And yet another shot at the title (part x)

I sat stone cold silent as Trainwreck Productions rolled out the red carpet in its announcement for Chatty Cathy. Cassandra, Greta, and Cat were all smiles. I couldn’t muster up the energy to give a shit.

“So James, what’s your role in all this?” a reporter asked.

I shrugged.

“Do you hope that this will be as big of a hit as This Tastes Like Ass?” another asked.

I put the microphone up to my ass and farted.

Afterwords, the entire team met back stage. Cat approached me before I could say anything. “I only learned hours ago that Cassandra would be a part of this, I swear!” she said.

I was silent. I pushed her aside as I approached Greta. “How could you Greta?” I screamed. “Now I know you’re fucking with me!”

“What are you on about now James?!” she shouted back.

“You knew about me and Cassandra! Why would you bring her onboard?!”

I could see Cassandra eyeing us from afar.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! You’re delusional, you know that?!”

“Of course I know that! But that doesn’t excuse your move without consulting ME!”

“James, please,” Cat interfered.

“Shut the fuck up Cat! This is between me and GRETA!”

“Go home James,” Greta retorted.

“No, YOU go home! You’re FIRED!”

The room grew deathly silent. “James, come on,” Cat said, “let me talk to you outside.”

“Fire her Cat. This is unacceptable.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Actually James,” Greta spoke up, “Jimmy put me in charge of production. I’m not going anywhere. In fact, given your behavior, I am firing you.”

Her smirk taunted me.

“You are one heartless cunt,” I said.

“Security!” Greta ordered.

I raised up my hands and walked out. Cat followed me outside. I picked up a trash can and threw it into a windshield of a nearby car. It was my car.

“How could you do this Cat?” I asked. “Aren’t you the producer? Shouldn’t you have known?”

“Yes…”

“So why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

“This is the first time me saying this, but I think your anger is justified this time.”

“I KNOW!”

“Jimmy pulled a switcheroo this morning.”

“He what?”

“He named Greta both producer and director as where I will only be serving as an EP. Greta has complete say in personnel.”

“So what the fuck was I supposed to do?!”

“I don’t know. I’ve been left in the dark on that.”

I began practicing a few breathing exercises that Dick taught me. “Well it doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’ve been fired. Not that I wanted to work on this dumpster fire anyway.”

“What will you do now?”

“I don’t know. Pablo’s a genius, he’ll figure something out…”

***

“Are you fuckin stupid?!” Dan shouted at me. His Texas draw was quite prominent.

“This has got to be a rhetorical question,” I said.

“Pablo, in all my years I have never seen a more worthless agent,” Dan continued.

Pablo shrugged.

“I must say Dan,” I spoke, “it’s nice to see the fiery passion back in your eyes.”

“All you had to do was get Jimmy replaced and you would have been out of the Chatty Cathy contract scott free,” the lawyer continued. “Given your experience overrunning entire film productions, I figured that would be a walk in the park for you. Instead you’re going to owe Jimmy billions!”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“I know you don’t understand because you didn’t read the contract! Not only were you forbidden to quit, the contract plainly states that you shouldn’t get fired either!”

“You’re shitting me!”

“No I’m not shitting you! And I’m deathly afraid to do the math on how much you owe the studio!”

“$52 billion,” Pablo plainly said.

My heart sank to my feet. “So what should I do now?” I asked.

“You got played James! The only thing to do now is surrender and get your job back!”

My mind was scrambled. I didn’t know what to say. “Get…my job….back?” I stuttered. “You mean, say I’m s-s-s-sorry? I, I don’t know Dan. Wh-what do you think Pablo?”

Pablo looked up from his game of solitaire. “Oh, uhh, yeah. Just say you’re sorry. Or whatever.”

“You don’t have any other choice James!” Dan said.

I began pacing back and forth. “I don’t know if I can do that,” I wondered aloud. “I mean, I have a reputation in this town!”

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you at least swallow your pride this one time?! That’s a fuckton of money!” Dan pleaded.

“I don’t know if I can Dan. Pablo, what do you think?”

“Why do you keep asking me questions for?!”

Dan put his arm around me. “Look, let me talk some good old fashioned Texas sense into you,” he said. “You’re a respected man in this town. You’re a little crazy but everyone knows that! Just talk to Greta, talk to Jimmy, and say you’re a little strung out on drugs. Check yourself into rehab and tell them you’ll be back at work ready to do whatever is asked of you. This is called damage control, and this is what Pablo should be advising you to do.”

I nodded. “Yeah, yeah, rehab. That’s the ticket!” I said.

“Now go!” Dan ordered. He patted me on the ass and I was on my way out the door. While speeding from Dan’s office to Burbank I received a call from Jimmy.

“Jimmy! Buddy! I was just on my way to see you!” I greeted.

“Yeah yeah,” he said, “when will I see that check for $52 billion?”

I choked back all my rage and hatred to stay jovial. “Yeah about that, look, I might’ve been on a bit too much speed and alcohol last night. And you know that uppers don’t mix with downers. So how about I just check into rehab and I’ll be back at work on Monday.”

Jimmy laughed that maniacal laugh. “Damage control, eh? I don’t think so.”

“Jimmy please, don’t do this to me.”

“I’m afraid that you’ve spent all your nine lives James. Now I know that I’m not the most visionary of studio execs. But I’ve kept this studio afloat for one damn good reason: money. And we’ve spent a LOT of money on you, James. Way too much in my opinion. And I intend on getting alllllll back, and then some. Talk to your bankers and attorneys. I’m giving you until next Friday. Have a good day James.”

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