Johnny Depp, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Ralph sat at the table in the cabana, plotting their next move. Palm trees waved supportively in the background, like a line of admiring fans at a parade.
Johnny said, "It's going to take 50 gallons of Elmer's glue, some humvees, some loose string, and some field mice. Let's do this right!"
Sarah smirked into her little umbrella. "That may be how you've been doing it in the indies, but babe, let me tell you, that'll never fly in Hollywood."
"Oh come on," he said, "You must have seen that movie. With Kevin Bacon? Set in Argentina? Oh never mind." Johnny couldn't hope for comprehension from the latest crop of actors. He played restlessly with his glass.
Ralph was a gambler. He knew when to hold his tongue, when to fold in favor of other's opinions, he knew when to get up and walk away and he knew when to run. He put all his chips down on the table and began dipping them in the spicy tomatillo salsa, waving to the others to help themselves.
Sarah looked away. She couldn't stand his unselfconscious youthful innocence. Johnny was her only consolation in this tete-a-tete, and he wasn't exactly responding favorably. It was time for shock tactics. She whipped out her cell and hit a speed-dial button. Before the others could react she was thru: "Jen. It's me. Come down to the pool. Now." She hung up and picked up her drink in one fluid movement, looking coy.
Ralph stared at her, mouth agape; a fly almost went in. Johnny stood in her way, donning bandoliers. "You're not doing this to the movement - not now!"
Jennifer showed up in time to see him gun down Sarah. She and Ralph exchanged a significant look and then broke out in pre-planned displays of grief.
