Ben Fountain - Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk

“You should charge admission,” Dime says, and everyone laughs but him.

“I’m not sure we could get it today,” says Norm. “Not our most stellar effort, I’m sorry to say. I was really hoping we’d put on a show for you fellas. But maybe we’ll turn it around in the fourth.”

“Some pass blocking from Stennhauser would be nice,” says f-bomb, to sour laughs. Norm turns to one of his sons.

“Skip, how many carries does Riddick have?”

Skip consults his laptop. “Nineteen. For thirty-four yards.”

Groans rise from several sectors of the room. “He’s done, coach,” says Jim. “Let’s give Buckner a go, at least he’s got fresh legs.”

“He don’t have any holes to hit, what does it matter,” says f-bomb. “We need to be pushing some bodies around up front.”

Norm frowns and takes a sip of Fiji water. Skip hands him a sheet of paper he’s just printed out, from which Norm proceeds to read aloud third-quarter statistics. A waiter enters through a side door, showing a momentary slice of the main suite. Over there it’s a pretty good party; over here, a long day at the office. Billy accepts his coffee and takes some sips. He likes it here. The close quarters evoke a sense of primal security, a kind of hunkered-down campfire intimacy that seems specifically masculine. It’s that long-sought place of ultimate safety, all the better for its cave-like feel, its air of chummy exclusivity. He would love to wipe the war from his brain, if only for a moment, and indulge in the luxury of pretending that he’s permanent here.

“This defense is as tough as any we’ve faced all year,” Norm says, perhaps rehearsing for the post-game press conference. He sets the printout aside and speaks past the Bravos to Albert, who’s chosen to sit where the soldiers can’t see his face.

“Albert, did you tell our young friends about our plans for their film?”

“Sure did!” Albert answers, spreading the pep a bit thick.

“Congratulations on your movie company, sir,” says Dime. “Sounds epic.”

“Thank you, Sergeant, thank you very much. It’s something we’ve been kicking around for a while, and we’re excited to get it going, incredibly excited. It’s definitely going to be a challenge, but with Albert on the team I like our chances. And I’m especially excited about bringing your story to the screen, and let me pledge to you right now, and I can’t emphasize this enough, we’re going all-out on this. Anyone here will tell you, when I decide to do something, I don’t go halfway.”

“Norm loves his work,” says f-bomb.

Everyone laughs, and Norm joins in with a boyish chuckle, he doesn’t mind this sly poke at his workaholic rep. Billy is struck by the depths he finds in Norm’s watery blue eyes, the sincerity, the evident eagerness to concur and connect. Watching him at close range, it’s hard to believe he’s as mean as people say.

“I believe in your story,” Norm tells the Bravos, with only the briefest glance at the field, “and I believe in the good it can do for our country. It’s a story of courage, hope, optimism, love of freedom, all the convictions that motivated you young men to do what you did, and I think this film will go a long way toward reinvigorating our commitment to the war. Let’s face it, a lot of people are discouraged. The insurgency gets some traction, casualties mount, the price tag keeps going up, it’s only natural some people are going to lose their nerve. They forget why we went there in the first place — why are we fighting? They forget some things are actually worth fighting for, and that’s where your story comes in, the Bravo story. And if the Hollywood crowd won’t step up to the plate, well, I’m happy to pinch-hit, more than happy. This is an obligation I willingly assume.”

Son Skip is absorbed in his computer screen. Norm’s other son — Todd? Trey? — has swung his chair around to listen to his father, though at the moment he’s tapping out a text on his cell. Jim is pouring himself a soda at the bar. F-bomb executive is leaning against the wall, munching a sandwich and nodding his head to the beat of his boss’s speech.

“I have my doubts about Hollywood anyway,” Norm is saying, “their politics, the whole cultural attitude out there. And some of the concepts they’ve been throwing around? This whole thing with Hilary Swank — look, I know she’s a great actress, I’m sure she’d do a great job. But having a woman in the lead just sends the wrong message, in my view. This is a story about men, men defending their country, and I’m sorry, that’s just what it is.”

“But Hilary’s still a prospect,” Albert pipes up, and everybody laughs.

“She is, she is,” Norm concedes, grinning, “I didn’t say she isn’t. And if casting her turns out to be the best thing for our movie, that’s what we’ll do. I’m not interested in making a good movie, I want something great, something people will be watching a hundred years from now. I want a movie that’s going to rank right up there with the best American films of all time.”

And with that everything seems settled and fine, until Dime speaks up and spoils it.

“What makes you think you can?” he asks, taunting, jeering, lifting his chin as if dismissing some object of contempt. Someone gasps, or so it seems when Billy later recalls these moments. Skip turns from his computer, slowly folding down the screen. Todd stares, fingers poised over the keypad of his phone. F-bomb executive has paused in midchew.

“Pardon?” Norm’s dazed smile makes a pudding of his face.

“Can you do it, can you deliver. You want to buy our story for fifty-five hundred bucks, that sure sounds like chump change to me. We could sell it to pretty much anybody for that, hell, my granny could swing that deal with a trip to the ATM. With all due respect, Mr. Oglesby, sir, show us you’re serious. Show us you’re a player.”

Still with that knocked-wonky smile, Norm sits back and carefully crosses his arms. He turns to his sons, then to the two executives, and as if cued by some mysterious signal, they all bust up laughing.

“Look around you, son,” Norm says, regarding Dime with a warm, pitying cast to his eyes. “Look around and think for a moment about everything you see. Then you tell me, am I a player ?”

Billy knows if it was up to him, he would fold right now. It’s too strong, the dark mojo of these rich, powerful men operating in the comfort of their home turf, and Norm above all with his kindly blue eyes, his fatherly patience, the paralytic force field of his mesmerizing narcissism. Billy wishes Albert would speak up and pull them back from the brink, but Dime presses on.

“Sir, may I speak frankly?”

Norm smiles, shows his palms. “Why stop now?”

More yuks from the cheering section. The small of Billy’s back is a peat bog of sweat. Does Dime plan these things or just wing it? Wings it, he decides with a fierce burst of pride. He’d follow his sergeant through forty hells.

“I’ve been told it’ll take a budget of around eighty million dollars to get our movie made — am I correct on that, Albert?”

“Ideally,” Albert intones from somewhere south of the Bravos. “Sixty to eighty million to make a first-class war picture.”

“That’s a lot of scratch,” Dime says, turning back to Norm.

“It is,” Norm agrees.

“So where’s it coming from?”

“Ah.” Norm chuckles, looks to his son. “Skip, remind me again, where does the money come from?”

“Capital markets,” Skip says briskly, only slightly condescending as he turns to Dime. “Banks, insurance companies, hedge funds, pension plans, there’s always plenty of money out there looking for deals. Assuming the economy cooperates, we think we can get Legends fully funded in the three-, three-hundred-fifty-million range with a series of private offerings, roll them out over a period of, say, eighteen months. Then with additional funding to come as needed, maybe on a per-project basis.”