When the phone jangled again, he reached over absently and picked it up.
“Costas,” he said economically, eyes on the screen as he fast-forwarded the film to reach his next target segment.
“Stef? Mitch.” It was the voice of his producer. “How’s it going?”
“Good. I’m finishing the edits on the union piece. I made a contact in Athens who’s going to fast-track some of the permit and approvals process. With luck, seven weeks from now, yours truly will be on the coast of the Aegean, filming.” And witnessing the excavation of a World War II execution site that held clues to the fates of members of the Greek underground. Members who might, perhaps, have included his grandfather.
If he closed his eyes, Stef could hear his grandmother’s heavily accented English as she told his younger self the stories of what had happened, what little she knew. And she’d wept. Even then, as a child, he’d vowed to ferret out the true story, to someday be able to tell her what had happened to the man she’d loved. The rift that had subsequently opened between her and his career-obsessed parents when she’d criticized their child-rearing hadn’t weakened his ties to her or the strength of his determination.
For years, Stef had researched the topic, waiting for the right moment to dive in. With two award-winning films already under his belt and the hotly anticipated union doc scheduled to premiere in a month, the timing felt right. “Everything’s looking good on this end as far as prep goes. I talked with the university team today, and they’re ready to have me film the entire excavation process.”
“Uh, can you get an extension on that?”
Stef’s expression sharpened. “Why?” He stopped the editing machine. “What’s going on, Mitch?”
There was a pause. “Atkinson and Trimax are backing out. Maybe it’s a cash-flow thing, but they’re not prepared to go forward until the next fiscal year at the earliest.”
Stef cursed. “You know my window’s limited. They’re going to dig up this site whether I’m there or not, and once it’s done, it’s done.” He stood and paced across the room. “We’ve been talking with these guys for three years. They know the parameters of the project. What are they doing dropping out now?”
“Everyone’s skittish in this economy.”
“Have you tried the indie studios?”
Mitch let out a sigh. “I’ve been burning up the phones all day. No one wants to bite. Not now. People want feel-good movies, date movies. Cinematic docs are never easy, you know that.”
“Did you try the foundations?” Stef demanded, raking a hand through his hair while he calculated how much money he might be able to scare up in grants.
“No dice. Look, Stef, they’re not backing out, it’s just a delay. You were planning to work on the piece about that Rhode Island nightclub fire after you got through in Greece, right? So swap the order, do Rhode Island first and Greece after. It’ll work out. You’ve just got to be patient.”
“I am being patient, Mitch,” Stef said ominously. “The university group is starting their dig in two months. A year from now, they’re going to be done.”
“I’m being conservative with the twelve to eighteen months, Stef. It could happen sooner.”
“Even six months is too late.”
“Look, I’m not going to fight with you.” Mitch paused. “Finish up the union film, take a couple of months off and you can start Rhode Island. We can use that to fund Greece, if you need to. You can work with the still photos they’ll take during the excavation. You’ve always had a genius for that.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Mitch sighed. “You’ve been waiting a decade to do this. What’s another year?”
It was the difference between crucial footage and telling a dead story, Stef wanted to roar. It was squandering a golden opportunity to tell the story he wanted, the only story that really mattered to him.
Instead, he held on to his control. “Look, Mitch, keep the pressure on them. And do me a favor—don’t stop looking.”
Stef hung up the phone and stood for a moment. Then he kicked his chair and sent it spinning in circles. Against the wall, grainy black-and-white footage showed a frame of union men pelting scabs with rocks.
The phone rang again, and this time he picked it up with a snarl. “Costas.”
“You’ve got a bark on you, boy. Gus Stirling here. Got a minute?”
Stef’s face relaxed. “Gus. It’s good to hear your voice. How’ve you been?”
“Good. I hear your union piece is supposed to premiere next month.”
Stef glanced at the screen. “Assuming I finish the edit.”
“You always were a perfectionist. Did my cousin at the Greek Film Commission take care of you?”
“He was a godsend. Pushed through all the permits in record time. I owe him one. You, too.”
“I didn’t do anything much, it was all Louie. He’s a good man to know.”
“I’ll say. What can I do to thank him?”
Gus chuckled. “Buy him a glass of ouzo when you get to Athens. He’ll like that.”
“Consider it done, assuming I ever get over there.”
“What do you mean? I thought you said the permits came through.”
Frustration started to simmer again in Stef’s blood. “They did. Unfortunately, there’s been a holdup in funding. Hopefully not long, but it looks like I won’t be going over for a couple of months, at least.”
“So what are you going to do when your union piece is done?”
Stef shrugged, forgetting Gus couldn’t see him. “I don’t know, preproduction? A vacation? Set up on a street corner and beg for money?”
Gus snorted. “If I know you, preproduction was done six months ago, and you’ve never taken a vacation in all the time I’ve known you. And you never beg.”
“Maybe it’s time I started. They’re excavating a key site over there in about eight weeks. If I miss that, I miss the heart of the doc.” And he missed the chance to pick up a clue about his grandfather, he thought. “I’ve got to find a way to go, and until I do, I can’t really get into anything serious.”
“Sure you can, if it’s small enough.”
This wasn’t just a social call, Stef realized suddenly, staring at the flickering black-and-white footage on the wall. “What’s on your mind, Gus?”
He could hear the smile in the older man’s voice. “That obvious, huh? I used to be better at this.”
“That’s the problem with getting in the habit of shooting straight with someone. You tend to lose the art of B.S.”
“A symptom of my advancing age, no doubt. Well, let me just cut to the chase. I could help you out with your funding problems. As you know, I’m the head of a little consortium that funds a couple of small films a year. Though, I’ve got a little problem to take care of before I can really afford to think about that.”
Here it came, Stef thought. “And that would be?”
Gus coughed. “I’ve got a project that needs a director. The person scheduled to do it ducked out unexpectedly, and the shooting’s supposed to start next week.”
Something