From his office on the one-hundredth floor, Isaac Chavez gazed across the East River. Ants of city dwellers swarmed Central Park fifteen-hundred feet below.
Large etched-glass doors opened. “I’m glad you’ve accepted our offer,” he said turning to face his guests. A grayed out image on giant flat screen displays filled the wall behind him.
“I must apologize, Monsieur Chavez.” A dark-haired and lanky young man stumbled through the doorway. “If not for the embouteillage, how do you say, ‘traffic’, I would have had Monsieur Abrams here sooner.”
“This is fine Chauncey,” Martin Abrams said. “Isaac is used to waiting.”
“Yes, I am. Please, sit down.”
“Merci. – Uh, thank you.”
Isaac watched the metro fashioned young man bumble among the Herman Miller furniture. “You know, when we were younger, well, when I was younger, I think Marty’s been old his whole life, we had a lot of time on our hands. Remember, Marty?”
“Marty and I used to talk about altering the entertainment industry. Not to bury them financially, just make their productions more to our liking.”
“You were capricious then, and you are capricious now.”
Isaac smiled. “We’d rid the world of bad caper films, like the ‘Italian Job’ and ‘Oceans Eleven’. Marty liked the originals much better than the remakes. He also preferred John Wayne’s ‘True Grit‘ versus Jeff Bridges’. Isn’t that right?” Abrams nodded. “I thought he was being old school, I mean Wayne made a horrible sequel. But Marty was right, Jeff’s Rooster didn’t have the same swag.
“And what atrocity was it you would do away with?” interrupted Abrams. “Ah yes, prevent ‘the odious sequel’ ever from occurring. – As I remember, you would convince Fred Savage never to direct ‘Daddy Day Camp’.
“I like Fred, he’s a good friend of mine. Plus, I wouldn’t have had to wait so long to change his mind. Not back then.
“Excusez-moi, Monsieur. I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. – Now the one thing Marty and I couldn’t agree on was whether or not Jangle pop should stay or go. I like the Beatles and R.E.M. but Marty thought the world would be a better place without their high-pitched guitars.”
Abrams snickered. “The problem was too many people were involved.”
Isaac laughed. “We couldn’t pinpoint its inception.”
“I don’t understand, Messieurs. How could one do such a thing?”
Their expressions grew serious. Chauncey shifted in his chair as the lull in conversation lingered.
“If we change our mind…” Isaac began.
Abrams continued. “…we change our future.”