Chapter 9 – Covering Rachel's Shift
Four registered letters sat in Bruce's mailbox, all addressed from Bruce White to Bruce White. Each envelope contained one of the scripts he'd written recently.
He did this to protect his intellectual property. If anyone plagiarized his work, the postmark would prove he'd written it first—shameless considering he was the plagiarist, but these scripts were his livelihood now. If someone wanted to steal them, they'd have to find their own time machine.
The standard way to protect screenplays in the U.S. was registering with the Writers Guild of America—ten dollars for members, twenty for non-members. Bruce had been a WGA member since college, but mailing scripts to himself was an old habit he'd carried over.
Not long after getting back to his apartment, Estelle called.
"Miramax is very interested in Inglourious Basterds. They're offering sixty thousand dollars, full writing credit, lump sum. They want the right to adapt the script as needed."
Bruce was still processing the number when Estelle continued, "Oh, I already accepted their terms. Just calling to let you know I'm signing the contract this afternoon."
"Wait—don't I need to be there?"
"Your choice. The contract you signed with my agency gives me power of attorney. I can sign on your behalf. You just wait for the check—minus taxes and my commission, of course."
"I want to be there. This is the first legitimate script I've ever sold. Where are we meeting?"
"191 Mercer Street, two o'clock."
Around noon, Rachel called from the café, sounding frantic. "Bruce, do you have a minute? My mom just called—Dad had a heart attack!"
"Is it serious?"
"I don't think so, but I need to get to the hospital right away. I'm the only one working the floor today..."
"You want me to cover for you?"
"Yes, if you can. Please take my shift until I get back. I'll come straight back as soon as I know Dad's okay!"
"Go. Don't worry about it. I have that meeting with Miramax at two, but Estelle can handle it—she has full authority. Get to the hospital. I'll be right down."
"Thank you so much. I owe you, Bruce. I'm sorry about messing up your plans!"
"Just go, Rachel. I've got this."
After hanging up, Bruce called Estelle to let her know he couldn't make it and she should sign without him.
Then he headed downstairs. Rachel had already left. Being a weekday, the café was nearly empty. Behind the counter were two people: a waitress and a man with his back turned, bent over something.
Bruce approached. "Hi, I'm a friend of Rachel's. Here to cover her shift."
The man turned around.
"Gunther?"
Gunther frowned. "Yeah, I'm Gunther. But I don't remember talking to you. How do you know my name?"
Bruce recovered quickly. "Rachel mentioned you. She said to ask for you when I got here. Are you the manager?"
"Yes. Newly promoted. Since you're covering for Rachel, let's get you started."
Gunther tossed him an apron. Bruce tied it on. "What should I do?"
"Stand here. When customers order, make their drinks and serve them."
"I have to make the coffee?"
"No, the customers will come behind the counter and make it themselves."
"Was that sarcasm?"
In his trademark monotone, Gunther replied, "Only when I specifically say 'this is sarcasm' is it actually sarcasm."
Bruce stayed calm. "So was that sentence sarcasm?"
Gunther gave up. "Can you make coffee or not?"
"I can do instant."
"Great. Next time we need instant, I'll consult you. Here's the deal: I'll make the drinks, you serve them. You get half the tips."
"Fair enough. I'll give them to Rachel anyway—I'm just filling in. Can I have a slice of that cake? I skipped lunch and Rachel pulled me down here..."
At five, Rachel still hadn't returned.
Gunther came over. "You're done. Rachel's shift ended. Someone else is taking over."
Bruce untied the apron and pocketed twenty-eight dollars in tips. At the door, he turned back. "Nice working with you, Gunther. You're alright."
Upstairs, Bruce stopped at the fourth floor and knocked lightly on Rachel's door. It swung open.
Joey stood there. Monica and Phoebe sat inside.
"Monica, when did you get back? How's your grandmother?"
Monica's expression was somber. "She passed away. The funeral's in two days. Joey and Phoebe are coming. Rachel and Chandler probably will too. Will you be there?"
"Of course. I'll be there." Bruce paused. "Long day. Someone died, someone's sick."
All three asked in unison, "Who's sick?"
"Rachel's dad had a heart attack. She went to the hospital, so I covered her shift downstairs."
Monica sat up. "Maybe we should call and check on her."
"I don't know which hospital, but she should be back soon."