Martin Scorsese woke up in the morning, reaching for a cup of coffee with a generous dose of sugar.
It was September 2nd, and he didn't start working on any projects. He wasn't bothered, because after a cup of coffee, his mind would be ready to write a screenplay.
Under his door, he heard the rustle of a letter being slipped through the crack.
He frowned and approached. The letter said only one word:
Read me.
He opened and unfolded the letter, beginning to read it slowly.
Little by little, he felt his heart leap with excitement, his eyes taking on a radiant, sun-like gleam.
"This is fascinating."
He sat down in his leather armchair and forgot about his coffee, focusing on the screenplay.
When he finished, he saw a number and a name at the bottom left.
He had to call him.
"Hello, am I contacting Igor?" What a joy! Look, I really liked what you sent. I'd like to see you somewhere if possible... In a coffee shop, yes, wait, let me write down the address... Thank you, see you today.
Igor hung up the phone while wiping a hand across his sweaty forehead. He had been working out when Martin Scorsese himself called to arrange a meeting about the script.
He had given him the address of a coffee shop that was always empty, probably because the coffee was so bad.
He didn't know, but it was better to take him to an empty place than one packed with people.
He started showering to get ready for their meeting.
He looked at his defined abs, the result of hard work. He liked to stay in shape; he didn't want to look like he had a beer keg down there.
A few scars were scattered across his body, reminders of old battles.
He turned off the water and got out of the shower.
Martin Scorsese was in a completely empty coffee shop. He began to suspect that it was some kind of kidnapping or something like that.
Then he saw A tall, extremely tall man with blond hair walked past.
His gait was calm, as if he already knew every corner of the café. His face reflected nothing, but when I looked into his eyes, it was like seeing an angel; his skin was like porcelain.
He sat down and stared intently at Scorsese.
"Good morning, Mr. Scorsese. I'm sorry to bring you to a place like this, but I think an empty space is better."
"Thank you, Igor. You're very kind and considerate. Getting to my weak point, I have to say the script is beautiful. I loved it. I'd love to bring it to the screen; it would be an honor."
Igor took a sip of his coffee. No wonder it was empty; it tasted like someone had mixed water with dirt.
"Yes, although I have three conditions: first, that the cast be the same; second, a payment of $60,000; and third, that you direct it."
Scorsese admitted the proposal was good. He had a good relationship with Robert De Niro, and the salary he was asking for the script was... Something... high.
"60,000 dollars?"
"I think that's appropriate, knowing what they could potentially earn. Besides, you could win an Oscar, think about it."
He was certainly right. I didn't see anything strange about the deal, and he seemed like a man who dealt with the truth.
"Alright, leave it in my hands, Igor. You won't regret it."