Date: Thu, 7 Nov 2002 04:12:04 -0700 From: xykos@earthlink.net Subject: Elaborate Lives part 1 Disclaimer: I do not know N Sync. This is a purely fictional story created in the recesses of my warped mind. Any similarities with actual people is merely coincidental. Nothing exciting really happens in this part. I need to set up the rest of the story. There's nothing I hate more than a story with no character development. Comments are welcome at xykos@earthlink.net enjoy. Elaborate Lives Chapter One This is the moment Damn all the odds! This day or never I'll sit forever With the gods! When I look back I will always recall Moment for Moment This was the Moment The greatest Moment of them all! ~ Leslie Bricusse The ringing of the telephone awoke me from my self-induced trance. Confused for a moment, I looked around wildly, not knowing where I was. Why was I half naked, sitting in a pool of my own sweat? I got up off the chair I was sitting on and the leather tore off of me noisily, like a snake shedding it's skin. Above me, I heard the whirling of the ceiling fan, constantly circulating the musty air in my office. My office. I realized that I went in a trance again, writing my book. I wondered what time it was, what day it was. I began writing at midnight; now it was way past high noon. Wearily, I glanced at my iMac and frowned at the time. I've been writing for 38 hours straight. Suddenly, exhaustion swept over me and I collapsed back into the chair. I closed my eyes for a second, and sat there, not even thinking. `These sessions always take everything out of me' I thought to myself. I sat there for a minute or two, doing nothing but running my fingers through my damp hair, noticing that it had grown a little too long for my taste. Not that I don't like long hair, I love it, but my hair doesn't grow long; it grows out. In a weeks time, I'll have an afro to deal with. Just another chore to do, one of many that I've been putting off for my work. I can't help it. I didn't want to follow the path of all the other authors who became one hit wonders. I wanted my sophomore session to be just as good, no, better, than the first. Thinking about my book, I began to wake up again and I wanted to continue the project. Who needed breaks, food or water? I was doing what I loved to do; how many people can say that about their lives? I reread the last couple of paragraphs to get my bearings and began typing. Five words into it and I was reminded of the thing that woke me from my trance. The phone began to ring. Sighing heavily, I saved my page and tore myself from the chair again, making a mental note to buy something non-leather for the office. "Hello?" As soon as I picked up the phone, I knew that it would be Benny, my agent. Sure enough, I was greeted with his high pitched screeching voice. "Where the hell have to been, Alex!" Benny screamed so loud that I heard him even with the phone an arms length away. "You should really invest in an answering machine and stop wasting my time! I've been calling for ten hours now!" Bracing myself, I pulled the phone back to my ear. "I'm here now, Benny. What's up?" "Ten hours, Alex. Ten hours. No `I'm sorry, Benny,' `you're time is important, Benny,' no, of course not. Just a `what's up?" I sighed. "What's up, Benny." There was a pause on the other end. I knew Benny was fuming, but he knew I wouldn't apologize for something like not picking up the phone. After a while, he said, "Dreamworks wants to buy the rights to "Paradise." Now I was speechless. How was this possible? "Excuse me?" Benny, still perturbed, responded very blandly. "Spielberg want a meeting with you on Monday. I went ahead a got you on the red eye to L.A. You can pick up the tickets at my Denver office. I won't be there, but talk to Shirley." No response from me. "Alex, you there?" Meekly, I said "yes." "Do you understand?" "Yes. Pinch me would . . ." But Benny had already hung up. God, he was so moody, I thought. I looked back at the computer and decided to turn it off. I would never be able to concentrate on work now. I had a meeting to get to in L.A. * * * * * * "Mr. Goodman? Mr. Spielberg will see you now." I dropped my tie that I was playing with and stood, giving the secretary a nervous smile. Going through the door she pointed at, the first thing that hit me was the view from the office. You could see half of downtown L.A. from this vantage point. Very nice. The rest of the room was impressive, also. Very intimidating. Rosewood bookshelves lined the walls and various awards adorned the room. In the middle of the room, behind the huge rosewood desk, sat . . . "Mr. Goodman, sorry to keep you waiting, please have a seat." I was in the same room as Steven Spielberg. My lead feet would not move. I just stood there with a stupid grin on my face. He smiled back, a forlorn, weak attempt of a smile saying that he went through this star-struck thing before and was tired of it. I moved toward the chair and extend my hand. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Spielberg." He gave me a weak hand shake and motioned towards the chair again. This time I sat. Immediately, he got down to business. "Mr. Goodman, this is a highly unusual situation for me. Usually, when I want to get the rights to something, my people handle everything and it proceeds quite smoothly. That did not happen in this case." I grinned a little. So, I was putting the great director out. My embarrassing first impression was fading fast. I remembered why I put the special clause in my contract with Random House. It was because I didn't want arrogant pricks like him to ruin my baby. Spielberg sounded perturbed that we were even having this conversation. I was wasting his precious time. he looked at me arrogantly and waited for a response. I gave him the well rehearsed speech I delivered to Random House. "Yeah, I didn't want anyone sign off something that I've worked so hard on and have it ruined. I wanted full custody of the rights, and, well, Random House agreed." Spielberg smiled a little. "How much did that cost you?" I smiled back. "Half a million," I said without a grimace. It was worth every penny. Spielberg moved forward. "Well, I have the papers here to sign. I want to get started right away. We already have a working screenplay and half the cast lined up. All we need is your signature and we're all set." He pushed a stack of papers toward me. I politely pushed them back. Spielberg dropped the smile immediately. "I didn't put that clause in my contract just so I could get free trips and meet people like you, Mr. Spielberg. I need to know a little more before I release the rights." A blank stare greeted me. Clearly, Spielberg was not amused. After what seemed to be a century filled with the awkward silence I decided to make a venture. "Who do you have lined up for the cast." Spielberg sighed, realizing this wasn't going to be an easy deal. He reached into his desk and pulled out a paper. This time I took it. I could not believe my eyes. All these people that I admired wanted to work on my story. Glenn Close as Tammy, Christina Ricci as Sarah, Josh Brower as Cody. But Travis, the lead, was played by . . . "Who's James Bass?" The famous director glanced at his watch. I was holding him up for an important meeting, no doubt. Not that I cared. I hated rude people, and I was planning on stretching this meeting to it's breaking point. Spielberg replied. "James Bass? Lance Bass?" I gave him a confused look. Why did he give me another name? "*N Sync? Space?" It hit me then. The boy band member who just came back from space. I groaned inwardly. "And he'll play the lead?" "Yes." All facades had dropped by now. He did not even try to be pleasant. I decided to move on, but would come back to address the situation again. I would not have "Edge of Paradise" be associated with some teeny bopper crap. But I let it go for a while. "And you said there was a screenplay." Reaching in the desk again, he pulled out about fifty pages. I flipped to the back and saw what I had to see. "Is this the final version?" "Yes." "No changes?" "No changes." I got my answer. I stood up, "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting with you Mr. Spielberg." Extending a hand he didn't take, I was ready to leave. "What's wrong with the deal, Mr. Goodman?" he asked angrily. "Is it because of James? The script? What?" I looked at him. "James isn't the biggest problem I have with this. You changed my ending." Spielberg looked at me, stunned. "Alex, nobody's going to want to watch a movie where a 5 year old boy gets beaten to death. Nobody's going to watch their favorite boy band singer jump off a cliff." I knew that was coming. "If nobody wants to watch that, why do you want to make it?" Again, the blank stare. "Because it's a great story, Alex," he finally answered. "That's why I'm going through all of this trouble to get it. It's a great story, besides the ending." He gave me a half smile and motioned towards the contract. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Spielberg." I turned to leave. Halfway to the door he called to me. "I'll double the asking price." I looked at him, appalled. "Take a look at my contract with Random House, Mr. Spielberg. This has never been about the money." And with that I left. * * * * * * "Hello, Benny." I was packing up my things in the hotel. I decided not to stay in L.A.; I wanted to get the hell out of this town. When the phone rang, I knew instantly that my agent had heard and was probably furious. "You don't understand what it takes to make it in Hollywood, do you Alex." Benny seemed rather calm, considering he lost a sizable commission from me, twice. He acted like my friend, but when it came down to it, it was all about the money. First I take a pay cut for my stupid deal and now this. "Well, maybe I don't want to make it in Hollywood." I was getting agitated myself. If I had an agent who understood what I wanted, I wouldn't have to go through this. "Alex, Spielberg called Random House." Ouch. I cringed at the thought of losing my publishing contract over something like this. "They understand you're case, but they want this movie made. Make a deal, Alex. Go back to Spielberg and make a deal." "Or what?" But I didn't need an answer. I already knew it. * * * * * * This time I waited even longer in his waiting room. I wasn't nervous this time. With a clear head, I began to think, and I decided that I would rather lose the contract and never have anything published again then have my story changed. The secretary grabbed my attention and motioned towards the door. This time there was someone else in the room. He stood to greet me, Spielberg did not. I shook the man's hand, sizing him up. Brown hair, spiked up a little. About 5'10", just like me, and probably my build, too, slim with a slight showing of muscle. His eyes caught my attention, sparkling emeralds in a sea of alabaster white. If I met him in any other circumstance, I would be swooning, making a complete ass of myself. Instead, I gave him a puzzled look, not understanding why he was here. I took my seat and stared at Spielberg, the man beside me soon forgotten. "Have you heard of compromises, Alex?" Spielberg asked. This time I gave him a blank stare. After a moment, the man next to me began to fidget, uncomfortable with the silence. Spielberg spoke again. "Here's what we'll do. First, I take your ending; you write the screen play." A shocked look appeared on my face. Surely he couldn't expect me to write something as time consuming as a screen play. I had my next story to write. I began to shake my head, ready to reply when he interrupted. "I'm not going to have you read the script and request revision after revision because you don't like it. You're going to write it. Random House will wait for the next book." Random House. He had me there. There was nothing I could do. "You said first? What's second?" At this point, Spielberg looked at the man sitting beside me. "Alex Goodman, meet James Bass." "Please, just James." he said with a slight southern accent. I started at him and looked back at Spielberg. "I want him to play this part. He's a perfect fit for Travis." Spielberg said. "And you two are going to get to know each other. If you don't want him, I want a good reason why you don't. His being in a boy band isn't good enough." My mouth hung open. I looked back at James, a nervous smile playing on his lips. Spielberg sat back in his chair. "For the next 24 hours, you two are going to be the best of friends. Or else." To be continued . . .