#07 HOLLYWOOD EXTINCTION EVENT

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I was looking forward to an out-of-town gig. This one was in Portland: A high-budget commercial for a prediction market company.

As I got ready to go and packed a bag, I picked up my phone to select Corvo as my preferred driver. I wondered if he would, or could, respond. The last time I rode with him was strange. He talked about the Turnoff, some kind of time glitch that Uber drivers would discover. It would send them back into the past, to a better version of the movie industry, supposedly.

Yeah, right. I knew that wasn’t happening. I waited for him to respond in the app.

Nothing.

But as I had my phone in my hand, it rang and I answered it. It was the producer on the gig I was about to leave for. It was canceled, he said. The funding fell through when the founder of the prediction market ran off with all the money.

“So he bet everything on himself?” I asked the producer.

He didn’t find that funny and hung up.

I set my phone to Do Not Disturb and sat at my kitchen table and stared at the wall. The dishes were in the drying rack. I’d vacuumed the rug. All the things I usually did before leaving. I would have to think of something to do today, but first I reached for the digital recorder Corso had given me. I pressed play.

I heard street sounds, the Tesla air conditioner blowing, and then Corso’s voice.

CORSO: How’s your day going?

A woman answered.

FEMALE VOICE: I’m headed in to work for the first time in six months, so I guess that’s good.

I pictured how Corso probably had the recorder next to him on the front seat. It was a secret recording.

CORSO: What kind of work do you do if I can ask?

DEVELOPMENT EXEC: Development. I worked for a TV production company until I was laid off. I still may have a job. Depends on what happens in the meeting.

CORSO: Should I wish you good luck, I guess?

DEVELOPMENT EXEC: Yes. I’ll need it. We all deserve to be back! Everyone they laid off! I’ve been doing development work for ten years. We had some hits.

She named a production company and a hit TV show. “That was our big one.”

She went on:

DEVELOPMENT EXEC: Then work stopped. We couldn’t attract a cast, no deals. The office felt like a morgue. We were all doomed. Before the layoffs came, one of the guys said we should try AI. He vibe-coded something on his Chromebook, training it on all past television shows. And it was so bad. That wasn’t the problem, really. The streamers already had their own bad AIs working on their own bad shows. They didn’t need ours.

She choked back a sob.

CORSO: Are you OK?

DEVELOPMENT EXEC: No.

CORSO: There’s some bottled water in the holder. Please, help yourself.

DEVELOPMENT EXEC: Thanks. My name is Marie.

CORSO: Louis Corso. People call me Corso. I liked that show about the football coach. That was yours, eh?

She sighed, sniffled, scrabbled in her bag for a tissue, and used it to blow her nose.

MARIE: That’s why I got into this. I wanted to make stories. Now, who knows, maybe there will be a final paycheck. Or maybe we’re back to work. I’m a single mother with two children. I had to pay the babysitter today to come to the meeting and I had to pay you. My eldest will be ready for college soon. Her grades are not great. I need to make donations to the schools that I want her to get into.

There was shame in her voice, then a moment of street sounds and air conditioner hum before she spoke again.

MARIE: You know what I’ve been doing for money these past six months?

CORSO: I’m kind of afraid to ask.

MARIE: Working as an AI tester.

CORSO: What does an AI tester do?

MARIE: I review scripts of chatbot conversations. I recommend changes in the dialogue to make the chatbot sound better, more human. There’s a lot of competition for these AI tester jobs.

CORSO: They sound kind of sad if you’ll forgive me for saying.

MARIE: Forgiven. Nonetheless, a lot of my industry friends are doing this kind of training. It’s gig work, day to day, but it pays the mortgage.

CORSO: Well, you might like to know that there is a change coming. A lot of us, the drivers, are talking about the Turnoff. It’s a place we’ll drive to where we’ll enter an alternative vision of Hollywood that will be better.

MARIE: What?

CORSO: There is going to be a time slip. Time will go back to a better place. An Uber driver will find a certain turnoff and that will trigger it.

There was a pause that sounded uncomfortable.

MARIE: You can let me out at this corner.

The Tesla slowed, but she didn’t get out right away.

CORSO: You think I’m crazy. But I’m not. Hey, why don’t you use that idea? Pitch it in your meeting. A sound recordist driving for Uber gets lots of industry people as riders. He hears about a mysterious portal.

He seemed to wait for her response.

MARIE: I can’t sell that.

CORSO: I’ll sign a materials release if you need one.

She didn’t respond at first.

MARIE: I’m getting out now. Good bye, Corso.

The door opened.

CORSO: Good luck in your meeting.

His voice sounded flat. He probably believed that she disrespected him. And he was probably right.

Corso’s voice came out of the recorder. It was a section that he’d added later.

He said, “I wanted to help Marie, give her something that she could sell. Then she’d have the money for the college her daughter wanted to go to. Anyway, I hope her company rehires her. I’m going to find the turnoff and I’m going to be happy.”

I pressed stop on the recorder. I was amazed, but I wanted to believe him: He would find happiness because of some portal to the past that a ride-share driver would trigger. Would finding happiness in Hollywood be as simple as that? Or as insane?

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT STORY. SUBSCRIBE.

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Lee