by Marc Avery
For the next two days, I soaked in all the information I could. Anytime somebody offered a business card, I took it without hesitation. During the Q&A session, I asked every question I could think of. I also plowed through the nightly buffets too. I used the rest of the time to roam the streets of Atlanta. Breathing in the city air and seeing the sights and the people gave me ample writing material. I was in my element. More importantly, I didn’t feel like my trip was in vain. I thought I made some serious connections, even though I knew they wouldn’t pan out right away. Three days in Atlanta would be enough, so I planned to take an early flight home on Sunday instead of Monday.
* * *
I couldn’t wait to get home and see Essence. Three days without her felt like forever, and I’m sure she would be happy to see me too. I picked up a bouquet of red roses before I went home.
Inside the house, I put the flowers in a vase. Then I thought I heard something upstairs. Essence’s car was in the driveway, so I knew she was home.
The farther I got upstairs the more I heard Essence moaning. At first, I was angry because she was pleasuring herself without me. But now that I was there I could join in.
Our bedroom door was cracked, and when I saw her in the doggie-style position getting pounded from the rear, I saw was red. I charged in the room, and Essence and the guy she was fucking jumped off the bed.
“Anthony, I can explain, baby,” she said weakly.
“I bet you can, bitch,” I said and smirked.
“You need to chill out with the name-calling, boss,” the man said as he put on a pair of sweatpants.
I was so focused on Essence I didn’t notice the guy she was fucking was Austin.
I got in his face. “I suggest you step the fuck off.”
He put his hands up defensively. “I’m gone. Just tell your girl to hit me up when she need some more of this good dick,” he said and grabbed his junk.
Like lightning, I punched him in the jaw, and he staggered back. When he charged at me, I went low and hit him in the kidney.
Essence ran over and grabbed my left arm, but not before I punched him in the face again. He was out cold.
“What did you do?” she yelled.
“What did I do?” I asked incredulously. “I beat the shit out of the asshole who fucked my girl!” I yelled so loud my voice cracked.
She got on her knees and grabbed my hands. I couldn’t even look at her face. Now she was tainted in my eyes.
“I had a little too much to drink and—”
I cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it.”
She started crying.
I closed my eyes tight and restrained myself from swinging on her too. “How could you do this to us?” I asked.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I felt hollow inside. When I looked at Essence, all I saw was a lying and conniving cheater. My heart shattered into a million pieces.
“Lose my fucking number,” I said before I stormed off.
I planned to drown myself in vodka to numb the pain.
My world had just crumbled.
September
Waking up at my mother’s house and being unemployed sucked. I stunk of failure. I left the nest, and I ended up right back where I started. I had no agent, no girlfriend, and no job. I felt like a piece of shit. I was used to working two jobs, and now I turned into a cliché. I lived in my mother’s basement.
I refused to sit on my ass all day, so I went to the unemployment office and got approved for benefits. To be honest, 60 percent of my regular pay beat zero, but my pride hurt more than anything. Paying my bills and having money in my pocket made me feel like a man. If I never had to go back to the unemployment office again and deal with unsupervised kids and their disorganized staff I would be ecstatic.
Although I looked for jobs on Indeed and CareerBuilder, I put most of my focus into my screenwriting. My mother said I could stay at her house until I got back on my feet. I wanted to make sure I was more than good when I left her house for the second time.
At this point, I needed to try to do an independent project to get the attention of Hollywood. Before, I thought that the people would eventually find me, but they didn’t.
I had a few brainstorming sessions with my mother, and she told me about her church’s young entrepreneur grant program. They gave out the grant twice a year. All I had to do was write a 500-word essay on why I deserved the money.
After I wrote the essay, I scheduled a meeting with Pastor Alex Robinson. I sat in Starbucks waiting for him to show.
I ordered a caramel macchiato and a slice of plain cheesecake while I waited. Ten minutes later, Pastor Robinson coolly strolled in. His cologne made it to the table before he did, and his suit looked tailor-made and expensive. I’m sure his congregation paid for several cleanings to get his teeth that white. He looked more like a movie star than a pastor. When he shook my hand I thought he might rip my arm off.
“Nice to meet you, Anthony,” the pastor said and took a seat across from me.
“Nice to meet you too, sir. You want a coffee or a pastry?”
“I’m fine, son, but thank you.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to read my essay.”
“It was beautifully written. I’m not the only one who has to read it. It has to go through a committee first.”
“That’s not an issue. I have a detailed business plan if that helps.”
“It definitely does,” the pastor said and accepted the folder I handed him.
“How long before I know if I got the grant?”
“No more than a week. I will call you personally to let you know which direction we go in.”
I stood, and we shook hands. “I appreciate the time, sir.”
“No problem, son, and good luck.”
I finished my caramel macchiato and sat there long after the pastor left Starbucks. Out of the blue, Essence sent me a text message.
Can we talk?
I replied back: Fuck off!
I had more important things to worry about.
September
I got a letter in the mail denying me the grant. Pastor Robinson didn’t even have the decency to give me a call telling me about the bad news. I thought I put together a solid business plan, but obviously, in the committee’s eyes, I didn’t.
Screw ’em.
Two days later, I put plan B into motion. With the same business plan I used for the grant, I approached my bank for a loan of $6,000.
I sat in TD Bank tapping my foot and mumbling to myself. The loan officer had to call my name twice because I zoned out for a moment.
“I’m Carson Schwartz, and you are?” the loan officer asked.
“I’m Anthony Porter.”
“Is it okay if I call you Anthony?”
“Of course.”
We sat down at his desk.
“Thank you for submitting your application online. That cuts down on time for us.”
“No problem, sir.”
“From what I saw, your debt to income ratio is right where we need it to be. It actually exceeds the norm. Very impressive.”
I smiled because I took my good credit very seriously, and now it was paying off.
“If it was up to me, I would do it right now, but I have to run this by my manager. Let me print out your file and have a quick chat with him. If everything checks out, the money will be deposited into your account before you leave today.”
“Sounds good to me.”
The miniature bottle of vodka I drank in the bathroom earlier did little to settle my nerves. Those thirteen minutes I waited for the loan officer to come back felt like an eternity.
When Carson came back over to the desk, his face was emotionless. I was on pins and needles.
“Well, Anthony, my manager is very impressed with your file as well and the $6,000 has been deposited into your account. Congratulations.”
I jumped out of my seat and shook Carson’s hand with both
of my hands because I was so excited. “Thank you, sir!”
* * *
A week later, I rented a small, little used nightclub on Columbus Boulevard for three hours. I decided on a forty-five-minute run time to control the cost.
Through Google and YouTube, I found amateur actors who needed acting roles for their portfolio. They understood I couldn’t pay them very much money, but they still agreed to do the movie anyway. Luckily for me, I even found someone experienced to shoot the film for us.
Despite having to deal with being unemployed, Essence’s cheating, and striking out at first with funding, I actually was going to shoot a movie myself.
It felt really fucking good.
October
The film took a month to complete. Two weeks on shooting. Two weeks on the editing.
Holding a copy of my movie felt surreal.
I had visions of the movie being in Redbox machines across the country. The way I felt, it could’ve been in just one Redbox machine, and I would’ve been cool with it. I took a step forward instead of taking one backward, all the damn time.
I blindly sent copies of the film to film bloggers, magazine editors, film critics, and newspaper editors. They had no obligation to respond to any of my inquiries, but I guess I was looking for a miracle.
This film validated all the hard work that I put in. All the bus rides and flights. All the money I spent, and the heartache I experienced brought me to this point. The point of no return. I could only go up from here. I had my hand on the steering wheel, and I dictated the direction. I would force the world to feel my vision.
I put the project up for sale through Vimeo and promoted the movie through social networking and word of mouth. I really felt like the project had some legs. At minimum, the film represented a chance for people to finally see my creativity and for me to get my name out there on some level. Exposure was everything.
I negotiated a sweet deal with TLA on South Street for them to host my movie premiere. We agreed on a sixty–forty split in their favor. I didn’t care as long as I got paid. Organically, Philadelphia magazine showed up and interviewed me. Apparently, the movie had made a little noise on social media.
After I finished with the interview, Paul walked up on me. We gave each other dap and a hug. We wore rented ivory-colored suits for the occasion.
“Look at all of this.” Paul waved his arm toward the people lined up to go inside of TLA. “I’m superproud of you, bro. You came a long way.”
“Thank you, man.” I became choked up. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I can. This is what happens when hard work and talent meet up.”
I nodded and smiled.
“Let’s go in here and enjoy the show,” I said.
Paul and I filed into TLA behind the crowd.
The theater could hold up to 800 people, and we sold 500 tickets. I couldn’t have been happier.
To celebrate making a profit, Paul and I went to Copabanana a few doors down from TLA.
We split a couple pitchers of margaritas and ordered appetizers. It was good to laugh and joke and be carefree. Lord knows I needed to have a good time for a change.
I raised my glass for a toast. “To continued success in the movie biz,” I said and smiled.
“To continued success in the movie biz,” Paul repeated after me.
October
My luck turned around toward the end of the month. An unknown number popped up on my phone, and I still answered the call with enthusiasm. The caller told me to come in for an interview for the mailroom position. My prayers had been answered.
Standing in front of the mirror, I buttoned my dress shirt and straightened my tie. With a smile on my face, I winked at the mirror, grabbed my things, and left for the interview.
The bus ride into University City took half an hour. The female receptionist at the collection agency directed me to a seat along the wall to wait.
I got a good vibe from the place while I sat in the waiting area. I could see myself coming to work there every day and being comfortable.
After a while, a well-dressed, gray-haired white man approached me.
“Anthony?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” I said and stood.
“Nice to meet you, son. I’m Roger Tisdale. I’m the mailroom manager here at Crown and Associates.”
We shook hands.
“Let me get us some privacy,” he said as I followed him on to the elevator, and then into a giant conference room on the second floor of the building.
Once inside the room, he started right in on me. He sat at a huge desk, and I sat across from him.
“Why are you the right person for this position?” He crossed his legs and arms.
“I’m trustworthy, loyal, adaptive, and interested in working in a team environment.”
“Besides money, what’s your motivation for working here?” he twirled a pen in his fingers.
“I want to grow with the company.” I made sure to look him directly in the eye.
He nodded. “What if I picked someone for the job already and this is a mere formality?” He was stone-faced.
I leaned forward in the chair.
“I would thank you for the opportunity and hope my name comes up in a future consideration for the job,” I said truthfully.
He smiled and nodded. “Most people give me shit answers to those questions. As you can tell, I’m a bit quirky with my approach. I’ve been doing this a long time, and it’s always important to keep people on their toes. You sense what they’re made of when their back is against the wall.”
I nodded and smiled too. “Absolutely, sir.”
Once he stood, I got up too.
We shook hands again. “We’ll be in touch if we want to move forward with you,” he said and smiled before he saw me out of the building.
I hoped they felt as good about the interview as I did because I needed this job like yesterday.
November
Mr. Tisdale formally offered me the mailroom clerk position. As soon as I got my offer letter, I cut my unemployment benefits off.
On the first day of work, I got to University City an hour early. Desperately needing a cup of coffee, I stumbled into a local coffee shop around the corner from my job. I decided to give the place a shot. The inside of the café was rustic and smooth jazz played softly.
An attractive woman finished at the counter and went over to the condiment table. For a brief moment, we locked eyes, and I turned away. I stood there in a daze until the barista called me because I was next in line.
“Sir, what can I get for you?” he asked.
“I’ll take a vanilla iced coffee with six sugars and seven creams.”
“Coming right up.”
Once he handed me the coffee, I ran outside the café and saw the woman about to get into a black Jeep Grand Cherokee. I had no idea what the hell had gotten into me.
“Hey. Hold up a minute.” I jogged halfway up the block to catch up with her.
When I caught up to her, she closed the truck door and faced me.
She stood five-four, dark chocolate, thick, gigantic breasts, with short, curly hair.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked with a hand on her hip with much attitude. She looked even sexier with her mad face on.
My relationship with Essence was over, and I was feeling bold. “I’ll take your number, but we can start with your name.”
She cracked a smile. “Wow. You young boys are so bold these days.”
“Young?” I smiled slyly. “How old do I look?”
“You probably still get carded in the liquor store, don’t you?” She pinched my cheek.
“Yeah, I do.” We shook hands. “I’m Anthony, by the way.”
“I’m Mia.”
“Nice to meet you, Mia.”
“You as well.”
I held her hand a little longer than I should have.
“I have to get to work, but I’d like for us to talk again
,” I said.
“Me too.” She handed me her business card. “Don’t wait too long to use that, handsome.”
“I won’t,” I said admiring her chunky ass when she turned around.
She got into her truck and pulled out of the parking spot.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
Feeling giddy, I walked to my job and took the elevator to the basement.
Mia and I needed to get better acquainted.
Sooner rather than later.
November
Lately, Mia dominated my thoughts. Everything from her gigantic breasts, bright smile, chocolate skin, to her perfect lips. From the moment I met her, she had my head spinning. I wasn’t tied to Essence anymore, and I could play the field if I wanted to.
Although I had only known Mia for two weeks, it felt like I knew her longer. We spent hours talking on the phone. Most of our conversations was surface-level stuff, but it still felt good to hear her voice. The next thing on my agenda was to ask Mia out. I wanted to take it slow with her because I thought she was worth the time.
When Michael and my mother fell asleep, I made me a drink and turned on Netflix in the living room. I loved the sound of the rain beating against the window. Just as I hit play on the movie In Too Deep, my text message alert went off.
It was a text message from Essence:
Can you open the door?
I replied back: What door?
She said: Your front door.
I knew she couldn’t really be standing at my mother’s front door in the rain 10:30 at night.
Sure enough, when I opened the door, there she stood with a raincoat on looking sexy as fuck. I looked around quickly before I pulled her inside and closed the door quietly.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
She touched my face. “I miss you, and you won’t respond to my phone calls or text messages.”
“You cheated on me, or did you forget?” I asked harshly.
Like lightning, she undid my belt buckle.
“Look, Essence, I don’t have time to bullshit with you,” I tried to sound stern, but I couldn’t concentrate while she stroked me up and down.
