‘I don’t know,’ Abner said. ‘I — it was — the other story was what I found most painful. The suffering of the girl who was born to the child whose father had sought her all over Europe.’
‘Perhaps the boy with apples has children now too,’ Mayer said. ‘Had you thought of that? No, I can see you hadn’t. You’ll have to find him then, won’t you? So, I will open an account for you, which I expect you to service with receipts and information and so forth, with great care. I will discuss with your agent — Monty Nagel? Yes, of course, Monty — to get a reasonable deal made. And I look forward to seeing you again soon. Come and see me when you can.’
He looked at his watch and lifted his broad shoulders above his fragile legs to stand and smile up at Abner, who was also on his feet. ‘You can stay and listen to the music a little longer if you like. I, sadly, must leave it. Mozart’s manuscript calls. It will cost a great deal, but what more could a man ask than to own that? A la prochaine, Mr Wiseman. My secretary will deal with details — ’
And he was gone, leaving Abner alone with the music of the violin, crying heartbreakingly all around him and wanting to burst with excitement. He really looked to have cracked it this time.
Twenty-six
He called Miriam three times that afternoon with no joy, and that first irritated him — what right had she not to be there when he called? — and then alarmed him. She had said she hardly ever went out. But then he shook his head at his own childishness. She couldn’t sit over the phone all day, after all; and anyway, Miriam being Miriam, she was very likely not bothering to answer the thing when it rang. It would be just like her.
So he couldn’t share his excitement with anyone except Dave, and he was not totally satisfactory.
‘Oh, great!’ he boomed down the phone when Abner told him that he had the offer of some research money. ‘Glad for you. But it doesn’t guarantee he’ll take any more equity in it, you know. Depends on how much he gets out of Nagel. I wouldn’t cheer too loud until I knew the actual deal. But it’s great you’re not as strapped for cash as you were. You’ll still do my commercial, of course.’
‘A deal’s a deal. Of course I will.’
‘And after that? I’ve got one or two nice little jobs here that’ll bring in a buck or two.’
‘I want more than a buck or two for my time now, Dave.’ Abner grinned at his own reflection in the glass of the phone booth, imagining Dave’s crestfallen face at the other end of the line. ‘You’re one hell of a chancer, man! I’m working for coffee money tomorrow — why should I do more? Not exactly a union man’s dream, are you?’
‘The day I am’ll be the day they take me out of here in a wooden overcoat. Listen, we can make an arrangement. Good directors aren’t exactly falling out of the sky right now, know what I mean? I got a nice little one here — just a sixty second job — half in London, half in Amsterdam, would you believe. Nice town Amsterdam. You can get stoned out of your skull just smelling the air when you land at Schiphol airport. That place really is Pot City — legal there, it is.’
‘I know, I’ve heard. Listen, let me see what Nagel does with Mayer, OK? If I get enough cash, I’m obviously going to concentrate on the research for the film. If not, I may be glad enough for a coupla days in Amsterdam. At a decent rate, mind you. None of your — ’
Dave ignored that. ‘Lots of interesting stuff about Jews in Amsterdam, Abner. Did you know that? Ann Frank house and the museum and all — ’
His interest sharpened. ‘Museum? Ann Frank, of course, I know about — ’
‘Knowing and seeing are two different things. I was raised a good Catholic boy and I’m here to tell you I came out of that house choked to my eyebrows. Couldn’t talk to anyone for half an hour. The museum, it’s in the old Jewish quarter of the town. It’s one hell of a place for sightseeing. Old buildings full of hookers hanging their tits out of windows. It’s the red light district now, but they say there’s a great museum there now, all about what happened to the Jews of Holland — me, I never went, but I was told. So, listen, make my commercial and you can see it for free.’
‘Some free! What’s the product?’
Dave laughed fatly. ‘Wait for it. Condoms.’
‘Come again?’
‘Rubbers, Johnnies, prophylactics. Here they call ’em French letters. In any language they’re real passion killers.’
‘They have commercials on European TV for them? Jesus! I never knew.’
‘Not yet, but they will eventually. We’ve had ’em here in the UK already. AIDS and so forth. But this isn’t for a terrestrial station. It’s satellite. They’re having a go. They want a voice-over scenario so they can use it in every language, the whole schmear, lovers in romantic places, flowers reflected in water, girls’ hair blowing in the breezes on canal boats, all ending up with hotel windows and lights going out — really original stuff and I don’t think! Not tricky for you though, believe me, but it needs to look good.’
‘Why Amsterdam? I thought your people all worked here and made commercials for foreign companies. How come the reversal?’
‘Condoms, that’s how. Scares the shit out of the UK companies. Me. I like to be a fixer, you know that. So I said I’d fix the London end and got the whole job as a reward. You can have five hundred smackers and your expenses. As long as you travel cheap and don’t stay in no fancy joints,’ he ended hastily.
Abner laughed. ‘I’ll think about it. After I’ve talked to Nagel. And, Dave, thanks for fixing the meeting with Matthew Mayer. It’s paid off and I truly appreciate it.’
‘Forget it. I said I’m a fixer. On second thoughts, don’t forget it. Go to Amsterdam for me. Quid pro quo.’
Abner laughed. ‘I’ll let you know. Tomorrow when I see you. Maybe,’ and hung up.
He tried Miriam again with no success and stood there in the phone booth listening to the distant ringing, imagining the sound echoing through those dusty manuscript filled rooms and a worm of anxiety crawled into him. But he stamped it down and called Nagel. Who came to the phone at once.
‘Hey, hey, Abner, you done good with a vengeance, hey?’
‘You know already?’ Abner said, amazed. ‘About Mayer?’
‘Of course I do. He’s one of the most efficient people you can deal with. Rowena’s been on the blower already and — ’
‘Rowena?’
‘The secretary. Tall thin woman with legs like a piano. You didn’t see her?’
Abner laughed. ‘I saw her. So she’s the power behind the system, hmm? I should have thrown her a line, maybe.’
‘No need. She’s just Her Master’s Voice. Never thinks a thing for herself, but deals tough for him. He wants five per cent, in exchange for funding up to script stage, or working storyboard stage, whichever you use, as monitored and accepted by him. Not to exceed fifteen thousand pounds.’
‘Five per cent of the — Christ! That sounds a lot. For a lousy fifteen thousand.’
‘He also wants you to use designated companies for the filming once you start and — ’
‘Oh, does he?’ Wrath began to bubble in him. He’d been so pleased with himself but now it was all beginning to go sour. Again. Was this project ever going to get off the ground? ‘And what else?’
‘The option to carry all the finance if you get to the script stage with his approval and start work. He’ll cover all costs and — ’
Staring out of the phone booth into the street, and the traffic roaring past him, Abner shook his head in disbelief. ‘He’ll carry the whole film? Can he do it? Has he got that sort of money?’
Nagel laughed and the sound was thin and clattery in Abner’s ear. ‘M.M.’s forgotten how much he’s got. He’s a money man, Abner! He makes it big. And he spends it big when he does — it’s up to you now. If he likes what you come up with, you’re in business. If he doesn’t, well, forget it. No one else’ll pick up anything he leaves in this town. And if you find the finance overseas, he’ll still be in for the five per cent, remember
. But face the facts, Abner. Once you’ve asked M.M. you’re on a roller coaster.’
Abner squinted a little through the dirty glass, staring sightlessly at the lumbering red buses.
‘It feels like it. How much of the equity does he want for all this, for Christ’s sake? Do I get anything at all for my efforts?’ And he put all the heavy irony he could into the question.
‘I did my best, for you, Abner. And, with M.M. it’s a good deal. Rowena said seventy per cent — ’
‘Seventy!’ Abner howled. ‘The man’s a piranha! How can we get any sort of distribution deal, any sort of — ’
‘Will you shut up and listen, Abner!’ Nagel shouted back and Abner took a deep breath and said grimly, ‘So, I’m listening.’
‘I got her down to sixty-five. But that’s the end of it, because he handles distribution, marketing, the lot. Through his own people, of course. Jo Rossily, Simmy Gentle, they’ll all get a piece of the action. But it’s out of his cut, not yours, get me? You’re left with thirty per cent of the profits, remembering to add on his five per cent for script research cash. But it’s a clear and clean thirty per cent of the gross. There are guys making movies on the West Coast don’t end up with that much of their own properties once everyone’s had a nibble. M.M. doesn’t nibble, he takes one big bite, but at least you know where you are and you don’t bleed from a dozen different wounds. And as long as you get yourself a really good production accountant and make sure you don’t do yourself down with sloppy budgeting — even arrange for a bit of creative bookkeeping — you’ll do fine.’
‘It all sounds a bit dubious to me. I know it’d make life a lot easier to have just one financial set up, but sixty-five per cent? Seventy, I mean — Christ! Can’t you chop that at all?’
‘I could try, but it’s my guess he’ll lift his shoulders and smile graciously the way he does, and just walk away. He’s not hungry, you see, Abner. You need him more than he needs you, and he knows it.’
He stood there for a long moment, thinking hard and then said, ‘Listen, Nagel — Monty — this is a hard one to ask. But I have to. You’re not giving me any sort of runaround, are you? Is he — ’ He stopped, and then went on with a little rush, ‘I get the impression M.M.’s into every part of the business in this town and I can’t help wondering if he’s part of you too. He wants me to deal only with his companies when I get going. Is he already dealing with one of his own in dealing with you? And if he is, aren’t there laws in this country about that sort of thing? Cartels and so forth?’
He felt the sigh as much as heard it. ‘Listen, Abner, this is no time for me to give you a lesson in the facts of life. Let me just say this much — controlling interests are what matter, and yes, we have laws about that and no, they’re not being breached, OK? When a guy has a slice of a company he naturally tries to help it any way he can — but having a slice and being in control are two different things. I can assure you that M.M. is not controlling anything he shouldn’t be. It’s all above board.’
‘You haven’t answered my question. Is he involved with your company!’
‘Christ, you’re a suspicious bugger! No, he isn’t. He has no money in my business. I bought it back when — ’
‘What? You mean — ’
‘I mean just what I say. It’s no secret in the business. He once did help me out. He’s a good guy and he helped me out. I’m bloody grateful to him. But I’m straight with him and he’s straight with me. Once I got going again, got a coupla big earners in pop music, I bought my equity back and no arguments from M.M. But I won’t deny that I like to do business with him now. He was good to me, I’m good to him. Why not? One day I might need him again, and anyway, it’d be a lousy business if you only ever dealt in money alone. It’s personalities too, it’s goodwill, it’s trust, Abner!’
‘Yeah,’ Abner said and stood there still staring blankly out at the street. ‘Yeah.’
‘So tell me, what’s the decision? It’s still your movie. You can still pull out, tell him you don’t want him, go elsewhere to find cash. If you can get it.’
‘I’ve got a clearer picture now, Monty. I don’t think there’s any place else I can go to where I won’t find M.M. Am I right?’
‘Pretty much,’ Monty said cheerfully. ‘He’s not the only one like him, mind you. There are other people involved in films around but — ’
‘I know. M.M.’s the one with the muscle.’
‘You got it. So what do we do? I think it’s a good deal. I can go through the contracts with you line by line, with any lawyer you care to bring along if you don’t trust me, and you’ll see what I mean. You’ll still be better off at the end of the day than you would with the usual sort of bits and pieces deals people make. But if you can trust me…’ He left it dangling in the air.
‘I trust you,’ Abner said wearily. He was suddenly tired of it all, and anyway what did it matter? He had the chance to make his film and that was what came first. The whole project could still founder, he could still lose it — and even if he made it and it was released, it could still bomb at the box office. Mayer stood to lose a hell of a lot more than he did himself, in money terms. For himself, it was passion and conviction and the need to make the film that he had to put in the pot. M.M. was the one with the real weight, the one putting in hard cash. So why make a drama out of it? And anyway, didn’t he always say money was a secondary consideration? Making the movie was what mattered — but it still rankled that he might be the subject of a rip-off.
Dammit, he thought then, dammit. Let’s make the film. To hell with the rest. And he turned his back on the street to stare at the graffiti on the notice board behind the phone and said, ‘It’s OK, Monty. I won’t do any checking. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust? You’re in this too, after all.’
‘Am I ever. And remember I’ll get my cut out of your share, my friend. It pays me to get the best deal for you that I can if I want any sort of deal for myself. And I’m well pleased with this, well pleased.’
‘Then it shall please me too, my lord,’ Abner said.
‘Eh?’
‘I was quoting Shakespeare at you, my friend. The French Princess and Harry Plantagenet, who’s just raped her country — never mind. Maybe you didn’t see both the movies the way I did.’
‘I’m not into classics. OK. Come into the office as soon as you can. The documents’ll be here, we’ll sign and there’ll be a bank account for you. Doesn’t it make you dribble?’
‘It sure does,’ Abner said and laughed. ‘OK, Monty. We’re in business, at last.’
‘Almost,’ Monty warned. ‘Remember he insists on stage reports on the script’s progress. Wants to know what research you do and what you pick up. He’s really interested in this one.’
‘I won’t forget. And Monty — thanks a lot.’
‘Well, well!’ There was a rich irony in the voice. ‘He noticed!’
‘I noticed. You did me well, I think.’
‘I did the best possible. See you soon then.’
‘Yeah. Very soon. I’ve got a job to get out of the way first and then I’ll be in — ’
‘Ah, yes. One of Shandwick’s little ventures. Have fun and remember to count your change. If you think I’m a chancer, watch him! ‘Bye, Abner.’
He could have enjoyed working on the dog food commercial more if he hadn’t been so concerned about Miriam, who still wasn’t at the end of her phone. In the end he had sent her a letter last night, marking it urgent and asking her to call him, and then gone grimly to work in the morning, doing his best to get what he could out of it.
It wasn’t that difficult. The dogs were agreeable enough, if smelly, the people in the Battersea Dogs’ Home friendly and cooperative and the crew was clearly very experienced and blessedly taciturn. And his star, he decided, was a riot. A tall girl with an unbelievable bust of cliff face proportions, which she displayed to the best advantage she could in an incredibly low cut dress even in this cold weather, she had the yellowe
st and most abundant hair he had ever seen. She knew precisely what he wanted almost before he asked for it. Even as he squinted through his viewfinder, while his cameraman stood mutely sucking noisily on an empty pipe beside him, she turned her body so that her breasts seemed to obliterate half the background and stared at the camera with sleepy lasciviousness that was very beguiling if, as Abner told the sound man, who guffawed, a bit of a waste on dog food. Her voice was high and easy to hear and, as far as Abner could tell, she got the intonations and emphases right in her piece to camera. She’d learned it well before she arrived, and Abner liked that. A true professional, he told her cheerfully, and she nodded and laughed and said with a sidelong glint at the cameraman, whom she clearly fancied, ‘And not only on a film like this,’ in heavily accented English. The cameraman ignored her but Abner, delighted, laughed a lot and went on setting up his shots in a better humour than he could have hoped he’d be in.
The client, a small fussy man clutching a briefcase which he never opened, and clearly comprehending no English at all, arrived after they’d done the first shots and had to be shown them all again on the monitor as the presenter — who, it turned out to everyone’s amazement, rejoiced in the name of Magnolia — talked volubly at him in a great Icelandic waterfall. But he seemed happy enough with what he saw, and for the rest of the time stood behind the camera watching unblinkingly the way Magnolia’s breasts heaved and rolled with every breath, seeming perfectly happy.
It started to rain hard just after twelve and they had to retire to a small shed to one side of the area they had commandeered for their set and sat, watching the water trickle across the courtyard and listening to the dogs snuffle and whine while the crew drank cup after cup of stewed tea and did the Telegraph crossword. They ignored Magnolia and the client whispering in the corner, and left Abner to his own thoughts and devices, too, as he stared at the pouring grey sky, trying to estimate how much more time he needed to get the last of these fiddly shots in the can and himself out of this malodorous place. If the rain stopped within the half-hour he could do it, he decided, as long as they made sure there was no ground in the frame, for continuity’s sake; the concrete had been dry when they started.
Postscripts Page 29
