And another shot at the title (part xxxii)

I frantically called up Dan after receiving the horrendous news from Greta. “Did you hear that Greta is getting 100% of the merchandising rights from Chatty Cathy?” I shouted over the phone.

“Will you relax?” he explained. “I have a plan.”

“You’re my de facto agent, so you better have a plan!”

“We’re going to kill Greta.”

“What?!”

“In the press.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “What did you dig up on her?” I ask.

“She’s a tyrant on set James! 20 seconds of research will tell you that.”

I scratched my head. “I don’t know Dan,” I said. “I’ve been called that too but I’m still working.”

“But you have five times more accolades than her. You’re able to get away with it.”

I wasn’t so sure. “I’m gonna level with you Dan, I don’t like this plan at all,” I told him.

“Look, I know that we don’t have much leverage in this case so clearly this will be a slow burn. But we gotta use what we have. Maybe a few months of endless hounding from the press will force her to resign. Afterwards, contracts will be renegotiated and I’ll get you full control of merchandising rights. It’s the best we got!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxiv)

“Alright, I’ll get out of your hair,”’Jimmy said. “Katherine, this is your show.”

“Thank you Jimmy,” she said.

Jimmy picked up his candy tote and departed the conference room. The two parties sat on either side of the table staring at each other. Kat stacked some papers and started the meeting. “First off, salary negotiations…,” she began. Greta interrupted.

“Well James, congratulations on hijacking another production,” she told me.

“No hard feelings Greta,” I said. “There were some legalities regarding my dismissal which Jimmy and I settled in court. This is only business.”

“I fired you!” she shouted.

“We can keep digging up the past but I’m here now. We have a movie to make. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to move forward with this project…”

“James is right,” Kat interjected. “We’re all professionals here and we’re running behind schedule.”

Greta was fuming. She said nothing for the duration of the meeting. We went over the logistics, casting choices, and story boards while she sat with her arms folded and staring off into space.

“Cassandra, take note,” I ordered, “the film should end with the lead bending over, spreading his ass cheeks, and shitting out Chatty Cathy onto the ground with her shouting ‘Thank Christ for mayonnaise’”

This failed to illicit a response from Greta. A concerned Kat motioned to her. “Greta do you have any input on this ending?” she asked.

Greta took a deep breath, unfolded her arms, and looked me dead in the eye. “I think you left your brain splattered on the ground in Eastern Europe,” she told me.

She stood up and huffed out of the room. Everyone was quiet. I rubbed my fingers to the backside of my head where the scars of the exit wound lay. “Well ladies and gentlemen,” I told them, “let the building of sets commence. Welcome to the production of Chatty Cathy. I look forward to working with each and every one of you. I’ll see all of you on Monday.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xx)

As Ben-jamin “El Supremo” Shapiro’s lifeless body bled out onto the floor and police and paramedics were rushing madly into the courthouse, Dan and I walked out into the halls laughing and patting ourselves on the back. “You were brilliant in there,” I told him.

“It’s been awhile since I killed a fellow attorney in the courtroom,” he smiled.

When we reached the courthouse steps, Dan stopped to breath in the air. “I feel alive again,” he said. “After you blew up that movie set on the steppes on Eastern Europe, I thought my career was over. I want to thank you.”

I shugged. “It’s the least I could do for killing your most famous client.”

We shared a few more laughs before we received an unwelcome guest. “Well played, well played,” Jimmy Del Greco told us as he appeared lightly clapping behind a pillar. “I guess you think you’re invincible now.”

“You’re wrong Jimmy,” I replied. “I’ve always thought I was invincible.”

“Keep that filthy money,” he continued. “The studio never needed you anyway.”

“Woah woah woah!” I retorted. “Sounds like you’re itching for another fight. You tried to set me up out of billions and your lawyer tried to kill me. Now I’m no legal expert, but I’d venture to guess that I’d have grounds to sue you. What do you say? Wanna go back inside for round two?”

“Now wait a minute,” Jimmy said then adjusted his coat. “This is about to be a shit storm in the papers and stock prices will likely plummet. We need to save some face here.”

“No, YOU need to save face here,” Dan interjected.

Jimmy nodded. “Alright, so what do you want?”

I wasn’t prepared to answer. It never occurred to me to ask Jimmy for anything. So I looked to Dan. “You want to stop the embarrassment and plummeting stock prices?” the lawyer asked. “Then fire Greta and make James the sole director of Chatty Cathy.”

Jimmy shook his head. “No can do,” he said. “Greta’s contract is ironclad. No one can fire her. Not me, not God. No one.”

I straightened out my tie and began to speak terms. “Then I guess we’re going back to our original terms,” I said. “Let Greta and the press know I’ll be at work on Monday.”

Jimmy glared defiantly at me.

“And while you’re at,” I continued, “go ahead and begin negotiating my contract with Pablo.”

“Actually,” Dan warned Jimmy, “call my office. You’ll be negotiating with me.”

That was an odd demand from Dan, and I didn’t object. But Jimmy stood there motionless on the courthouse steps. While words failed him, I knew he wouldn’t take this lying down. So as he departed down the steps, I had to get in one more parting shot.

“And Jimmy,” I shouted, “this isn’t over between us.”

TO BE CONTINUED….

And yet another shot at the title (part xiii)

“So how do you want to do this Pablo?” I asked while we drinking at the hottest bar in Burbank: Applebee’s. “Do I need to call up my mob connections? Or do you think we can do this ourselves? Jimmy’s made plenty of enemies, ya know? So what do we do? Car bombs? Poisoned Bloody Mary’s? What?”

“Woah woah woah!” Pablo retorted. “Dan didn’t say we had to kill Jimmy. We just have to remove him from his post as president of Trainwreck Productions!”

I stirred my fruity mai tai as I considered my response. “Guys like Jimmy are cockroaches,” I said. “You can’t placate them. You can’t simply remove them. They only know, understand, and respect one thing: power. Jimmy’s a mere suit. We’re the talent. Or, rather, I’m the talent. Whatever happened to us, Pablo? What happened to the days when we could swing our dicks around, literally, and this town would bow to our demands? I wish we could go back to those days.”

“We’re still living those days, James,” Pablo said. “You faked a heart attack last week at Wendy’s. Free Frosties for life!”

“It just doesn’t feel the same anymore,” I lamented. “We’re nothing but fossils to these people. I think it’s time we show these folks that we still run this town.”

Pablo’s cell rang. “It’s Cat,” he informed me. “It probably has something to do with the press conference for Chatty Cathy. Greta will surely be there. So what do you want me to tell her? Are we still on?”

An ingenious idea suddenly came to me. I sipped on my mai tai as I marveled at my genius. “Yes,” I told him. “Tell her we’re still on and we’re ready to play ball.”

Yes, I thought, we were definitely going to play ball. But this wasn’t a game of cooperation anymore. This was another shot at the title.

TO BE CONTINUED….

And yet another shot at the title (part v)

“Why do they want me to do Chatty Cathy?” I wondered aloud. “What is Chatty Cathy? What is a movie? Who am I? Why am I here?”

“I can’t tell if you’re going through an existential crisis or if you’re genuinely asking questions,” Pablo said.

“Can I get you two another bourbon?” the bartender asked.

“Make it a double,” I said. “Scratch that, make it a triple. NO! Quadruple it. Fuck it, just bring the bottle.”

“Is something on your mind?” Pablo asked me.

“No,” I replied. “I mean yes. I mean I hate I hate myself and all my life’s decisions.”

Pablo patted me on the back. “There there,” he said, “you’re still a young man. What are you? Almost 80? It’s only going to get worse from here.”

“I keep telling myself that yet nothing seems to get better. Pablo, tell me, am I an abject failure?”

“Hmm,” he pondered. “Well you’re a billionaire with multiple accolades to your name. You’ve inspired a generation of artists to enter the film industry and they renamed the Nobel Peace Prize after you. I personally wouldn’t call that successful but I’m sure somebody would.”

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. After Greta rejected me I feel like my whole career has been a waste. Why do you think I went into movies to begin with? To get laid of course! But I guess all those Academy Awards were for nothing.”

Pablo took a sip of his bourbon and nodded. “James, I’m not telling you this because I’m your agent and you pay me millions of dollars to talk to you,” he said, “but I think what you’re going through is called a ‘rough patch’. It’s personally never happened to me, but I guess it happens to other people. I care about you not because I’ve made a fortune off your work, but because I think we’re friends. I suppose. So I can’t in good conscience let you suffer like this. You’re seeing a guy for this stupid shit, right?”

“Yeah I’m seeing a guy. But all he has made me do so far is lend out my car to him and kick me out of my own house when he wants to host sex parties. I just don’t know about him Pablo.”

“Well I don’t know how all that psychological bullshit works but I think you should stick with it for the time being. It might do you some good.”

“Alright alright,” I nodded.

“In the meantime, we need to fix this Chatty Cathy situation.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part iv)

Back in Burbank, Kat (Kennedy) was prattling on about the usual bullshit, how I went over budget on Schindler’s List III, how everyone hates me for bailing on Chatty Cathy, blah blah blah. I just couldn’t shake the words that Dick told me in Palm Springs.

“James are you listening to me?” she asks.

“No.”

“Greta is also bailing from Chatty Cathy. She only signed on because she wanted to work with you.”

“So?”

“So…this is bad press! The studio has already spent untold amounts of money and we haven’t even started pre-production!”

“Who gives a fuck?”

“For starters, all of our jobs are on the line. Once when the papers get word that the production is already in trouble, bad word will spread and can cause this movie to bomb! Come on, we need to fix this!”

“Kat, we do this every time: The studio gives us carte blanche, I do something stupid that cost the studio millions, the movie bombs, and we’re right back here next week. Everything we make is a failure yet we still have jobs.”

“Now you take that back! Our films make billions in streaming!”

“So what are you worried about?”

“Goddamnit James! Why won’t you do Chatty Cathy?!”

“Cuz,” I said. “Greta hates me.”

Kat closed her eyes to calm herself. “Greta doesn’t hate you,” she calmly explained. “She just doesn’t like you in that way.”

I looked out the window to stare down a lone shrub in the parking lot. “Kat, why do we keep working together?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Because Jimmy wants us to.”

“You can always say no.”

Kat thought for a moment. “Sometimes we have to put aside ego to create something,” she said. “You’re one of the few directors of note still working in this town. People want to see what you make. Besides, you’re one of the few men in Hollywood that doesn’t try to fuck me everytime we meet.”

“But I did fuck you.”

“No you didn’t. You were briefly in a coma because you were shot in the head. As much as it disturbs me, Michael Cimino did not tempt you to forgo your talent and live a normal life. Your brain was simply losing oxygen. It was a death dream.”

“Damn it Kat! It was real! I was there!”

“I don’t care. Now will you please come to your senses and talk to Greta!”

“Absolutely not! Is this all you suits want?! You just want to give me millions of dollars to do something I love?! Not this time! You can’t fire me from this production! I quit!”

I stood up and grabbed my coat.

“Whatever dude. I’ll see you next week,” Kat said.

I stormed out and slammed the door.

TO BE CONTINUED….

And Yet Another Shot at the Title

So I was busy yelling at my sound designer for being a fucking idiot. “Goddamnit!” I screamed and shouted, “put more AIR ON THE FART. MORE. AIR. ON. THE. FART. I don’t want a regular sounding one for this scene. I want a fart that starts off a little wheezy and ends with a bang! How hard is this for you to understand? What are you? A MORON?!”

Then my agent Pablo Dunbar rang up my cell. “Pablo, I’m in the middle sound mixing Schindler’s List III. You know I don’t like to be disturbed in post production. So this better be good,” I warned.

“Greta’s been trying to reach you. Why aren’t you answering her calls?!” he asked.

The mere mention of her name gave me the bubble guts. “Uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I responded coyly. “Why would she be trying to call me?”

“Maybe you need to start laying off the benzos James. How did you forget that Trainwreck Productions has signed you two to a $800 billion contract to make the next Chatty Cathy movie?”

“What? But I haven’t received any of her calls!”

Then I looked at my burner phone and noticed I had 600 missed calls. “Oh shit,” I said.

“Yeah, you better call her,” Pablo instructed.

So I immediately set up a meeting with her in my office. I fixed my combover, threw on my best Death Cab For Cutie shirt, and began pounding the bourbon to calm my nerves. Hours later, Greta was standing in my office with a look of indignation.

“Greta, first off, let me tell you that the Academy completely screwed you over by failing to nominate you,” I pleaded. “You’re one of the best directors working today and it’s unfair. I didn’t even make a movie last year and yet I still got nominated. Go figure. And secondly, I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve just been deliberately not placing myself in your presence.”

“James, we’re supposed to begin pre production in three days on Chatty Cathy. Trainwreck Productions gave us carte blanche to run this production in any way we see fit and we haven’t even discussed how we will divide the responsibilities. Do you have anything for a spec script?”

I began stalling. “Pee-Wee’s working on it,” I said.

“Your production assistant?”

“That’s him. He’s a filmmaker too, ya know? Remember, he stole my director’s job on Like A Fart in the Wind and I’ve never quite forgave. But I’m letting him earn my trust back.”

“Okay, and what about directorial duties?”

“It’s all yours. I’ll serve as a creative consultant, or maybe as an executive producer. I’ll handle all the finances and that bullshit.”

Greta threw her hands in the air. “James, I fought for you to be in this production. You’re one of the few filmmakers I actually admire!”

“Thank you Greta. I admire you and your work as well.”

“Then why don’t you want to work with me on this?!”

I began to shake uncontrollably as I poured one bourbon shot after another. “Well there’s a lot logistical logical reasoning stuff at play here, whatnot and what-have-you and so on,” I began to sputter. Then I broke.

“Greta, could you ever love a man like me?” I ask.

“James, not this shit again,” she forcefully responded. “I like you professionally and I respect you. But not in that way.”

I exhaled as I slammed the bourbon bottle down. I choked back tears as I began to ponder my words. “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry Greta, I just can’t move forward with this project.”

Rage began to fill her eyes. “So you won’t work with me because I won’t fuck you?! Is that what this is?! How many times do I have to face this in my career?!”

In a fit of blind passion, I crushed the glass in my hand. The alcohol burning my open wounds barely registered. “Goddamnit Greta, do you think I want to feel this way? Do you think my urge to fuck you is an idle, frivolous sensation? Give me a knife and I’ll cut my dick off right now! Anything to relieve this burden! I’ve tried everything to fill in this void. I fucked my way from West Hollywood to North Hollywood and I kept facing the same problem: none of those women, and a few men, were you! Most days I go through life feeling nothing. NOTHING. I pass my time with booze, prostitutes, internet pornography, and the soundtrack to Xanadu, but when I’m around you, I catch a glimpse of hope, OF PASSION, of curiosity in the world that I haven’t felt since I was child. In you, everything old becomes new! But look at you, and look at me. The whole world is ahead of you and I’ll be dead in five years from diabetes! I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t shit! I haven’t changed my underwear in five days because I can’t stop thinking of you! Damn it Greta, you may never love me but at least see where I’m coming from!”

Awkward silence filled the room. “You know James,” Greta finally spoke, “this town is littered with the most talented people in the world. And most will never catch a break. But you. You keep getting them time and time again. And you keep fucking it up, time and time again.”

Greta stomped out and slammed the door. I stood there, blood gushing out of my hand.

THE END