by Stan Lerner
CHAPTER FIVE
The Plan
Stan walked down the hallway with his arm around Danny's shoulder. Stan's powerful build always made this type of up close and personal contact more intimidating. So, he did it as often as possible. If necessary, he'd squeeze someone's nuts to get his favorite answer, "Yes."
Danny was just three years Stan's junior but his wiry build and Versace suits made him look much younger. Danny had been working at Peters Entertainment for 15 years. He was Stan's go-to-guy.
"Are you still banging that girl in human resources over at the studio?" Stan asked quietly.
Danny's face lit up. "Boss, I fucked her so hard last night she had to crawl to the kitchen to make me breakfast this morning. FYI, she's head of the department now."
"That a boy." Stan gave Danny's shoulder a squeeze. "Listen, I'm guessing Brad Jones is going to be staffing up on assistants. I need you to call your friend and tell her we're going to be sending over the perfect candidate. She gets hired on the spot, you two are on my jet to Hawaii for the weekend."
"Consider it done, boss."
"Good. I knew I could count on you."
"Boss, I'm guessing that if this girl were hot, she'd be working here. How ugly is she? I mean, should I give my friend the heads up?"
"Danny boy, she is working here. And she's far from ugly." Stan looked over at the studious but smoking-hot Brianna as she sat and worked diligently. Danny nodded his head and smiled mischievously as he grasped that the boss was up to something.
"You want the studio to hire one of your own assistants?"
"Just for a minute." Stan gave him the Stan Peters wink and nod. "So go make that call. Oh, Danny-one more thing. Get all the hip-hop guys up here and tell them that we're cutting their fees in half. They're not going to be happy so make sure you blame it on the studio. The usual orders from the top bullshit."
"Boss, that's crazy!"
"Crazy?" Stan's arm dropped from around Danny's shoulder. "Am I having hearing trouble? Did you just say what I think you said?"
"Boss, I didn't mean you're crazy. I meant if we're going to blame it on the studio, it's crazy to only cut their fees in half. Let's cut 'em sixty percent and pocket the difference."
Stan grinned from ear to ear. "Good, very good. You keep thinking like that and you're going to go a long way in this town."
Danny smiled.
Stan turned to Brianna. "Brianna, sweetheart, are you working on anything important right now?"
She looked up innocently from her work. "Today is the deadline for the "Save The Children Grant". If I don't finish the paperwork, the whole Third World food relief program that we sponsor will go unfunded for the rest of the year."
Stan held up his index finger implying that he needed a moment and turned to Danny. "How's business been in the Third World markets?"
"It's all still on the barter system. We're lucky if we can get a chicken out of a family of four."
Stan was incredulous. "One chicken for four tickets to one of my movies?"
"Sorry boss. We do occasionally get a donkey for a season pass."
In the office next to Brianna sat Donald Baker, Peters Entertainment Director of Publicity.
He held the phone tightly; it was a very delicate conversation. "Listen, we love the Times. I just don't know if the boss has time to give you a quote on the Brad Jones promotion. All right, three words or less. Wait, I think I hear him out in the hallway. Hey boss, the Times wants to know what you think of Brad Jones." Donald held up the phone anticipating a pithy response.
Stan stood in the hallway fuming at the news Danny had just delivered. "A fucking jackass!" Stan shouted. Then, calming himself, he looked Danny in the face, put his hand on his shoulder, and in a very subdued quiet tone said, "For a season pass, that's totally unacceptable."
Donald pulled the phone back down to his ear instantly. "No, he did not just call the new head of the studio a fucking jackass. He said that he is fucking world-class...I don't give a shit if you did get it on tape?Hey don't you fucking hang up on me." Donald slammed down the phone. "Fuck!"
Stan turned back to Brianna. "Sweetheart, I need you in my office right now- something really important has changed the agenda."
Brianna got right up and walked down the hallway leaving Danny and Stan speechless for a moment as they stared at her perfect posterior.
"Speaking of something coming up." Danny looked down at the bulge in his pants.
Stan looked down at his identical bulge. "I know what you mean. But for now the only hard work Brianna's going to be doing is at the studio."
"That's a damn shame," Danny said, shaking his head.
They remained transfixed on Brianna's butt until she got to Stan's office door. At which point she turned around.
"Are you coming boss?"
Stan whispered out of the side of his mouth to Danny. "Hopefully." Then, he shouted, "In a couple of minutes."
Stan turned back to Danny. "Better make her interview for the afternoon."
Danny licked his lips. "You know you're my hero?"
"I know." Stan winked at Danny and they banged fists together before Stan turned and walked down the hallway to his office.
Iren sat comfortably in his corner office, down the hall from Stan's. As he massaged, Tiffany's (the new intern) feet, he spoke passionately toward the speakerphone.
"Listen to me, I'm telling you he's going to win an Academy Award for this part."
"I thought you said it's a comedy. Nobody wins an Oscar for a comedy," replied the very skeptical agent.
"Roberto Bernini in "A Beautiful Life" you shmuck." Iren winked at the young intern. She smiled, impressed by his mastery of Hollywood history.
"He was a comedian playing a guy who gets thrown into a concentration camp."
"Tom, playing a Jew, same thing. Listen to me Jimmy; Stan wrote this movie for Tom. We've wanted him from day one and I'm not hanging up until you say yes."
"Twenty million and I'll make it happen," Jimmy said with arrogant disinterest-the normal tone of any successful agent.
"Twenty million, that's it?" Iren scoffed. "Why don't you make it thirty million? I'll have to pay Russell and Nicole the same and then we'll be making the most expensive comedy in history. Are you out of your mind? Fifteen million. We're not paying a dollar more."
"Nicole who?" asked Jimmy.
"Nicole none of your fucking business who, until after we sign a contract." Iren's round face reddened.
"Hold on a second, I have another call," said Jimmy, making the obligatory point that successful agents are too busy to give anyone their undivided attention for more than five minutes.
"Don't you put me on hold you little bastard," Iren shouted to no avail. "He put me on hold, I'm going to kick his ass," he assured the intern-anger causing him to grip her feet more firmly-which turned her on. "Would you mind if I just kiss your toes a little."
"Not at all sir," she replied, very excited by the fat little angry man.
"You don't have to call me sir. You're special. Call me Bubba.
The intern giggled. "I thought your name was Iren. Why do you want me to call you Bubba?"
"Because Bubba has a little surprise for you later."
Jimmy's voice was back. "It's mom. She wants to know what time you're going to be home for dinner."
"Tell her I'm not coming home because my little prick of a son, the hotshot fucking agent, just gave me a fucking heart attack."
"All right, fifteen million. Send over the paperwork. Just make sure your name's not on it. What time should I tell mom you'll be home for dinner?"
The intern slipped her right foot up Iren's thigh.
"Late," Iren gasped. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the beautiful and apparently mischievous young girl. "Oh that feels good on my balls."
"What feels good on your balls?" asked Jimmy.
"Late, I have a lot of calls. I said I have a lot of calls." Iren was suddenly very warm and finding it difficult to concentrate.
"I could swear you said..."
"Oh my nuts!"
"I'm not nuts I heard you say..."
"What do you mean your gay?" Iren asked, realizing it was imperative that he deploy a misdirection.
"I said say, not gay," clarified a confused Jimmy.
"Son, I love you no matter what. But if you want to talk about it, let's talk after dinner." Iren hit the speakerphone's off button and let go of the intern's left foot. "Two feet are better than one," he said in his most suggestive tone.
"Yes sir," she responded, as her left foot joined her right.
Ray sat irritably in his corner office, which was down the hallway from Iren's. "I know he's her ex-husband. But think of it this way-this is a chance for reconciliation.
"Ray, what are you talking about? She's been sleeping with a shvartza. He's not taking her back."
"David, boychic, listen to me. She needs to do this movie if she has any hope of putting their marriage back together."
"Ray, he's married to someone else. They've had a child together."
"It's not his. The whole thing was a publicity stunt!"
"Ray, did he say something to you? Don't bullshit me. If he said something, I need to know.
"David, do you think for one fucking second that I would tell you what Tom told me."
"So he did tell you something?" David, being an agent, sensed that Tom must have said something.
"Look, he told me some things but I can't repeat them." Ray, being a producer, knew that David thought he was smarter than himself?so he had him. "All I can do is tell you that everybody wants Nicole in this movie."
"Everybody including Tom?" David asked point blank, because he was after all, The Man.
"Don't put fucking words in my mouth. Did I say the word including. No! I simply said everybody."
Ray's attractive secretary walked in, causing him to look up from the phone. She stood in front of his desk dressed in a smart navy blue business suit. "Your ex-wife is on the other line. She wants to know where her alimony check is."
"David, hold on a second." Ray pressed the hold button on the phone and looked up at his secretary who continued to peer disapprovingly down at him through her sexy reading glasses. "Tell her it's in Vegas." He waited a moment for her to leave then pressed the hold button again. "Okay, I'm back. Are you interested or not? Because if you're not, I have to give Renee's people a yes or a no."
"You're talking to Renee's people?" David asked with a trace of panic in his voice.
"No, we're done talking. I just need to tell them who we're going with. You know if I wasn't such a hopeless fucking romantic, I'd have this all wrapped up by now."
"I can't believe you're putting me on the spot like this." David's voice quivered slightly.
"Hey, maybe Renee and Tom will hit it off on the set. I bet Nicole will be real happy with you when she reads that in the tabloids." Ray smiled, but then frowned at the sight of his secretary standing back in his office.
"Your ex-wife wants to know where you left her check in Vegas."
"David, hold on another second." Ray pressed the hold button on the phone. "Tell her I left her fucking alimony check on the craps table at Caesars Palace."
Ray's secretary didn't move. "She's being a real bitch to me. Do you mind telling her yourself?"
"Do I mind telling her myself?" Ray repeated in disbelief. "Then what the fuck do I need you for? And why the fuck don't you use the intercom? Its the little red button on the lower left hand corner of your phone."
"You never answer the intercom," she responded calmly.
"You know what, you're more aggravating than my fucking ex-wife. Who did you fuck to get this job anyway?"
She rested her hands on her hips, trying to steady them. "I have a master's in communications from Stanford."
"And you work for a guy who doesn't even have a fucking GED, no wonder you're such an unhappy bitch. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but I bet you sit out there all day thinking about how unfair life is. You want to be an actor, don't you? Don't bullshit me, it's the only reason anybody that looks like you, with your education, would put up with an asshole like me. C'mon, come clean you'll feel better." He motioned for her to sit down in the chair in front of his desk.
"I do want to be an actor," she said shamefully as she sat in the chair. "I take classes every night. I minored in drama but I could never tell my parents. I mean, it just sounds so flaky, but I know I have what it takes. I don't want to just be like everybody else. I want to make a lasting contribution to the world."
Ray put his hands together signaling time-out and picked up the phone. "David, something important has come up. I've got to go. Nicole does this for SAG minimum or I'm going with Renee."
"SAG minimum? She gets twenty million a picture. You've lost your fucking mind."
"Does she want to get her husband back from that little skank he married, yes or no?"
"Yes," David said with some resignation.
"Did she sleep with a black guy?"
"Half black and a very talented musician," David offered as a defense.
"Half black? And if your daughter comes home and says she's half pregnant from a half black guy..."
"All right she'll do it for minimum," David said, caving in at the very thought of his daughter coming home and giving him such great news.
"Good, we'll send over a fucking contract." Ray hung up the phone and shook his fist out in front of him. "That's the way to fuck 'em!" He pointed at his secretary. "Now you listen to me. A million fucking girls like you come to LA every fucking day. They were all the fucking pork queen, cow queen, homecoming queen, soon to be working at Dairy Queen type; big fish in little pond, Shit Lick Indiana. You get what I'm saying. Now I have no fucking idea why one makes it and another one doesn't, but let me give you some good advice."
Her face became hopeful. "Please, I really need some guidance. I feel lost." Her bitchy attitude had subsided completely.
"You should be fucking the boss. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to bang you myself but that's not going to get you anywhere. If I were you, I'd be fucking the guy who could give me everything."
"I couldn't do that." She hung her head dejectedly. "I mean I'm not like all the rest of the girls in this town."
Ray put on his wire rim glasses, which made him look like a police detective straight out of a primetime drama. He tilted his head forward and looked down his large, thick, Italian nose at her. "Let me ask you something. Are you saving yourself for marriage?"
"No. I've had lots of boyfriends," she answered, still looking glum.
Ray nodded. It was just the scenario he had imagined. "What did they do for you? You're working for a guy who can't spell. Do you see where I'm going? You're fucking lowlifes and bad boys; it doesn't make sense. Fuck someone who can do something for you. Didn't they teach you anything in school?"
A look of distress crossed Ray's secretary's face. "Your ex, she's still on hold."
Ray smiled. It didn't happen often but he had a soft spot for the stupid girl. "Watch and learn," he said, pressing the speakerphone button. "Don't you have anything better to do than stay on hold for twenty fucking minutes?"
"You mean like pay my bills with the money you haven't sent me?" responded the insolent voice of his ex-wife.
"How long were we married?" asked Ray.
"Ten years. But it must be hard for you to remember since you were never here.
"Did you work during those ten years?" Ray asked patiently.
"I volunteered," the voice sneered back.
"The answer is no," Ray said, taking his glasses back off for no reason other than putting them on and then taking them off made him feel smarter. "I paid all the fucking bills. We've been divorced for ten years and every month I have to send you a check for fifteen grand so you can run around and fuck whoever you want. That means to date you've made one point eight million dollars for being married to me and letting me pay all the bills for ten years
. Throw in the house and the car and you're up three million easy. That's almost thirty thousand a month for every month we were married."
"What's your point, Ray?" The voice extended his name so it sounded like, "Raaaay".
He let out a chuckle. "My point is that you're a lot smarter than I am." He smashed his index finger down on the speakerphone button ending the call. Ray looked across the desk at his seemingly amused secretary. "Thirty thousand a month and counting. Don't be stupid-sleep with the boss."
