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 yet another shot at the title (part xxxvii)

“I just don’t want you to kill me like you killed Christian Bale,” Ryan Duckling told me before start of shooting. He put on about 100lbs for the role, per my instructions of course, which naturally caused him to like shit.

“Don’t worry about Chris Bale,” I said to comfort him. “You see, Chris had an Oscar before he died. But you, you’ll never win one. And that’s because you’re afraid to take risks. That’s what I’m trying to change, you see. Look what happened to Brandon Frasier. He became a fatass and they handed him an Oscar. That’s what it takes. That’s what I want for you.”

I figured that I had him convinced when Greta rudely interrupted my pep talk. “Goddamnit James,” she screamed, “Pablo told me that you threatened him with physical violence when he dropped me off this morning!”

“Ohhhh yeah, I did,” I told her. “Sorry about that Greta. Don’t worry about it though. That’s how I usually end meetings with agents.”

“He said that you threatened him over me!”

I nodded my head. “That’s true.”

“And you banned him from the set?!”

“Sure did.”

Greta rubbed her forehead, likely due to an impending tension headache. I’ve seen this look hundreds of times from Kat. After taking a deep breath, Greta finally told me “James, I’m telling you this for your own good: we will never be together. And Pablo is no longer your agent. If you’re going to get upset over us dating, then this will be a long shoot for you. If you want, Kat can meditate between the two of us if you think that will make things easier.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I agree with you Greta. I should be an emotionless automaton. That will make me suck as a director and the film will suffer as a result. But you’re right…”

“I didn’t say that you fool…”

“…I heard you loud and clear Greta. In fact, I’m not gonna say shit for the rest of production.” Then I looked to Ryan. “Sorry Ryan,” I told him, “if you want any more direction, go talk to my grandson Cornelius. He’ll know what to do.” Then I directed my ire back towards Greta. “You’re a great problem solver Greta,” I said sardonically, “you’re gonna make a wonderful picture!”

Then I shouted over to Cornelius who was scratching his ass by the women’s bathroom. “Cornelius!” I said, “Have you ever directed a movie before?!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxxsomething)

I stared at my shirtless Tom Selleck poster for hours. It occurred to me that since Pablo jumped ship to Greta’s team that I didn’t have a friend in the world. I called up Dan to see if he wanted to swing by Olive Garden for a few drinks. “Heh. I shoot endangered cougars with James Woods up in Mt. Baldy. Why would I want to get a drink with you?” he said.

Fair enough, I thought.

I didn’t want to take the five minute drive to Glendale. But it was time. Perhaps Slick Rick was still in his air duster huffing phase and I thought maybe we could spend the afternoon killing a few brain cells together. Just like the old days. I hadn’t seen him in 15 years. So I drove my trike out to Glendale while blasting Night Ranger on repeat. When I knocked on the door a plump Latina answered.

“Hola,” she said.

“Hi, is Slick Rick home?”

“No comprende,” she shrugged.

“Slick Rick. Is this his house?”

“Father?” a voice behind me said. I turn around and saw an aged Slick Rick standing there with a bloody shirt and wielding a chainsaw.

“Rick!” I exclaimed. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by.”

“Oh yeah, great,” he said. “I was just out back slaughtering some chickens. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll join you on the porch.”

When he went back inside, I pulled out a cigarillo and lit it up. A small golden haired girl came out the front door and cocked her head. “Are you my grandpa?” she asks.

I’ve heard that question a hundred times. “Probably,” I said, “god knows I’ve banged enough women in this town. Glendale, that is. In fact, there was an old whore I used to frequent. Chinese I think she was. I hope she wasn’t a sex trafficked victim. I’d feel pretty bad about that. But I’ve forgiven myself since then.”

“Slick Rick is my dad,” she said.

“Oh okay,” I told her as I puffed on my cigarillo. “Yeah, his mom was a whore. An expensive one. Not from Glendale though. I think she was Vietnamese. Did you know that I fragged my commanding officer when I was in Vietnam? It wasn’t during the war. It was an accident. It didn’t kill him but it did maim about a dozen people. I’ve forgiven myself for that too.”

“I’m six years old!” the girl blissfully smiled.

“No shit? Ya know, when I was six years old, I was a drug mule for the Mexican cartels. They’d give me a nickel for every ounce of cocaine I was able to shove up the ass of….”

“How you been dad!” Rick said all cleaned up as he stepped on the porch. “Care for a beer?”

“Daddy!” the girl squealed then ran into Rick’s arms.

“No thanks. I’m already drunk,” I told him.

“I’m sorry about my wife earlier,” Rick explained. “She doesn’t speak English.”

“Hell, I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

“I don’t. So what brings you by? It’s been nearly 20 years.”

“15 to be exact. I dunno, Cassandra told me about you. I figured you might be in some trouble or something. And why the hell do you still talk to Cassandra?”

“Trouble? Dad, I’m the most successful chiropractor in Glendale. I’m on the city council for fucks sake.”

“No shit? Goddamn son, what the hell happened? One minute you’re junkie suckin off Japanese business men behind Chipotle and now you’re the one getting sucked off?!”

“People change dad.”

I puffed on the cigarillo. “Ya know, I don’t think I’ve changed at all. Fuck that shit.”

“I can tell.”

“So why do you still talk to Cassandra?”

“Well,” Rick pondered as he gazed out across the lawn, “I always thought she was the only person to have ever cared about me.”

“I cared about you.”

“You never showed it.”

I could feel the tension brewing in the air. “Rick,” I said, “there’s something I always wanted to tell you. You see, that Russian bullet that struck me in the head. Remember? On that field in whatever that country was called? Well, something happened.”

“Yeah, you lost a lot of brain matter. In fact, you were deemed mentally handicapped.”

“No I was deemed that way before. Something else happened. I had a vision Rick. A vision that so terrified me that I hope to never experience it again. I lost you Slick Rick. You couldn’t imagine the pain I felt. I was afraid. I was afraid of losing you again. I guess that’s why I didn’t come around as much after that.” I finished my cigarillo and flicked out into the lawn. “I just thought you should know,” I concluded.

I tipped my hat and departed down the steps back towards the trike. When I was halfway across the lawn, Rick shouted. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” he said.

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 shit at the title (part xxix)

So that night I got rip roaring drunk at Chili’s then drove to Cassandra’s apartment in Van Nuys. I careened passed the gates and my Rolls Royce Phantom III landed in the pool. I climbed out of the water and up to her front door. It was 2:30 am on Thursday morning.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassandra screamed. “Why are you soaked and wet?”

“He dumped me!” I wailed.

“Who dumped you?! What are you talking about?”

“Pablo dumped me as a client! Pablo and Greta hate me! Why does everyone hate me?!!!”

I sobbed uncontrollably.

“Damn it James! You’re waking up the neighbors! Get inside!” she ordered.

“I love you Cassandra!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

She handed me a dry pair of clothes, a pair of women’s shorts that were five sizes too small, and ordered me to sleep on the couch. Five hours later, I awoke to an obnoxious pounding on the door. I opened it and found a maintenance guy standing there holding a plunger resting on his shoulder.

“Is that your Rolls Royce Phantom III parked in the pool?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, my bad. I’ll have it moved.”

I closed the door and a groggy Cassandra came into the living room. “What the hell James?” she said.

“Woo! What a night huh? Welp, I guess I’ll be on my way! See you later!”

“No! Sit the fuck down and explain yourself!”

I shrugged and sat back down on the couch. My nutsack was dangling out of the extra small pair of shorts. I didn’t have a shirt on. “Why do you keep doing this?” Cassandra asked.

“Doing what?”

“Burning bridges! That’s what!”

“I’m not burning bridges. Everyone else keeps burning bridges. I’m innocent in all of this.”

“Pablo was your best friend and he dumped you as a client! What the hell happened?!”

“Hey! I’m not the bad guy here!”

Cassandra threw her hands up and changed the subject. “When’s the last time you spoke to Slick Rick?” she asked.

“Oh fuck! Slick Rick! I hope he’s okay! Did I abandon him?”

“He’s 40 years old, James! But you’re still his father! Do you even care about him?”

“Care about him? I don’t even know where he’s at!”

“He’s been living in Glendale for ten years!”

“What?! Really? How do you know this?”

“We still talk on occasion. He’s got kids, ya know?”

“You don’t say? So I’m a grandfather? Boy how time flies. I don’t feel a day over 97.”

“You need to go see them.”

“I would but my Rolls Royce Phantom III is under water right now. I need to go get it. Nice chatting with you Cassie. I’ll see you at work!”

“I will stab you in the throat if you come to my door again!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And yet another shot at the title (part xxviii)

Back at Chili’s, Pablo and I had our weekly get together. These things were an opportunity to talk shop or otherwise shoot the shit. I looked forward to these things. Pablo was a long time friend and I saw him as more than a business partner. So on this particular Wednesday afternoon, we gathered at our usual spot at the bar and ordered our usual strawberry daiquiris.

“Well Pablo,” I started off, “I managed to get Dick signed on as a producer. So I’m glad I got someone else in my corner.”

“Hell yeah.”

“But will you believe this shit? Greta went ahead and got her guru signed on as a producer too! I mean, has this town ran out of ideas?!”

“Fuck dude.”

“It’s like I have set every Hollywood trend since coming to this town. Me. James Cynthia Pietermeister. I’m telling ya, if I don’t get that star on the walk of fame then everything I’ve done has been for nothing.”

“Yeah, you right!”

“So what’s been going on with you Pablo? You’ve been awfully quiet lately. You’re not going through one of those suicidal episodes again are you?”

“Nah man.”

“So what the fuck is going on with you?”

“Just the usual shit man. My wife’s divorcing me and I’ve got cancer on my right nut. So I’ve been forced to sell my Lambo to pay for healthcare costs and my parents died in a fire.”

“Goddamn dude.”

“But the good news is that my son’s getting married next week.”

“You have a son?”

“Yeah. Oh, and also, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m dropping you as a client and taking on Greta.”

“Say what?!”

“Yup, my agent told me that you’re dead weight and this would be good for my career.”

“Your agent? Pablo, you are an agent!”

“Yeah dude. Greta’s a really cool client. She got me invited to one of Leonard Coster’s parties.”

“Leonard Coster?!! Chairman of the Board for Trainwreck Productions?!! Why didn’t he invite me?!!”

“I dunno. Something to do with you being a hack, a has-been, and a total fucking moron. But whatever man. Shit’s boring. Anyway, I gotta go. By the way, I ordered eight martinis before you got here and now I’m gonna drive to Long Beach to hang with Peter Fonda. Can you take care of the tab? See ya!”

TO BE CONTINUED…