16th March 1998 (Monday)
Ricky Stirling (POV)
"Ricky! A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my boy, Daniel told me you like to be called by your first name- hope you don't mind." He took a faux-cautionary tone, raised eyebrows and everything, but the twitch of his lips indicated that he knew I wouldn't mind in the least, rather welcome the change of pace… it seems someone had been researching to swing the upcoming deal in their favor… not bad boomer.
Naturally, I adhered to his expectations, not wanting to raise any alarm bells by acting out of the 'character' he clearly believed I was, "Oh, not at all-not in the least, Mr. Herschel, Ricky is who I am, and who I like to be called, none of that 'Mr. Stirling'- can I be honest with you for a second actually?"
He leaned in conspiratorially, "Well as long as you return the favor and call me Jerry…"
I act taken aback, as if the casual (well-planned) disregard of formalities was an unexpected delight, "Why- of course! Jerry it is then- I'll be honest with you jerry… courtesies… pleasantries, all kinds of formal gestures and whatnot-" I shake my head in 'frustration', "fuckin' hate that shit, I CANNOT tell you just how much. All that needless pandering and whatnot- it's like, if someone wants to talk with me, then I expect them to go the fuck ahead and talk when I meet them! Not try and lick my ass like a couple of dogs, it- it annoys me Jerry… infuriates me. I mean, you understand right? I'm sure a man of your stature had dealt with enough bootlickers-"
He doesn't hesitate to jump on the bandwagon, eager to curry my favor for what was about to happen next, "I think we've all dealt with our fair share of 'panderers' as you call them, apt word for it really… You're Ricky, you and I- we've seen enough of that shit… unlike those bozos all suited and booted we fucking understand-"
"Yes we do! Yes we fuckin' do-"
And on and on it went for the next few minutes as we sipped our respective drinks, a cappuccino for me, and Long Island iced tea for him.
The second we finished our drinks, we finally got around to the matter at hand-
"No-no, I'll wear the suit at the Oscars no problem, but the brand is known for its preppy, casual style. There's no way in hell am I wearing shoes or using wallets-"
"Ricky, as the brand ambassador, you will be obligated nay- contractually required to promote all of our varied products, that includes all forms of accessories-"
"With all due respect jerry- fuck off. The contract clearly references your clothing line and-and nothing else- you think your brand is the only one I'll be promoting? Do you have any idea how much Ray-Ban is paying me to wear their aviators for the next year in public engagements-"
"Well we're not Ray fuckin' Ban are we? They make sunglasses for god's sake, we cloth people's bodies, it's like apples and oranges Ricky-"
"Yes! Exactly my point here Jerry, it's apples and oranges- all eaten by the same damn man, in this case, me! I'll be eating them both Jerry- don't make me choose, not for this! You have any idea how badly Ralph Lauren wanted me as their brand ambassador? You're lucky you are not in a bidding war with them right now so please just- cut the bullshit. We agreed on the amount, the residuals, the PR engagements, the commercials and modeling, now I'm gonna need you to get all the way off my back on this-"
"All right! Fine! Fine, I'll- I'll strike the clause off!"
I nodded in appreciation, "Thanks man! Much appreciated!" I said, a mile-wide smile on my face as the talks were finally over.
He seemed relieved if nothing else, clearly not having anticipated such ardent resistance on my front, but then again… the terms he tried to sneak in were near draconian and there was no way in hell was I gonna stand for them.
He took out a white kerchief and proceeded to wipe the beads of sweat covering his face, as he breathed deeply, clearly having had a burden lifted off his shoulders. I had no doubt in mind that his higher-ups were putting a lot of pressure on him to seal the deal after all.
He stood up eagerly, shaking my hand as he said, "Congratulations Ricky! On being appointed the Global Men's Ambassador for Tommy Hilfiger… we have your size, you'll have your shipment of clothes next week-"
"Hold on- shipment?! How many clothes are we talking here Jerry?"
"I have no idea and honestly, I don't want to have an idea just- keep your closet empty for now, we're gonna fill it with all kinds of things-"
"Sure man… as long as they fit and make me look good, I couldn't care less to be honest."
…
…
After my quid pro quo with Jerry, I made my way back to Midas, where I was bombarded with updates regarding the various projects being undertaken, as I prepared to tackle them all head-on.
"-this is the binder. It has complete character sketches, pointers, aesthetic preferences, etc., now- use it wisely, defer to it if needed, but in the end, I want you to make your own call Linda. As the casting director, you have complete discretion over the roles that I've highlighted in the binder."
Linda Farrell, my in house casting director who has to fly all the way to England to cast actors for my next venture.
"Why only the British Isles though? Are you sure we can't include Americans-" She started right when I cut her off.
"It's a period drama Linda… the aesthetics will matter far more in this scenario considering we will be depicting several accurate but rather tragic events in Britain's history through the lens of the relationship. We can't afford to waste time on dialect coaches and history classes here- no, it's better to cast people who know their stuff well enough. Now if you don't mind, your flight leaves in 3 hours-"
And she left… ran out more like, not even a goodbye… damn.
She definitely hadn't packed yet.
18th March 1998 (Wednesday)
Martin Lawrence (POV)
An uneasy silence permeated the air, as Harvey and Bob for the first time in months, were rendered speechless.
It was an article by 'The Hollywood Reporter'.
Apparently the 'top ten highest earning actors' of the year was released 2 months ago… and was updated yesterday with some revised figures after a press release by Ricky Stirling and team.
Long story short, he topped the list.
"$150 MOTHERFUCKING MILLION?!!" Harvey raged away like usual.
"How the fuck did he even- what- Martin's what's the breakdown of this?! Can you tell me how the fuck he managed to earn $150 million from 2 movies?" Bob remained the voice of reason as Harvey raged on in the background.
I was busy massaging my forehead, smoking a joint to calm the fuck down if nothing else, "Well, for starters, he produced both movies as in, forked over the cash himself, which accounted for close to 50% of Good Will Hunting's budget, and 40% of Catch Me If You Can's budget, and he received… lucky son of a bitch-'' I paused out of incredulity.
"Well!" Bob snapped, "Get on with it!"
"If we assume distribution taking 50%, and talent acquisition costs included in the budget, and marketing costs paid for by the studios, then he received… roughly $75 million from each project… gross. Even deducting his initial investment, he would be left with over a $100 million hard cash-"
"SON OF A- BITCH!" Harvey kicked at the base of a couch, his leg sinking into the spongy comfort as he took out a cig from his pocket, flicking another over to Bob.
Bob just shook his head in disbelief. Refusing to interject in fear of being in Harvey's line of fire.
The Weinstein brothers… their relationship dynamic was all kinds of fucked up.
"BOB! You know what this means, right?!" Harvey yelled into his face, spit flying from his… rotund face.
Bob shook his head rapidly, eyes wide at the sudden inquisition.
"Bob," Harvey adopted a softer tone… oh fuck. The calm before the storm it is then, "Remember our first high profile success? Sex, Lies and Videotape?! $38 million on a $1.2 million budget… It made us the biggest indie studio back then… This motherfucker, made 'Whiplash' with $4 million… it grossed $246 million, and the Oscars have yet to be doled out."
Huh… never thought of that.
The kid is full of surprises, isn't he? Though I think what really pricks Harvey about him is that… there's no way to ease into this, so I'll just say it.
He is Adonis incarnate. The perfect blend of beauty and rugged looks, he is masculine, has a face so perfect he's got women swooning from here, all the way to the East Coast, and he is charming about it.
His media interactions are flawless, his charisma oozes off him without a shred of effort, his reputation does not have a single blemish… the number of times starlets have flirted with him on air, and then dismissed their advances as a joke to avoid the sting of rejection… I can see why men would be jealous.
Take Harvey on the other hand… a fat, ugly man, with an ogre-like face, a reputation for being rude and abrasive without reason and a mean son of a bitch, and the number of sexual harassment cases that have been settled by his legal team speak more about his charm, or the lack thereof, than anything else.
How his wife tolerates him is beyond me. Seriously, gold digger she might be, but I have nothing but respect and awe for her brave sacrifice.
And now the one aspect in which he could still lord his superiority over Ricky has been snatched away from him ruthlessly, without nary an acknowledgement.
You see, Harvey has a habit of spending money he doesn't have to ensure his films win awards and garner acclaim. When Warner Bros bought Miramax in '93, it took on a debt of $40 million, solely so that Harvey could continue focusing on his little obsession with the golden statuettes.
It's also why his clout within Hollywood has been solidified, considering all actors, directors, and other crew members want an Oscar. And Harvey might be a mean, sly, crooked little bastard... But you can't deny that he gets results. He has launched more successful careers than anyone else in recent memory… even Ricky's dear old dad, Ambrose Stirling… the closest thing Harvey ever had to a rival.
The man who barely indulges in the indie film market, content in developing quality TV, and blockbusters with Clayton, bringing in far more money than Miramax could ever dream of… but not the same acclaim and industry recognition.
"THAT'S IT! That is it, you hear me?! Bob! Martin! We're gonna make him pay for this- that uppity little asshole!" He raged on and on and then all of a sudden… he quietened down.
He spotted an older newspaper amongst the collage of publications on his desk, all strewn haphazardly after his rage.
He picked it up, as he rubbed the stubble on his right cheek, a deeply unsettling gleam in his eye.
His eyes move across the page, as his face lights up more and more, clearly cooking his next nefarious scheme…
"Martin!"
"Yes, boss?" I reply, not missing a beat in fear of antagonizing him further.
"His co-star in Good Will Hunting. She any good?"
I nod hesitantly, "She won the critic's choice award for Best Supporting Actress. She got a SAG and a Golden Globe nom, and a nod from the academy in the category… can I ask, why?"
He smirks in a self-satisfied way, "Oh, no reason. Hey, for 'Shakespeare in Love', we haven't cast the female lead yet, have we?"
"Not yet..." I reply, the joint hanging languidly between my fingers, long forgotten as I dread his next words.
"Get in touch with her agent. Offer her the chance to audition for the lead role. Talk to the casting director, we'll give it to her if she's interested."
"So a kangaroo court." Bob remarked.
Harvey grins again, "Call it whatever the fuck you want. We're striking back Bob, and this time around… We'll hit him where it hurts. Like father, like son."
Like father like son… Aw, fuck No! No-no-no-no-no!
This fatass baby elephant is gonna- oh fuck no! He can't be planning on- oh hell no!
Doesn't he realize? If he goes through with it, it won't make the kid back up! It'll make him see red! He'll come running into Harvey, horns and all- and I'll be the one left picking up the pieces.
Seriously fuck you management. Just had to transfer me into this motherfucker's tender care… Is it too late to switch ships, perhaps?
Is Stirling looking to hire? Out of the two, I would prefer the younger one any day, but losers can't be choosers.
And I fear that's exactly what we'll be if we continue on with whatever deranged shit Harvey's cooked up in his head.