of two teenage girls, who now lived with their mother in Riverside. He owed years of back alimony and child support and his business was on the ropes. He had no prior criminal record.
Green answered with a cheery hello.
“Mr. Green? This is Eve Ronin, we met a few days ago in Oakdale.”