Temptation (31 page)

‘Sounds fair to me.’

‘He also wanted me to tell you that he feels what’s happened to you has been totally over the top and wrong. He’s even written to the Emmy people to tell them that they’ve acted like a bunch of shitbirds.’

‘He actually used those words?’

‘An approximation.’

‘When you’re taking to him again, please tell him how grateful I am. It’s the first lucky break I’ve had in a while.’

But my run of good luck was short-lived. The next day, a megaton bomb landed in my lap after I finally made contact with Bobby Barra.

I rang him on his cellphone. He sounded more than a little hesitant when he heard my voice.

‘Hey guy, how’s it going?’ he asked me.

‘I’ve had better months.’

‘Yeah, I heard things had been rough. Where you calling from right now?’

I explained about Sally kicking me out, and Alison finding me this coastal refuge.

‘Man, you have hit Shit City,’ Bobby said.

‘Understatement of the year.’

‘Well listen, guy – sorry I haven’t been in touch, but you know I was over in Shanghai for this Search Engine start-up. And I know you’re calling me to find out about how the IPO has shaken down.’

An alarm bell went off between my ears.

‘What does that IPO have to do with me, Bobby?’

‘What does it have to do with you, guy? C’mon . . . you’re the one who told me to move your entire portfolio into this IPO.’

‘I never said that.’

‘The hell you didn’t. Remember that conversation we had when I called you a couple of months ago to tell you about your portfolio dividend for the last quarter?’

‘Yeah, I remember it . . . ’

‘And what did I ask you?’

He asked me if I would like to be one of the privileged few who would be allowed to invest seriously in a sure-fire IPO for an Asian search engine . . . a search engine that was guaranteed to become the number one player in China and all of Southeast Asia. And – with my detailed memory for all grisly details – I remembered our entire conversation at the time.

‘This is like backing Yahoo with slopey eyes,’
he said.

‘How politically correct of you, Bobby.’

‘Listen guy – we’re talking about the biggest untapped market in the world. And it’s the chance to get in at ground level. But I’ve got to know fast . . . you interested?’

‘You’ve never steered me wrong yet.’

‘Smart guy.’

Shit. Shit. Shit. The guy thought that was a directive to sell.

‘Well, wasn’t it?’ Bobby asked me. ‘I mean, I did ask you if you were interested. You did answer in the affirmative. So I took that to mean you wanted in.’

‘But I didn’t tell you to transfer my entire fucking portfolio . . . ’

‘You didn’t say otherwise either. To me, “in” means
in.
’

‘You had no right to transfer any shares of mine without my explicit written approval.’

‘That’s bullshit and you know it. How the hell do you think the brokerage business works? By a polite exchange of paper? This is a game which alters every thirty seconds, so if someone tells me to sell . . . ’

‘I didn’t tell you to sell . . . ’

‘I made an offer to get you into the IPO, you accepted. And if you read the agreement you signed with my company when you became a client, you’ll see that there’s a clause authorizing us to buy or sell shares on your behalf with your
verbal
consent. But hey, if you want to take this to the SEC, go right ahead. They’ll laugh you out of court.’

‘I don’t believe this . . . ’

‘Hey, it’s not the end of the world. Nine months from now, the share price is going to quadruple, which means
that not only will you make up the initial fifty per cent loss in share value . . . ’

Three alarm bells started going off between my ears.

‘What the fuck did you just say?’

He remained calm. ‘I said: given the momentary downturn in technology stocks, the initial IPO didn’t go as well as expected . . . and about half the value of your shares was wiped out.’

‘That can’t be true.’

‘What can I say, except: it happens. Anyway, all this stuff is a gamble, right? I try to minimize your risk . . . but sometimes the market turns weird for a spell. The thing is: this is not a disaster. Far from it. Because by this time next year, I’m certain you’ll be seeing . . . ’

‘Bobby, by this time next year, I’ll be in debtor’s jail. I owe the IRS around a quarter-million, and FRT and Warners are about to start chasing me for,
at best
, the same amount of cash. Do you understand what’s happened to me? All my contracts have been cancelled. I am a Hollywood untouchable. The only money I have in the world is the money I’ve invested with you. And now you tell me . . . ’

‘What I’m telling you is to keep your nerve.’

‘And what I’m telling you is that I have seventeen days to pay that IRS bill. The Internal Revenue Service doesn’t adopt a grandfatherly approach to anyone who’s late with a big bill. They’re the biggest bastards on the planet.’

‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘Get me all my money back.’

‘You’re going to have to be patient for that.’

‘I
can’t
be fucking patient.’

‘Well, I can’t get you what you want. Not immediately anyway.’

‘So what can you get me immediately?’

‘Just the current value of your portfolio – which is around the quarter-mil mark.’

‘You’ve bankrupted me . . . ’

‘I think it’s you who’ve bankrupted yourself. And as I have been trying to tell you, if you keep the money where it is for nine months . . . ’

‘I don’t have nine fucking months. I have seventeen days. And once I pay off the Feds, I’ll have nothing. You got that? Less than zero . . . ’

‘What can I say? A gamble’s a gamble.’

‘If you had only been straight with me . . . ’

‘I was straight with you, jerkoff,’ he said, suddenly angry. ‘I mean, let’s face facts here. If you hadn’t gotten your ass thrown off your show for stealing people’s lines . . . ’

‘Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you . . . ’

‘That’s it. We are done here. Literally and figuratively. I don’t want your business. I don’t want to deal with you.’

‘Of course you don’t, now that you’ve screwed me . . . ’

‘I am not continuing this dialogue. And I only have one final question for you: do you want me to liquidate the stock?’

‘I have no choice.’

‘That’s an affirmative then?’

‘Yes – sell it all.’

‘Fine. Done. Expect the money in your account tomorrow. End of story.’

‘Never call me again,’ I said.

‘Why would I do that?’ Bobby said. ‘I don’t deal with losers.’

Naturally, my session the next morning with Matthew Sims kicked off with a discussion of that last line.

‘Well, do you consider yourself a loser?’ he asked me.

‘What do you think?’

‘You tell me, David.’

‘I’m not just a loser. I’m a disaster zone. Everything,
everything
, has been taken from me. And it’s all due to my own stupidity, my own self-absorption.’

‘There you go again, down the self-hatred track.’

‘What do you expect? I am now also heading toward financial collapse.’

‘And you don’t think you’re clever enough to get yourself out of this?’

‘How? Through suicide?’

‘That’s not the sort of joke you tell your therapist.’

Nor, for that matter, was my accountant in jocular form when I explained the Bobby Barra debacle.

‘I don’t want to say “I told you so”,’ Sandy Meyer said, ‘but I did warn you about centralizing your portfolio in the hands of one broker.’

‘The guy did so well for me up until now. And I was expecting to make such big bucks this year . . . ’

‘I know, David. It’s a tough situation. But okay, here’s how I think we should play it. The $250k in liquidated stock goes to pay off Uncle Sam. Your credit cards are maxed out right now at $28k . . . so the $30k in your account goes to pay off that debt, leaving you two grand in cash. But Alison told me you’re living rent free right now.’

‘Rent free and cheap. If I spend $200 a week, it’s an event.’

‘Then that two grand will buy you ten weeks. But there’s
the problem of the eleven grand a month for Lucy and Caitlin. I spoke with Alison about this. She says you’ve got a tough new lawyer working your corner. I’m sure, given your considerably reduced circumstances, a court would agree to lower your monthly payment.’

‘I don’t want to do that. It’s not fair.’

‘But David, Lucy is earning very good money now . . . and the initial alimony and child support payment was, in my opinion, sky high. I know you were pulling down a million a year. But even so, the level of payment struck me as so excessive as to be . . . if you don’t mind me saying so . . . guilt money.’

‘It was guilt money. It still is guilt money.’

‘Well, now you can no longer afford to feel guilty. Eleven grand a month is out of your league.’

‘I’ll sell the car . . . as you suggested. I should get forty grand for it.’

‘What are you going to drive?’

‘Something cheap and well under seven thousand bucks. With the remaining thirty-three grand, I can afford the next three months’ payments.’

‘And after that?’

‘I haven’t a clue.’

‘You better talk to Alison about finding you some work.’

‘Alison is the best agent in town . . . but she won’t be finding me any work.’

‘With your permission, I’m going to give her a call,’ Sandy said.

‘Why bother? I’m a lost cause.’

A few days after Sandy’s call, Alison rang me and said, ‘Hello, Lost Cause.’

‘I see you’ve been talking to my esteemed accountant.’

‘Oh, I’ve been talking to lots of people,’ she said. ‘Including FRT and Warner Brothers.’

‘And?’

‘Well, it’s another good news/bad news call. First I’m going to give you the bad news: both FRT and Warners are adamant that you pay back the fees.’

‘That’s me finished.’

‘Not so fast – the good news is that both companies have agreed to halve their demand – which means one hundred and twenty-five thousand each.’

‘I’m still ruined.’

‘Yeah – Sandy explained everything to me. But the other good news is that I have convinced them to let you pay it off on the installment plan, with no payment due for the first six months.’

‘Big deal. The fact is, I have no money to make these payments. And I’m out of work.’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I found you some work.’

‘Writing work?’

‘Absolutely. It’s not particularly glamorous work, but it
is
work. And for the amount of time it’ll take you to do it, it’s well paid.’

‘So cut to the chase.’

‘Now I don’t want you to groan when I tell you . . . ’

‘Just tell me,
please
.’

‘It’s a novelization.’

I tried not to groan. A novelization was hack work – in which you took a screenplay of a forthcoming movie and
turned it into a short, easy-to-read novel, which was generally sold at supermarket checkouts and all outlets of K-mart. Professionally speaking, it was the lowest-of-the-lows – the sort of job you took because you either had low self-esteem, or had hit the bottom of the barrel and were desperate for cash. I qualified on all fronts, so I swallowed my protestations and asked:

‘What’s the movie?’

‘Try not to groan again . . . ’

‘I didn’t groan the first time . . . ’

‘Well, you might do now. It’s a new teen movie that New Line are realizing.’

‘Called?’ I asked.

‘
Losing It
.’

This time I did groan. ‘Let me guess . . . it’s about two pimply sixteen year olds who want to lose their virginity?’

‘My, my, you are clever,’ Alison said. ‘Except that the kids are seventeen.’

‘Late starters.’

‘Hey, virginity is “in” these days.’

‘What’s the name of our two protagonists?’

‘You’re going to love this: Chip and Chuck.’

‘Sounds like a pair of cartoon beavers. And the setting is somewhere deeply banal and suburban, like Van Nuys?’

‘Close: Orange County.’

‘And does one of the kids turn out to be a slasher?’

‘No – it’s not
Scream
. But there is a dazzling twist in the tail: it turns out that the gal whom Chip finally
schtups
is Chuck’s half-sister . . . ’

‘But Chuck doesn’t know of her existence?’

‘Bingo. It turns out that January . . . ’

‘Her name is January?’

‘Hey, it’s that kind of movie.’

‘Clearly. And it sounds like total shit.’

‘That it is. But they are also offering twenty-five thousand for the novelization, on the condition that it’s delivered in two weeks.’

‘I’m in,’ I said.

The script arrived by Fedex the next morning. It was godawful: smug, full of smutty jokes about erections and clitorises and flatulence, with one-dimensional characters, the usual routine teen situations (including the requisite backseat blow-job), the requisite punch-up between the two boys after Chuck discovers that he’s related to the girl Chip’s been sleeping with, and the requisite ‘
growth
’ finale, in which Chip and Chuck reconcile, Chuck and his estranged father reconcile, and January reveals to Chip that he was her first lover too . . . and though she doesn’t want a ‘hot-and-heavy romance’, they’ll always be friends.

I called Alison after I finished reading it.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘Garbage,’ I said.

‘So can you make the two-week deadline?’

‘No problem.’

‘Good. Now here are some ground rules that the publisher, Max Newton, asked me to give you. The length should be 75,000 words maximum. And remember this is for the moron market – so keep it fast, keep it simple, keep it basic . . . but also make certain the sex scenes are . . . how did he put this? . . . “hot, but not scorching”. Does that make sense to you?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘One final thing: the publisher knows that it’s you who’s writing the novelization . . . ’

‘He didn’t object?’