Blind Ambitions Page 7

  Now they knew they had their chance. The next step was pulling everything together, then permanently walking away from Massey-Weldon.

  “So what makes you trust me enough to tell me all this?” Desi asked, forking a bite of shrimp. “How do you know I won’t go back and casually run my mouth to someone who knows Meredith Reynolds? Can’t you be sued by Massey-Weldon for some kind of contract breach?”

  “For one,” he calmly replied, “I told you all of this because I feel confident you won’t misappropriate the information. Besides, Sharon told me you were trustworthy, and I know Sharon well enough to take her at her word.”

  He took a sip of his iced mango drink.

  “Secondly, the show is definitely a go as far as we’re concerned,” he said. “We’ve had some conversations with a few network execs on the quiet. This town is notorious for stealing talent, so we only stand to benefit from the whole situation.”

  “I see,” she mumbled, chewing a bite of plantain.

  “No … ,” Randall said with a smile, “it actually gets better.”

  “How’s that?”

  He pierced a shrimp, brought it to his mouth, and bit into it. He held up his finger for her to wait until he finished chewing. He cleared his throat of the spicy pepper and took another drink.

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Go on with what you were saying.”

  “Oh yeah. Well, the best part about winning that first Emmy three years ago was that Steve and I were able to negotiate the way we wanted. We signed five-year contracts, but we each have a clause about development projects. Mine says I have the option to develop my own shows within a reasonable time frame, a period not to exceed more than three years from the date the contract was executed. If those three years pass and I still have no projects in development, I have the right to leave and go elsewhere. Everything becomes null and void.”

  “Does Steve have the same clause in his contract?”

  Randall nodded.

  “Are your three years up?” Desi asked, sipping her tea.

  “One month, three weeks, and two days ago.” He grinned. “Someone at Massey-Weldon fucked up royally and let our development time frames slip through the cracks. I don’t know if it occurred in Legal, or what, but Meredith hasn’t caught it yet, and neither has anyone else. Everyone’s been too busy. They haven’t said anything, and neither have we.”

  “Wow. That works out great for you guys.”

  “It sure does. I still can’t believe Massey-Weldon could let something as careless as this happen. Usually what they do is let you at least start a project. You know … get it on paper, act like it’s being put in motion. Sure, they never let it get off the ground or take forever making it happen, but that still allows them to legally say that you have projects”—he made the gesture of quotation marks in the air with his fingers—“‘in development.’”

  “Really?” Desi asked, shocked. “That’s pretty sheisty. Why would they tell you yes when they really mean no?”

  “Come on now, Desi,” he chided, picking up a slice of plantain with his fingers, “surely you’re not that naïve. You’ve been out here long enough to know how this industry works. You said you’re from the South. You know that phrase ‘You can catch more flies with sugar than salt’?”

  He popped the plantain into his mouth.

  “Yeah,” she said, smiling. “My grandma used to say that all the time.”

  “Well,” he replied, chewing, “it’s the rule out here, except they never really have any intentions of giving you the sugar. Sure, they might let you smell it. They may even give you a granule or two. Television is just like film. It’s run by the same people. They woo you, bait you with promises of profit and participation, and tell you how they’re going to help you get your own shit started. The whole dog and pony show. How else are they going to get you, especially if you’ve got a little bit of a name behind you?”

  “True,” she agreed.

  “They might give you a tasty signing bonus that placates you for a minute, but when it comes time for profits, they declare on the books that there were none, that everything’s in the red, so there’s nothing for you to participate in. Same thing with development deals. They give them to you so you’ll feel like you got something out of it that benefits you more than them, but trust me, there’s never going to be a contract written in Hollywood that benefits the talent more than it does the person offering the deal. Ever. The goal is to get fucked the least, because, no doubt about it, you’re going to get fucked.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she replied.

  “So what you do is get the most amount of money you can up front. Then you negotiate a fierce participation deal and royalty structure, and then you walk away with enough to be able to ultimately leave and build your own kingdom off the earnings you made.”

  Desi had stopped eating and was now sitting back in her chair, listening intently. This was turning into Hollywood 101, a lesson she thought she’d had eight years before. She apparently hadn’t learned this part. It was probably why she was in the predicament she was in now.

  Randall kept on, bursting with zeal. He was leaning in towards her, his hands gesturing wildly.

  “See, Desi, Meredith was so busy squashing our ideas, she didn’t even pay attention to the game. She could have approved Ambitions, knowing she never had any intentions of letting it get made. It would have placated us and protected the company. Sure, we would have been frustrated. We would have scratched our asses and our heads for a while, wondering if we were being given the shaft.”

  Desi laughed.

  “You know what I’m saying?” he said with a grin. “But as long as she kept smiling and reassuring us, we would have hung out for a while, full of hope. The company would have had the benefit of us still writing for them and, once they trashed Ambitions, for whatever reasons given, could have let us start up development on something else. There’s a million ways to kill a project in development. They can blame it on anything. Budget cuts, network resistance. Whatever. We would have believed them for a little while. Not too long, mind you, but for a minute. But they fucked up. Now Steve and I can just walk away.”

  “Wow,” Desi exclaimed. “Will that get Meredith fired?”

  “I doubt it. Wade puts much stock in her, among other things. He’ll be pissed off, but probably not enough for it to freak her out. She’ll catch the most heat from Anna. And the networks carrying the shows we write for. They’re gonna set her ass aflame. Because of this mistake, at least two top-ten network shows will be in jeopardy.”

  “So you and Steve are the only ones leaving?”

  “Yeah. Well, actually, we’re taking the receptionist and a guy from Legal. Bettina’s gonna write and, ultimately, we hope, produce. At least, that’s the plan. And Carlos will handle all the contracts. He’s sharp. Nothing slips by the man.”

  “Do you think they will try to offer you another contract and more money?” she asked.

  He made a sputtering sound.

  “Of course! Isn’t that always how they do it? But it’s too late. They had their chance. The people we’ve talked to at the networks are excited about the opportunity to do something cutting edge. They want to work with us. For some reason, getting back at Meredith and Massey-Weldon doesn’t seem to bother them either.”

  “Really?” Desi asked. “I thought Massey-Weldon was revered in this town.”

  Randall sampled the black beans and rice that came with his shrimp.

  “Mmm-hmm”—he nodded, trying to swallow so he could speak—“they are. But they’ve got some skeletons in their closet that aren’t too pretty. Wade Massey’s screwed over his share of people. He steals writers like crazy, makes all kinds of pie-in-the-sky promises, then plays dumb after the fact. Anna Weldon’s a sweetheart, but everyone knows that Meredith’s a ladder-climbing, back-clawing bitch.”

  “You’re just saying that because she doesn’t want your show,” Desi replied, digging into her fo
od again.

  Randall took another sip of his drink, shaking his head.

  “No, Desi,” he said between gulps, “I say that because that Aryan heffah is truly a bitch. Just ask Anna Weldon.”

  “Anna Weldon?” Desi asked, curious. “But doesn’t Meredith work for her? She can’t be a bitch to her own boss.”

  “She can if she’s fucking her other boss.” He smirked, piercing a piece of shrimp with his fork.

  “Say what?!” Desi whispered, leaning in closer to him. “Are you serious?”

  Her hand touched his in a familiar gesture. Randall’s eyes did a quick shift to her hand on his. He was pleased that she seemed at ease around him.

  “As a heart attack,” he replied. “But, of course, that’s neither here nor there. Anna acts like she doesn’t know about it, although it seems the rest of the world does. How she can not know is beyond me.”

  Desi leaned back, removing her hand from Randall’s. She took a sip of her tropical tea. She was getting off track, she realized, but Randall was so easy to talk to. He was giving her a good Hollywood schooling. Plus, she hadn’t gotten a juicy piece of Hollywood gossip in a while. It was almost comforting to hear that other people’s lives were as raggedy as hers.

  “Anyway,” Randall said, “all we have to do now is let the network execs we talked to know who the core cast members will be, then we’re pretty sure we’re going to get a green light from one of them for next fall’s lineup.”

  “So what networks are we talking here? UPN? WB?”

  “No way. I mean, no offense to them, because they’ve given a number of black shows the chance to make it, but upstart networks are notorious for dumping black shows once they get themselves fully up and running.”

  Desi nodded.

  “That’s true. Look at Fox. Martin, Living Single, In Living Color—all those shows helped put Fox on the map. Now it’s all about Ally McBeal. Other than Lisa Nicole Carson, that show is about as lily-white as they come.”

  “I know,” he said. “And I like Ally McBeal.”

  “Me, too,” she said sheepishly. “I watch it faithfully. Ain’t that some mess? Hollywood has us so brain-washed, we’re fully supporting shows that continually erase us from the face of the planet, when we should have our TVs turned off and be picketing them on a regular basis.”

  “Picketing won’t do anything. All they’ll do is close their blinds. It’s hard to see from an ivory tower anyway.”

  They both laughed. A pitiful, that’s-a-damn-shame kind of laugh, but a shared one nonetheless.

  “I hope I don’t seem bitter as I talk about this stuff to you,” he said, his tone soft. “I’m not bitter. I’ve got way too much going on for that. It’s just sad that this industry is the way it is.”

  “You don’t sound bitter.” She sighed. “I’m a black actress in Hollywood. While I don’t know television, I’ve run up against some of the same obstacles you’re talking about.”

  “I hear ya. Also, I apologize if I’ve been acting too casual with you.” Randall’s expression was earnest. “I came here expecting you to be this puffed-up Hollywood diva. I can’t tell you how many black actresses I run into that are like that.”

  “Nope.” She smiled. “Not me.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Randall replied.

  Desi played with her food, twirling her fork around her plate. She suddenly looked up at him.

  “Don’t get me wrong, now,” she said with a laugh. “I can be. For instance, if this meeting turns out to be a waste of my time, diva’s gonna be the only thing you ever get from me again.”

  As she said it, she realized that if the meeting did turn out to be a bust, unless she decided to take the job at Neiman’s, she’d be headed back to Alabama. If that happened, the odds of him seeing her again were almost nonexistent.

  The thought made her visibly worried.

  “What’s wrong?” Randall asked, noticing her knitted brows.

  “You still haven’t told me what’s in this for me. Are you offering me the lead? Is that what this is about?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought I’d been saying that through this whole conversation.”

  He reached down into his satchel and pulled out a script.

  “Here’s the pilot,” he said, showing it to her across the table. He flipped to the first page. “See that character?” He pointed to the name Raquel. “That’s you, or, rather, who we hope to be you.”

  He flipped through some more pages. The character was in almost every scene.

  “She’s got a lot of screen time,” Desi commented. “So the show would be built around me?”

  “Actually, it’s more of an ensemble format, with four other primary characters. But you would be the hub. The way we’ve got it written, your character, for the first two years, has the most critical storyline, and is the point from which all the other storylines radiate.”

  The first two years, Desi mused. Wow. That would mean she could stay in LA and, if the show was good enough, get her name back out there again.

  “You’ve got it plotted out for the first two years?” she asked, casually taking the script from him.

  “We’ve got it developed all the way through year five,” he answered. “We allow for latitude and changes along the way, of course, but we have a general sketch of the flow of the characters and their overall development.”

  “If I like it, do I have to commit to five years?”

  “We’d be happy if you’ll just commit to one. You can set it up with the option to do more, depending on how you mesh with the role.”

  “I didn’t know television worked like that. I thought actors were at the mercy of the network and the executive producer. If they decided all of a sudden that they want you out so they can restructure the show, then that was that.”

  “That is how it works, in many instances. But if the star is a hit with the audience and is the main reason they watch, then that star can call some of the shots as well. Much of it has to do with the contract you negotiate as an actor, and the contract we negotiate with the network. Most of it has to do with the ratings. The network has to be willing to guarantee enough episodes to allow the show a chance to establish itself.”

  “Then how can I be sure that I’ll have job security? Suppose the executive producer suddenly decides he wants me out?”

  “I’m the executive producer, along with Steve and Jet. We’re willing to work out a contract that will give you a sense of security.”

  Desi rubbed her chin, her half-eaten food now completely pushed aside.

  “But what if the viewing audience doesn’t like my character? What if I don’t turn out to be the ratings draw you expect?”

  “I highly doubt that,” Randall said, “but I’m sure you’re open to working on character development. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding.

  “Well then, there you go.”

  She continued to flip through the script, noticing all the places Raquel appeared. It seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch. Perhaps the writing sucked. Or the pay was low.

  “Once you read it, you’ll see that it’s really well written,” Randall remarked, as if reading her mind. “Steve and I are pretty proud of that script, and everyone who’s read it has been impressed. Each of the networks we talked to has said that a show like this would get a really good budget.”

  She kept studying the script.

  “What if, by some chance, you’re not picked up by a network?” she asked.

  Randall was just swallowing a bite of plantain.

  “We will be,” he said, gulping. “It’s practically guaranteed. Vast Horizons is going to get this project on the air, one way or another. As it stands now, getting it on one of the major networks won’t be a problem.”

  “What about if I want to do a film? Will this interfere with my film career?”

  “We’ll work it so that you can still do movies,” he responded. “Television actors do it all the
time.”

  Desi placed the script on the table in front of her and leaned back.

  “Randall, do you know how many promises I’ve been made in this town? How many promises that have gone unfulfilled?”

  He took a swallow of his now-melting iced mango drink, searching her face. She looked so young and beautiful, but her eyes had a weariness that seemed filled with disappointment. How had he never noticed that before? The eyes never lied, but she was good at making sure they did when she was onscreen.

  “Desi, should you decide to come on board, regardless of whatever budget we get from a network, Vast Horizons will commit to paying your salary as negotiated. That’s a promise we’ll put in writing.”

  Her breath caught for a moment. She stared at him, waiting for a but. The silence hung between them. Randall ate a peppered shrimp.

  “So you’re telling me,” she finally said, “just to have me as a part of the show, you guys are gonna pay me out of your company’s pocket?”

  He nodded, his mouth too full of shrimp to speak.

  “Effective when?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager. Her pulse had accelerated so much that she could almost feel the blood coursing just beneath her skin.

  Randall swallowed the shrimp, then made a hacking sound.

  “Acckkk!” he coughed, taking a quick sip of his drink. “Those little fuckers are hot! I think the pepper went down the wrong way!”

  Desi was too serious and too excited to smile. All she wanted now was answers.

  “Effective when?”

  He cleared his throat of pepper and took another drink.

  “We’re willing to pay you a healthy, good-faith signing bonus upon execution of the contract. After that, your salary will be paid per episodes shot.”

  “I’d like participation,” she said.

  Randall smiled.

  “Somehow, I knew you would. That can be worked out.”

  Desi scrunched up her face, still unable to take it all in. She stared at him, searching for some kind of trickery. Hollywood was full of trickery, and so were the men in it.

  “Okay, Randall … let’s cut the crap. Why me? Out of all the black actresses to choose from, why me?”