The Movie (5 page)

down.

Sam leaned back against the supple leather. He had his mind on music, too. The sweet sound of cash tills chiming.

‘I understand completely, Fred. You might not believe this, but I was young once! I think you guys can make something really magical on screen together. Forget Reality Bites ‘

‘That fakola bullshit.’

‘ - and just start thinking about what kind of a dream you migh[ create with Zach. I think your generation deserves a spokesman.’

‘Spokesman,’ said Florescu, reverently.

Kendrick’s eyes rolled in his head. ‘Absolutely.’ He glanced at his watch: five to eight. ‘Hey, I have to split. Let me talk to Zach, set a meeting up. OK?’

‘You got it,’ the director said, hanging up happy.

The SKI conference room was packed and nervous. Stress hung in the air like humidity, an almost palpable feeling of tension rising from the hunched necks and taut postures of the agents seated round the table and standing lining the walls. Nobody knew what to expect; Kendrick had called this meeting personally, the word of God descending from on high, summoning the miserable sinners to account for themselves in his presence. Everybody knew that Sam was unhappy, despite the decent business. SKI was doing in commissions. They were fading from the limelight, and that wasn’t a good position to be in in Tinseltown. Plus,’

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James Falcon had walked last Friday. Kendrick’s Commandos, as they were popularly known, had good cause to be anxious - when Sam was unhappy, that emotion seemed to have a magical way of transferring itself to his employees.

The rookies stood against the wall; they’d been there for a couple of hours, most of them, but nobody would have dreamed of taking a chair. Those were strictly left for the head honchos, whenever they should choose to appear. No, the new kids stood up with their well-thumbed copies of Variety and the Hollywood Reporter and tried to memorize weeken.d grosses, commission records for the SKI stars repped by their departments, whatever significant sand shifting had taken place in the business that week, and the current dollar exchange rate to the pound, mark, yen and Swiss franc. You never knew. It was pure torture, all the mindless cramming, but that was part of the deal. They were rookie agents. They existed to be tortured by their betters. And heaven help you if Sam Kendrick, or even your department chief, decided to call on you for a question and you couldn’t answer it. They were worker ants, but they were worker ants in Hugo Boss or Donna Karan, and to a man and woman they looked forward to the time when they would be able to torment their own rookies.

The wall also gave the grunts a chance to observe those mighty merchant princes, the department chiet and senior agents who rated the thirty or so hard chairs ranged round the long mahogany table: Lisa Koepke, the elegant head of TV, responsible for dreaming up Beechwood Halls, American Hospital and Joe’s Princess amongst other hit shows. TV was like Lisa, a solid performer with occasional flashes of brilliance, but nothing much to write home about. Phil P,.obbins and Michael Campbell, the heads of the international, and domestic film divisions, respectively: Phil, a

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slim, good-looking blond in his mid-thirties and rum oured karate expert, had less to worry about: his boys and girls had been energetic in the sale of foreign rights over the past quarter and SKI commissions in Southeast Asia had never been higher. Plus, went the whisper round the back wall, that David Puttnam/Hugh Grant Brit flick looked as if it might be gonna happen. Now that would surely give Mr Kendrick something to smile about. Mike, a cropped brunette in bespoke Ray-Ban shades and a dark Savile low suit, obviously had more problems - after all, why were they here? And finally, amongst department helmers, there was Kevin Scott, the fifty-something Boston brahmin who’d been in charge of the literary department for fifteen years. It was he who had brokered the $4 million Sweet Fire deal in ‘89, an industry record at the time, and he who’d discovered eight novelists who’d gone on to top the New York’Times bestseller list.

But that, as they say, Was then, and this is now. Kevin Scott was in over his head. The world of literary rights had changed a little from the courteous-handshake business he was used to, where a gendeman’s word was his bond. Deals were now done in unseemly haste, prices seemingly bearing an inverse ratio to critical merit. The leisurely, well-lubricated publishing lunch was a thing of the past in New York. And the old school of donnish, intelligent literary agents with English degrees and a passion for the written word were being replaced everywhere Kevin looked by hyenas in designer jeans, twenty-and thirty something puppies with mobile phon.es glued to their ears and Sonic Youth blaring from their in-car CDs. He shuddered to think about it. Most of them probably read five books a year, and all of those courtroom thrillers. And yet, despite his stern protests, Sam and Mike had insisted he fill his department with these obnoxious creatures.

Somebody had turned up the volume on his world, and Kevin Scott was not happy.

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Nor was his division selling any scripts.

But most rookie eyes glanced lightly over the four principals today. It wasn’t the division heads they were really interested in; it was the senior agents, the corners, the twoyear veteram seething for position under their bosses. Joanne Delphi and Sue SuBman in Foreign P, Aghts. Peter Murphy in TV International, and John Carter in TV East Coast. And particularly, David Tauber, the shooting comet blazing across Domestic Movies, the most vital division they had.

Tauber lounged slightly in his chair, sitting in pride of place at Phil’s right-hand side. If he was aware of all the hungry eyes crawling across his muscled torso, he gave no sign of it. At twenty-six years old, David Tauber was a gorgeous creature, and sexual charisma radiated from every inch of him. Thick hazel blond hair, cut into an almost military crop, complemented his tanned skin, deep tawny eyes and a body that paid tribute to his nutritionalist and personal trainer. Nice toys if you could afford them, and Tauber could afford them easily. He’d pulled three times the commission of the other agents of his rank last year and earned double the salary. He drove a cherry-red Lamborghini and already rated a good table at Spago’s. Hollywood prides itself on scenting out the Next Big Thing, and right now David Tauber was smelling of roses. Last week had seen the biggest coup of his young but glittering career o far: the defection of Zach Mason, ex lead singer of Dark Angel, from the stable of Yolanda

Henry to the mahogany doors of SKI.

His colleagues hated him.

‘Ladies, gentlemen, good morning,’ Sam Kendrick barked, striding into the meeting room and pulling up the

chair at the head of the table.

Everybody stood.

‘Sit down,’ Kendrick said sourly.

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Everybody sat.

‘OK, here it is,’ Sam continued briskly. Just because he was in a better mood didn’t mean he was gonna cut these snivelling layabouts one inch of slack. ‘This year, the agency has seen its worst billings since I founded it. We’ve stuck a couple of our big names in movies, but that’s about it. We’re trailing the fucking pack and I don’t think it’s the luck of the draw. I want, one, a convincing explanation of everybody’s performance over the last quarter; two, a list from every person in this room of who they represent, what they’re doing with them, and who they’re gonna

bring into this agency in the next month.’

Several faces round the room paled.

‘That’s the warm-up. Later we’re gonna discuss the studios-and I expect everyone to have some new knowledg.e to share with us and how we fLX this problem. I want this agency to package a deal. Now. If not sooner. Are we clear on that?’

Frantic nods. They were dear on that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed that useless old lush Kevin Scott, surreptitiously pop a Valium into his mouth. Christ, he was pathetic. He should fire him, but the guy had once been so good. And they had once been friends. He also noticed the Tauber kid, slouching in an Italian suit, looking confident. He hadn’t nodded with the rest of them.

Kendrick had a good feeling about Tauber.

‘OK, people. Let’s go,’ he ordered, sitting back to watch the dogfight start.

‘David, I don’t think you understand.’

Kevin Scott was getting redder and redder in the face.

‘With respect, I think I do, Kevin. Jason wrote a script for that TV movie ‘

‘Beyond Loving,’ someone supplied.

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‘Beyond Loving, right. Sold very nicely. Seventy thousand bucks for, what? Two weeks’ work? I think he’d be perfect for this project.’

Scott almost choked on his outrage. This damn junior agent from the movie division, who’d been butting into everybody’s reports all meetinglong, was now trying to tell him how to run his literary department? Some boy who’d just started shaving?

‘Jason felt he had to take the Beyond Loving script on to pay his rent. He is a Serious Novelist,’ he managed, hoping to shame Tauber into shutting up.

An elegant shrug. ‘So explain that if he writes this movie he won’t have to worry about rent. He can buy his own condo.’ Tauber glanced up at Sam Kendrick. ‘This is the nineties, Kevin. Starving in garrets is right out of style.’

Scott glared at him bleakly. ‘Thank you for your advice, David.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘But the literary division need not be your concern.’ A direct rebuke! Now every agent in the room was on tl/e edge of their seats, holding their breath, waiting for Kendrick to step in and intervene.

David Tauber sighed. ‘I wish that were true, Kevin. But unfortunately, it’s not… I represent some interesting new clients in the movie division, and we would like to be able to package them’ - the magic word - ‘with a script from SKI. But everything that comes down to me from you guys is an art movie.’

‘We have one of the best records for Academy Awards of any screenplay department in Hollywood,’ Scott wheezed. The tiny, broken red veins on his nose were glowing like Rudolph.

‘We’re still interested in quality here, David,’ Mike Campbell said brusquely. His prot6g6 was going too far. It was bad policy to let a twoyear guy badmouth a division chief.

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‘Indeed we are,’ added Sam Kendrick loudly.

Tauber was unfazed by the general wince that tippled through the spectators. He stared arrogantly back at Scott.

‘Anyway, what do you mean, dients?’ Kevin demanded, his gentlemanly sangfroid deserting him. ‘You got one new guy. Mason.’

David Tauber stretched his legs under the table, catlike, before replying, and when he did, he looked directly at Sam. ‘Well now, Kevin, that was yesterday,’ he said softly. ‘I had a new client sign with me this morning.’

‘And who was that?’ the older man enquired with acid scepticism.

Tauber studied his nails. ‘A model who’d like to be an actress.’

The room groaned.

‘Ten for two cents,’ snapped Kevin, delighted.

David hrugged. ‘Maybe. But I don’t think you’d get tkoxana Felix at that price.’

Instant pandemonium. Kevin Scott went purple with confused rage, Mike Campbell spun on his chair to look at his lieutenant, Lisa Koepke laughed quietly, and the rookies lost their composure, some clapping, some whistling. Tauber ducked his head minutely, acknowledging the triumph.

From his throne at the top of the table, Sam Kendtick had been watching the duel closely. He hadn’t known about the supermodel, but it didn’t urprise him.So, the ” Tauber kid was a real hustler.

Time to show him who was king of this jungle. ‘That’s great, David,’ he began, to the immediate cessation of all other noise. ‘When do we start booking her modelling?’

Tauber looked wary. Tve only signed her to us for performance, Sam. Unique in New York are still her bookers.’

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Kendrick shrugged. ‘Too bad. Still, I guess she must have a hot showreel.’

‘Uh, no - she hasrr’t acted before now.’

‘Then maybe she can’t act.’ Kendrick’s voice was a whiplash. ‘What are you going to tell me? She looks hot, so she’ll be huge box office? Did it work out like that for Isabella Ikossellini? For Paulina what’s her name? For Madonna?’

The room was stunned. Tauber shifted a little on his chair, creditably hiding most of his embarrassment, and Kevin Scott suddenly had a nasty smile fixed on his puffy face.

‘We’ll have to see. It’s still good that you signed her, though, David,’ Kendrick continued, his tone more soothing now. ‘But let’s not.jump any guns. It’s your other client I really want to build a package around. We’ve seen Zach Mason test, and he’s hot enough to fry breakfast on.’

The room had turned from the battle between the old and new guards now. Every eye was trained on the boss. When Sam spoke like this, he sounded like the Oracle at Delphi. They waited, eager for guidance, for whatever brilliant idea Kendrick had that would add lustre to the tarnished SKI star, and therefore glitter on all their r6sum6s.

‘In fact, I think it is a woman who’ll provide the solution to our problems,’ Kendrick went on. ‘But her name isn’t loxana Felix.’

He waited, letting term hang Jn the air, dependent on him for a few seconds.

‘It’s Eleanor Marshall,’ he said.

4o

Seven a.m. and already the morning sun was blazing down full force on the LA freeway. Driving a smooth, traffic-free path to work - there had to be some advantages to ,getting up this early-Eleanor Marshall had opened the sun roof of her dark green Lotus in order to get the full benefit of it. Her neat bob of platinum-blonde hair was still damp from the shower, and she needed it to be dry and impeccable before she reached the wrought-iron gates of Artemis Studios. Everything about her had to look immaculate, these days. Of course, elegance had always been a priority, but since last month it had become an immutable law now she had to be perfect at all times.

Now she was president of the studio.