Chasing Dreams

by Susan Lewis

  And what about all these people here, her friends and colleagues? How the hell would she feel, sitting among them now, if her picture had been in the paper that morning, nude in Clay Ingall’s car? It would probably mean nothing to them – after all this was LA – but for her it would be a nightmare of unlimited proportions, not only because of the embarrassment it would cause her, but because the carefully cultured image and rare credibility she had worked so hard to build up would be destroyed. Jesus Christ, the power of lust while it was burning was so incredible it defied understanding, for sitting here right now she couldn’t imagine herself ever even considering taking such a risk, never mind going through with it.

  Spotting Forgon talking to the vice-president of Sony, who was on his way out, she quickly pushed her personal life aside and forced herself to concentrate on McCann. She really had to have her wits about her for this meeting, because there was every chance her career could hang or fall by its outcome. She almost laughed, for this morning it seemed whichever way she turned she was on the brink of doom, either from a sex scandal or because of a failure for Forgon. For a moment she felt extremely uneasy and afraid. Then with a quick and forceful effort she reminded herself that she wasn’t going to fail at all. She’d really done her homework on McCann and she was pretty sure she’d found his Achilles’ heel. In fact, he had two and it was probably the second that intrigued her the most, for she had no answers yet to why an actress as successful and set for superstardom as Michelle Rowe had been had turned her back on McCann at such a crucial point in her career and gone off to save the world. Oh, she knew all the official reasons, being affected by the TV series, feeling some kind of divine calling, knowing she could make a difference, never being able to live with herself if she didn’t go. But all those statements had been made by Rowe’s agent. Nothing had been quoted from Rowe herself, nor from McCann. So what was really behind Rowe’s astonishing change of heart, Ellen wondered. Whatever it was it might not, in the end, prove useful, but it was worth looking into, she felt, because there was just no telling what she might find.

  McCann’s other Achilles’ heel was something she was very surprised had never been properly exposed or utilized before. It was there in every agent’s file and in every newspaper report around the time of his break-up with Rowe, so it was well documented, but it had clearly never occurred to anyone before to use it. But she was about to put that to rights at this meeting because it could be the very thing that would end up not only safeguarding her job, but finally capturing McCann.

  ‘Hi.’ Ted Forgon grinned, pulling out a chair. ‘How’re you doing? You’re looking great.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Ellen said, feeling a bolt of nerves shoot through her stomach as he sat down. No matter how many times she told herself she wasn’t unnerved by this man she still was. ‘You’re looking pretty good yourself,’ she told him.

  His unruly eyebrows flickered, as though telling her she’d have been a fool to expect anything else. And maybe, considering it was Ted Forgon, she was. At sixty-eight he was still considered a handsome man, though it was probably his height more than his looks that gave him such a presence, for his large, leathery brown face was ravaged by years of Lucky Strikes and vodka Martinis. His twenty-thousand-dollar hair transplant had proved a success, even though it meant he had a head of glossy brown hair that belonged to a man half his age. Whether there was anything that could be done about his trembling hands and odorous breath, however, Ellen didn’t know, but they certainly hadn’t lessened his appeal, for rumour had it that his latest, the one he had been screwing at the time of his attack, was just nineteen.

  ‘How was Florida?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Sure, it was OK,’ he answered, waving to a waiter. ‘Bring me some hot coffee, Eggs Benedict and a side order of smoked salmon,’ he ordered, with blatant disregard for his recent coronary. ‘Are you eating?’ he asked Ellen.

  ‘I’m fine with tea,’ she replied, turning to see who was calling across the room to him. It was another executive from Sony.

  ‘So how are you doing?’ he repeated, as a server poured his coffee. ‘Are we ready to do battle with the Canadians?’

  Ellen nodded. ‘We’ve got a good case,’ she said. ‘We should win.’

  ‘Way to go,’ he grinned, saluting her with his coffee. ‘I heard you were with Clay Ingall last night.’

  Ellen’s blood ran cold.

  Forgon grinned. ‘Must be six months you guys been seeing each other,’ he said.

  Ellen’s heart was thudding, her head was in turmoil. How did he know about last night? How did he know about Clay at all? Was he sitting there now, imagining her naked in a car? Her skin crawled at the thought of even his imagination touching her. But she had to get a grip on this. It should be no surprise that he knew, for it would be just like Forgon to have her watched. And the fact that he’d introduced the subject of Clay the way he had, as a friendly kind of non sequitur, should be giving her a clue to where this was leading.

  His shrewd predator’s eyes were locked on hers. She met the gaze, trying by force of her own will-power to let him know that he didn’t scare her. It wasn’t easy, especially when she could feel the power of him as though it was crushing her mind, but she’d come here today determined to hold her own and she was damned if she was going to be felled at the first hurdle, even though it was one she definitely hadn’t seen coming.

  ‘Is it serious?’ he asked, sitting back as his food was put on the table.

  Ellen waited for the server to leave. ‘If you know so much already, then I’m sure you know the answer to that too,’ she responded.

  A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes. He picked up his knife and fork, then looked at her again. ‘He’s been cheating on you,’ he told her, chewing slowly.

  Ellen didn’t even flinch. ‘Try again,’ she said smoothly.

  He grinned, loaded up his fork and ate. ‘Michael McCann,’ he said, swallowing.

  Ellen waited.

  He took another mouthful of food, then picked up his coffee. ‘There are plenty of ways we can play this,’ he said, ‘but I want to hear what you’ve got in mind first.’

  ‘OK,’ Ellen said. ‘But before I do that I think you should hear my terms.’

  Forgon’s cup stopped mid-air. ‘Terms?’ he repeated.

  Ellen looked down at the page in front of her. ‘They’re negotiable,’ she said, ‘but only insofar as is reasonable.’

  Forgon put his coffee down. ‘I think we’d better get something straight here,’ he said. ‘I don’t do deals with my staff. At least, not the kind of deal you’re aiming to pull off.’

  ‘There’s always a first,’ she replied, amazing herself by how firm she sounded.

  Forgon was shaking his head.

  Ellen’s eyes flashed the challenge. ‘How bad do you want McCann?’ she demanded.

  Forgon’s eyes narrowed as he put his head to one side, assessing her. ‘Maybe not as bad as you think,’ he responded.

  ‘Bullshit,’ she said.

  Forgon’s exorbitant dentistry made a dazzling appearance. ‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Ellen,’ he said, ‘no one in your position ever had the guts to say bullshit to me before.’

  ‘Do you want to hear my terms?’ she said.

  ‘Sure. Why not? Just for the hell of it.’

  Knowing he was mocking her Ellen inhaled deeply, then forced herself to continue. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘but first I need to know how much you’re prepared to offer McCann.’

  He looked curious. ‘Seven hundred and fifty,’ he answered.

  Ellen noted the figure down. ‘I take it you mean thousand.’

  Forgon didn’t grace that with a reply.

  ‘A month?’ she asked.

  Forgon choked.

  Ellen’s lucid eyes watched him. ‘Then you must mean a year,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but I want to be absolutely clear on this, that way there won’t be any mistakes. So seven fifty per annum plus what?’

 
; ‘Car. House. Country Club. All the right introductions.’

  ‘A piece of the action?’

  Forgon’s good humour was dying. ‘What are you, this guy’s agent all of a sudden?’ he snapped.

  ‘The question stands,’ she said in reply.

  ‘No deal.’

  ‘You said it.’ She closed her book. ‘No action, no deal. And if I were McCann now, I’d be out there with the car jockey waiting to leave.’

  Forgon stared at her.

  Ellen stared back. ‘I just want you to be clear that if there’s no piece of the action then there’s no way McCann will deal,’ she said.

  Forgon’s grin came back. ‘Wrong, smartass,’ he told her. ‘The guy’s already been offered some action and turned it down flat.’

  ‘Then obviously it wasn’t a big enough piece,’ she responded.

  Forgon sat back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘OK, now let’s do this another way,’ he said. ‘This time I’m going to tell you what I’m prepared to offer, then you’re going to tell me how you’re going to present it in a way McCann can’t refuse.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  Forgon cleared his throat. ‘This is how it goes,’ he began. ‘Seven fifty a year, twenty-five per cent annual bonus; a decent car, Mercedes, Lexus, Caddy, whatever lights his fire; a five grand a month housing allowance; full expense account; his own staff and first-class travel.’

  Ellen looked at him, expecting him to go on. When he didn’t, she rested her chin on one hand and said, ‘You’re forgetting the action,’ she reminded him.

  ‘OK, here’s the deal,’ he said, ‘and this, Ellen Shelby, is going to be your trump card; I’m prepared to offer him the going market rate for his London agency – it can retain the name McCann Walsh and the staff he chooses – I will also redirect a full one hundred per cent share of all European deals that come out of this office to McCann’s in London and he’ll get no interference from me on the book he wants to start here. My only conditions are that he provides a turnover of at least three million a year for the first three years and that he bases himself right here in LA.’ He reached for his coffee, looking extremely pleased with himself. ‘So how’s that for a package?’ he said. ‘Do you see him turning it down?’

  Ellen had to admit she was impressed – and mildly shocked. The offer was so disproportionately generous that surely no one in his right mind would walk away from it. On the other hand, from all she’d read about McCann he seemed so fiercely independent and unaffected by Hollywood she was having a hard time seeing him signing away ownership of an agency he had created himself, at any price.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Forgon asked, a trifle peeved that she hadn’t gasped in admiration.

  ‘If it were anyone else,’ she said, ‘you’d have yourself a deal. With this man … Well, I guess we’ll just have to run it by him and see.’ Her eyes lost focus for a moment as she chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. ‘I’d like to add one other bonus to the package,’ she said after a while. ‘We don’t have to offer it, but I’d like to have it up my sleeve as an extra.’

  ‘Well?’ Forgon encouraged.

  ‘I don’t know if it’ll do the trick,’ she said, absently toying with her pen as she thought, ‘but there is a chance the real carrot could be some kind of production deal.’

  Forgon frowned. ‘What kind of production deal?’ he asked.

  Ellen’s lips pursed as she continued to think. ‘There’s evidence,’ she said, ‘that he’s interested in producing. It could be where his weakness lies, I’m not sure. He got into it once with Michelle Rowe, the actress he was involved with, then let it drop when she walked out on him. I’m wondering,’ she continued, ‘if you offer to back him as an independent producer …’

  ‘I want an agent, not a fucking producer,’ Forgon growled.

  Ellen ignored him. ‘If you put a ceiling on his contract, say three, OK, five years,’ she continued, ‘at the end of which you offer to back him as an independent producer, get him set up with MCA or Fox or one of the big studios …’

  ‘Do I look like Santa Claus?’ Forgon growled.

  ‘… and leave his book at ATI,’ she went on, ‘then you get a stake in his production company as well as retaining all the clients he’s brought in to the agency.’

  She had his attention. She watched him, almost smiling at all that neural commotion as he attempted to ferret out the catch. ‘So what you’re saying,’ he said after a while, ‘is that if I do it your way I could buy right into McCann’s personal ambition.’

  ‘If producing’s what he wants, yes.’

  Forgon’s sharp eyes were glinting. ‘And if it’s not what he wants?’

  ‘Then you get him for five years, if he accepts the offer.’

  ‘Draw it up,’ he said, ‘I want to put it in front of the lawyers.’

  Ellen reached for her briefcase. ‘I have it right here,’ she said.

  Forgon chuckled. ‘I remember now why I hired you,’ he told her, holding his hand out to take the document she’d prepared herself.

  ‘My terms,’ she reminded him, holding it back.

  Forgon’s face darkened.

  Ellen forced herself to ignore it. ‘I want a written contract guaranteeing I keep my job with ATI should I fail with McCann,’ she said.

  ‘Forget it,’ he snapped. ‘Apart from anything else there’s no incentive in that.’

  ‘There is in a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus if I succeed,’ she countered.

  Forgon’s eyebrows jumped. ‘Are you crazy?’ he cried. ‘You work for me, remember? You do what I tell you and feel happy to do it.’

  ‘Those are my terms,’ she replied.

  Forgon looked about the room, obviously nervous someone might be overhearing this. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ he said. ‘I’m your employer. You don’t dictate terms to me. It’s me who dictates terms to you.’

  Ellen’s eyes held fast to his as she resolutely ignored the crazy thudding of her heart. She knew he was expecting her to speak, but she forced herself not to. It was an intriguing and terrifying contest as the silent treatment was a known tactic of his, but she had no intention of backing down even though, beneath her implacable façade, there was a very real fear she had gone too far.

  In the end he spoke first, his eyes blazing with suspicion, his voice edged with ire. ‘Are you trying to stitch me up here?’ he hissed.

  ‘No. I’m just trying to stop you stitching me up,’ she said frankly.

  Forgon glanced about him again. ‘Listen to me,’ he said, leaning forward so no one could hear, ‘I hired you because you’re a smart operator who’s got more balls than half the jackasses in this town put together. You’re quick, you’re cute and you’re brave enough to stick it out even when you know you’re beat. And this time you’re beat. I didn’t hire you to fuck me over, I hired you to fuck over all those other bastards out there. So get that cute little butt of yours out of here and go kick ass where I pay you to kick ass.’

  Ellen’s eyebrows flickered. ‘I think I mentioned my terms were negotiable,’ she said, placing the tea strainer over her cup and picking up the teapot. ‘I’d settle for forty-five and a clause in the contract that stipulates payment in full the day McCann signs.’

  Forgon gave a snort of incredulity. ‘This is me you’re dealing with, Ellen Shelby,’ he reminded her, ‘so don’t come on like I’m some bozo who can’t work out that you just handed me five grand with one hand and took it back with the other, because I been pulling it over guys out there with that one since before you were born.’

  Ellen was grinning. ‘The old ones are always the best,’ she said cheerily.

  Forgon looked at her for a long, hard time. ‘OK. You got yourself a deal,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But only because I’m a sucker for a beautiful face and God knows at my age I’m allowed to be.’

  Stunned, she watched him signal for the check and in an effort to disguise a sudden flood of relief took what was supposed to be
a nonchalant sip of tea. The fact that her hand shook was a give-away and the euphoria she could barely keep suppressed was making it worse. She couldn’t wait now to be alone, to get Clay and Matty and Rosa on the phone and tell them how cool she had been, how tough and relentless. She was so proud of herself she could almost explode with the joy of it, but true to form she kept herself quietly in check and gave nothing away.

  It was only when Forgon turned back to her and she saw the look on his face that she realized her triumph was premature. She put down her cup and forced herself to meet the gleam in his glassy blue eyes. Already her skin was starting to prickle, for suddenly she knew that her triumph hadn’t only been premature, but was now on the point of being annihilated altogether.

  ‘So, you got yourself a contract,’ he said benignly. ‘Congratulations. Have your lawyer draw it up and see that it’s on my desk by the end of the day.’

  Ellen’s eyes were steeped in caution, her heart was pounding. ‘I’ll do that,’ she said.

  ‘A one-off payment of twenty grand, non-negotiable,’ he said, looking over the check while reaching inside his jacket for his wallet, ‘and a guarantee you keep your job if you fail.’

  Ellen waited. Though her eyes remained fixed on his, inside she was faltering too badly to argue the figure.

  He flashed her a grin. ‘But if you do fail,’ he said, tossing an envelope across the table, ‘these go straight to the papers.’

  Ellen’s heart stopped beating as she looked down at the envelope. She didn’t have to look inside to know what it contained, nor did she have to see them to know what the photographs were of. All she wondered, as her head started to spin, was whether they included shots of last night or if those were still at the developers. Blackmail, the oldest and most obvious trick in the book.