Anaideia 49

Randy finished his glass of scotch and paced around the basement. At that moment there was nothing I wanted more than to be done with this charade so I looked at Dale who was unbothered by this tension. “Well Randy,” I declared, “I don’t forgive you. So let’s stop pussyfooting around and get this over with.”

Randy stopped pacing and looked at the Madam and her eyes drifted to the floor. Then he sighed and poured another glass. “You know what this means don’t you?” he asked me.

“It means in a matter of minutes we’ll dead and buried,” I said plainly.

He swallowed the scotch whole. “But what about your friend there?” he asked, referring to Dale.

“Oh, me?” said Dale. “Yeah I’ve know that this was coming for a long time.”

I could’ve been wrong but I thought I saw a small tear streaking down Randy’s cheek. Whatever emotions he might’ve been feeling, he concealed them well with his following statements. “Okay then,” he said, “but I won’t do it here. This is my home. I wish that I could have given you a better ending but I must have you two escorted to the desert and shot. I’m very sorry.”

“Shove your apologies,” I said.

Randy signaled to the driver and the driver briefly left the room. A moment later, Old Jim stepped out from behind the door with his six shooter ready. “Jim!” I gasped.

“How’s your aim dad?” Randy asked him.

“I may be old, but I can still shoot the pecker off a…”

“Alright alright,” Randy interrupted him. “Take these men out to the desert and have them killed.”

“Dad?!” I shouted.

“Yeah, Old Jim is my dad. Which makes him your grandpa I suppose. I thought it was obvious. You’re both named James. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road…”

Christ, I thought. It was obvious. But it didn’t matter anymore. Old Jim and the driver approached us and took us by the arm. “Hello James,” Jim said to me.

“Jim! Papaw!”

“Papaw,” said Jim. “I remember my papaw. Legend has it that his dick was two feet long and he strangled Wild Bill Hickok with…”

“Dad!” Randy interrupted. “Enough with the stories! We have a job to do!”

“And where are you going?” I asked Randy as he was picking up several Manila envelopes.

“I have a meeting with the Vietnamese in an hour. Sorry that I can’t make it.”

“So a meeting with the Vietnamese is more important than the death of your own son?”

Randy stood motionless at my challenge. “But this is a very important meeting,” he said.

I shook my head. “How typical of Randy,” I said rhetorically. “He can’t even look his own son in the eye.”

He slammed the glass onto the tiled floor and it shattered into a thousand pieces. The Madam was startled by the sudden burst. “Alright! Goddamn you!” he shouted. “If this is what you want then I will grant you your last request! I will, by god, journey with you to the desert where you will meet your demise!”

“Thanks Randy,” I said. “That’s very sweet of you.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxxx)

“Why am I doing this shitty cash grab for the studio?” I ask Dan after my summons to the production office. Kat was standing around dumbfounded as usual while Dick was menacingly stroking his chin in the corner.

“What else would you be doing with your life?” Dan questioned. “Raising a family? Have a love life? You’re none of those things. You’re a shark, James. You were put on this earth to do one thing: make movies.”

“I concur,” Dick interjected as he stepped out of the shadows. “This Jimmy fellow, he’s a piss ant. Now’s not the time to cower down and retreat to your home in the hills. Now’s the time to wear down your prey like a stalking lioness in the Serengeti.”

I nodded my head. It was hard to find fault in these gentlemen’s arguments. Then I turned to the lead producer. “What do you think Kat?” I ask.

She began to stammer. “I…I…I think right now we should be concerned with moving forward and making a good product,” she said.

“Quite right,” I agreed. “Perhaps I acted too hastily when I named Cornelius as director. I’ll let him and Greta know that I’ll be stepping back into my directorial duties.”

“No!” Dan angrily shouted. I was a bit taken aback by this sudden burst of emotion.

“But Dan, he’s just a kid. Literally!” Kat pleaded.

Dan tried to backtrack. “But this is the perfect opportunity to, to…,” he began to trail off. “…to let James step back while still being involved.”

Kat and I both found this excuse to be lacking. “You know I can’t let that happen,” Kat explained. “There’s too much money involved and…”

“Yes yes yes, the studio,” Dan interrupted. “Kat, you’re an accomplished producer but perhaps you should let the men do the talking.”

“Now Dan,” I said, “I’m as guilty of old timey sexism as the next guy, but even that was pretty low for me.”

The attorney came to his senses. “Right,” he nodded, “my apologies. I guess I’ve invested a lot of time into James that I don’t want my efforts to go to waste. But at any rate, Cornelius needs to stay on as a director. James, you mentor him. And I’ll remain on set and iron out any problems with the studio. That is all. Good day.” Then he marched off set.

When Dan was out of earshot, Kat looked to me. “What the hell was that about?” she asked.

I think I knew. But probably due to a lack of giving a shit, I waved the incident off. “Casper needs to get that buttplug shoved back up his ass,” I told her. “We have a job to do.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxxiv)

Ma Sheila Easton sat stone faced, arms crossed but tits still out, with the rest of the producing crew. Dick was there, gloomy eyed and staring off into space. Kat was terrified. Because sitting next to her was Jimmy, annoyed and red faced as he usually was.

I sauntered in knowing what this meeting was about and ready to have it over with. “Take a seat,” Jimmy ordered me.

“Nah, I’m good,” I told him. “It was only a minor blowup with me and my former agent. I haven’t alerted the media. I’m just stepping aside and letting my grandson take over.”

“He’s still in high school. You know I can’t let him take over a multimillion dollar production,” Jimmy said.

Dan Gillespie rushed into the production office with his suitcase in hand. “Sorry, I was just in court handing Bret Radner’s latest sexual harassment lawsuit when I got word,” he told everyone.” He sat his suitcase down and laid his hands on my shoulders. “James, are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine. But we might have to restructure my deal with the studio.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Jimmy shouted. “We haven’t even shot one frame of film and you’re already causing problems!”

Dan gave Jimmy a raged glance and began wagging his finger. “Jimmy, I can have your ass on a spike!” he warned.

“Relax everyone!” I said. “I don’t understand what the big deal is! Let’s not pretend that we’ve forgotten all the other crazy shit I’ve done!”

Jimmy rubbed his face. “Alright alright,” he calmly said. “Can we have some privacy please? I want to talk to James alone.”

All the producers happily got up left the room. Only Dan stayed behind. “That includes you bucko!” Jimmy warned Dan.

Dan shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “James is my client.”

Jimmy threw his hands in the air. “So be it,” he surrendered.

Kat was the last one out and she shut the door behind her. Dan and I stood at one end of the table with Jimmy on the other. “So,” Jimmy began, “I guess this is how it’s going to be.”

I was puzzled. “This is how it’s always been Jimmy,” I said.

He nodded. “True. But we’ve know each other a long time my friend. I’ll be 80 next month. I was hoping to be retired by now, living the rest of my years with my dear Darla in the Hamptons. Instead, I’m in Burbank trying to reason with a lunatic.”

I shrugged. “What’s your point?”

There was a long uncomfortable silence as Jimmy pondered. “I guess I don’t get it,” he finally spoke. “What is it that you want?”

“I dunno,” I thought. “Money, drugs, sex, booze…”

“No no, that’s not what I meant,” he interrupted. “I mean, you’ve achieved everything that can be achieved. How old are you? You look 90 if you were a day. Why bother with this obvious studio cash grab?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxxviii)

“Ass,” Cornelius spoke.

“Pardon?” I ask.

“Men’s asses. Everywhere. You said there’d be tits on set.”

“Ohhh…,” I replied, “I understand your confusion. You see Cornelius, when you make movie, you have to put things in to make everyone happy. Sure everyone likes to see a luscious pair of tits, but men’s asses have their value too. They’re very funny to look at. And that’s the first thing you should know about filmmaking.”

Out of the production offices, Pee-Wee rushed up and coward before me. “Please don’t hit me sir,” he begged.

“Why would I strike you?” I questioned. “Sure you’re a weak little man that I despise but I’m not a monster ya know?”

“But I’m here to inform you that I will no longer serve as your assistant.”

“But Pee-Wee, after all we’ve been through?”

“Yes sire. I am defecting from your team to join Greta’s.”

My first instinct was to ball up my fist and scream obscenities at the poor fellow. Yet I understood things were changing. Besides, moments before I relinquished my directorial duties to Cornelius. So I lifted up Pee-Wee and put my hands gently on his face. “I just want to say thank you Pee-Wee for all the horseshit I put you through,” I told him. “Sure, you were never worthy of working in my presence, but you performed admirably. I wish you godspeed.”

“Really?” he cried.

“Not really. I’m just being professionally courteous.”

“But I must tell you sir, as one last act in your service, Jimmy and Kat told me that they wish to see you.”

All the rage that normally boiled just beneath the surface nearly spilled over. But I didn’t lash out at Pee-Wee. “Pee-Wee,” said I, “today I grant you a reprieve. Unfortunately I’m no longer the director of this picture. Those responsibilities have fallen to my grandson Cornelius. And I am sure as a primary director, his first order of business will be to beat your ass. Have a good day sir.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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 xxxi)

“$400 million?!” Greta shouted.

“That’s his asking price,” I said.

“$400 million for an actor that hasn’t been in a picture in 20 years and was never that popular to begin with?”

“It’s only money,” I shrugged.

Greta shook her head. “There’s no way,” she said. “You might as well pile that money in this office and light it on fire. And besides, I already offered the role to Ryan Duckling.”

“But I already offered Casper the role.”

“When were you going to discuss this with me?!”

“When were you going to discuss Ryan Duckling with me?”

Greta tried to reply but words kept failing her. Finally I shushed her and spoke in a low, calming tone. “Why are we always fighting?” I asked. “Aren’t we a team? Isn’t this production supposed to be the teaming up of the two greatest filmmakers of our time? There’s got to be a way to resolve this as two sensible people.”

“James, like you’ve done many times before, you hijacked this movie!”

“Now wait a minute! You wanted me here! Sure you fired me and I took the studio to court and got an attorney killed, but that’s all in the past! This is now. So might I suggest a compromise: give Ryan the lead. Casper can be the villain. Does that sound fair?”

“And the $400 million?”

“I’ll pay it out of my own pocket. What does it matter to me? I fart on set and I make $400 million.”

“You’re a fool. The villain is only on screen for 10 minutes.”

“Worth every penny.”

“That’s $666,666 per second of screen time.”

“So it’s a deal?”

“You do what you want. I’ve got my hands full at the moment,” she explained as she gathered up paperwork. “I gotta be on the sound stage in 20 minutes.”

When I asked her about Pablo, her mood changed. “Oh he’s wonderful,” Greta beamed. “Did you know he played chess in college?”

I was puzzled. “Pablo went to college?” I ask.

“Yeah. Majored in physics. Minored in Russian literature.”

“Pablo?!”

“Yup. And he negotiated an incredible contract. He knows this picture will make billions. So I’m entitled to all the merchandising rights. Isn’t that great!”

“He never did that for me.”

“He’s one of the best in the business. You know, you never should have let him go as your agent.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Pablo?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxx)

Cassandra stayed pissed at me for three weeks. It was so bad that I couldn’t read the script. Then Greta was angry with me.

“What do you mean you haven’t read the script?!” she shouted. “We begin casting tomorrow!”

“Greta, you should know my methods by now,” I said. “I never read scripts. Besides, we’re casting Casper Van Diem.”

“We’re not casting Casper Van Diem! I don’t know who that is! We have a list of actors from the casting director that we’re scheduled to meet with! So you better get to reading the screenplay!”

“Can’t. Cassandra’s pissed at me.”

“So? Who isn’t? Here…,” she said and handed me an official leather-bound script. “Find a corner somewhere and read it!”

Instead I threw it in the trash and called up Casper’s agent. “Get me Casper goddamnit!” I ordered.

“But I haven’t been his agent in 20 years,” he said.

“Who’s his agent now?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

“That’s ridiculous. Every actor has an agent!”

“He’s not an actor anymore.”

I was flabbergasted. “So one of the great thespians for a two year stretch back in the 90s is no longer performing his craft?!!! How is this not bigger news?!”

“No one cares my dude,” the agent said then hung up the phone.

So after a frantic 15 minute google search, I found Casper’s number in Holland and called him up. “Hallo! Wie is dit?” he asked.

“What? What kind of satanic tongue is that?! Speak English!” I ordered.

“Sorry,” Casper apologized in a flawless American accent, “I haven’t spoken English in 20 years. Who am I speaking with?”

“It’s James Pietermeister.”

“What? But I’m not an actor anymore. I’m the deli manager at Jumbo’s!”

“Now you shut your mouth! I know Starshit Troopers bombed but I saw something there. I watched the birth of a star before my eyes. And that Star was YOU. I have a script here that I think you’re perfect for. It’s the lead for Chatty Cathy!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxvii)

“Alright, as executive consultants on this picture the studio is willing to pay out $850,000 in salary and you are entitled to 3% of the gross with an executive producer credit,” Kat explained to Mama Mohammed and Dick. “That is the best that we can do.”

Mama stood up and grabbed the paperwork from Kat. “I agree to these terms,” she said. Then crumpled up the paper and swallowed it whole. “I’ll have the paperwork mailed back to you in week’s time,” Mama concluded and left the room.

“Dick, what about you?” Kat asked. Dick took his paperwork, laid it on the ground and pissed on it. When he was done, he picked up the soggy and dripping paper and put it on Kat’s desk. He too left the room without saying a word.

“Well done Kat!” I said. “You’re a very talented negotiator.”

“What the hell do you mean?” she asked. “Dick rejected the terms!”

“Nonsense! If you noticed, he didn’t indiscriminately piss on the paper. With his urine stream, he very legibly signed his name on the signature line. He agreed!”

“That makes me feel a little better. I guess? But I’m still concerned about Dick and Mama working together. You heard Jimmy. He wants this production to go off without a hitch but I’m afraid that we have an explosive situation on our hands.”

“Never mind Jimmy,” I said. “Kat, when are you going to learn that you don’t need him? You are better than him. I’m just going to say it: YOU need to be head of this studio. We put a lot of work into rebuilding this company and we need to continue being the gold standard in Hollywood. Do you honestly think Jimmy is capable of keeping us on top?”

“Now you shut your mouth!” Kat said with fire in her eyes. “I will have no more talk of me replacing Jimmy, do you hear me?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said sardonically. “Loud and clear.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxvi)

Mama Anandra Sheila Mohammed Anard caught me staring at her superb supple breast fully exposed through her eclectic mixture of Turkish, Persian, Hindu, Swahili, Hotep, Aztec, Mongolian, Tibetan, Vietnamese, Hmong, and Puerto Rican garb. “What is it about these two exposed swelling glands that amplify the fertility of women that appeal to men?” she asks me.

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Personally I’m an ass man.”

Perhaps it was a game of one-upmanship between her and Dick who was sitting on the other side of the room wide legged with his nutsack fully exposed. Not his penis. Just his long, wrinkly scrotum. “Men are too easily entertained,” Mama continued, “certainly the lesser of the species.”

“No argument here,” I said.

Jimmy and Kat walked in side by side with Kat holding stacks of paperwork under her arm. Jimmy was inexplicably donned in traditional Sikh clothing. “This is absurd,” Jimmy said, “of course Mama should be a consultant on this project!”

He knelt down in front of the guru, cupping one of her breast in his hand. “Oh Mama,” Jimmy uttered, “the mother goddess graces us with her presence.”

Mama placed her hands on his face. “Of the evil that man doeth,” she spoke, “you are the one shining beacon of hope that lights up this cruel world.”

“Oh Mama, oh Mama,” Jimmy repeated. He shed a few tears then stood up and looked me square in the eye. “This woman is a saint,” he said to me. “Regardless of the beef between you and me, you treat this woman as royalty. Understood?”

“Whatever you say Jimmy,” I said.

He grabbed some of the paperwork from Kat and began signing away. Afterwards he threw down the pen and approached Kat. “Katherine, we’ve worked together a long time. I trust you. But with Mama Sheila Mohammed onboard, I require your utmost professionalism,” he warned. “No more shenanigans like in the previous pictures. This production must come in on time and on budget.”

Kat swallowed and nodded. “Yes sir,” she said.

Then he looked back at me. “And James…”

“Yes Jimmy?” I said awaiting his response. But he said nothing and departed the room.

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…