"That's a shame," Shana told me. "But I know you're not here to dance. Otherwise, I think you'd still be at that club."
How did she know? Had they all been watching my routine? Was I Tyler's door prize, after weeks of their planning? I wanted answers.
"Don't look so modest, darling," she continued. "You just may be the last piece of the puzzle we're building here."
Tyler was in that dark corner, lit only by two laptop screens. There were four people beside him.
"What do you mean, Sh-shana?"
"We need a good writer. Someone to write the script."
"What script?" I asked.
She smiled, "Well, we have a cameraman. We have an artist, surely you saw downstairs. We have capable enough actors, some of which," she dropped her voice to a whisper as if she was telling me a secret, "can dance. That's right, dance!"
I got the impression she was talking about herself.
"We have a girl who does the music, composed digitally. No need for an orchestra. She does sound effects too, when it's all to be edited together. And one actor dude, he does the animations, y'know, special effects. The thing is, we have nothing good to film, because nobody's got a good story to tell... except you. That is, according to Kevin."
Kevin! Now it all made sense. Sort of.
"I've never written a movie script," I said, resisting the urge to point out that the idea of such an undertaking seemed crazy. Far too crazy for this little town.
"Ain't that much different than your florid prose, babe girl," Shana mused. "Mind you, this is a hobby. Nobody here gets paid, unless we make it... big-time."
"I suppose. But someone will have to teach me camera angles to mark off and such, in the margins. And I guess I'll have to get to know the cast, if I'm to write a story around them."
Shana smiled again, but this time it was wider and firmer, "Then it's settled, girl. And... can you act?"