Worked out for her, though. She got the book deal, though the memoir itself won’t be finished for a while. And it won’t come out until next year.

This time, Beau doesn’t concentrate for as long as I thought he would. After a few minutes he puts the pole in one of the holders on the railing. He stretches his arms over his head.

“I’m going to go down. Do you want anything?”

“Taking a break so soon?”

“Like a beer, asshole. You want a beer?”

“Yes.”

Beau goes into the cabin. Three steps down to a nice-sized living room with the previously mentioned couch and a full kitchen behind it. There’s also a little bedroom down there. Like I said, not a speedboat.

My phone rings, and I lean against the railing and take the call. It’s my agent. Catrina Gonzales is the best in the business. She’s small. Physically short, which makes the guys on the other side of the table underestimate her.

“I’m on vacation.” I use an exasperated voice. “You know that.”

“There’s a movie.” Catrina isn’t the type to get overexcited. Something has her excited now. “They want you. The director of that plane crash movie. This is huge, Mateo.”

“I told you. I’m not taking any movies right now.”

“Right, right, right. I get it.” I can see her in her office in LA, pacing in front of a set of picture windows. “You’re on personal leave. Guess what? Celebrities of your status don’t get personal time. A-listers do not take extended vacations. And they’re offering big money.”

“Gonzales—”

“I’m sending you the script.” I can tell she has me on speakerphone now. “They want to move fast, and this is the kind of project you’ve always wanted.”

“It’s not a good time to discuss—”

“It’s artsy, Mateo. It’s not another action flick. This is how you move beyond typecasting. This is how you get to the next level.”

“Fine. I’ll give it a look.” I’m trying to spend an afternoon watching my best friend fuck up the simple act of fishing. Arguing with Catrina doesn’t get me closer to that goal. “Email it to me, and I’ll let you know what I think.”

“You know, Mateo, you’ve been talking about getting into producing.”

The boat rocks over a swell. A cloud passes over the sun. Where is she going with this? “So?”

“So, I didn’t know you had a personal relationship with Emily Rochester.” Catrina’s voice is brimming with possibility and the thrill of having inside knowledge.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”