Capítulo 8: Just Another Hollywood Story
Chapter 8
Hi, everyone, sorry for the wait; this chapter was a little bit longer than I meant for it to be. About 5000 words without comments. So before we get to the chapter itself. I want to make a few things clear. I am not the most romantic writer out there, nor am I all that good at lemons. I bring this up because there will be lemons in this story, and just a heads up. If you don't like them or find them too dull, sorry, it's really the best I can do, lol.
Cyniade, thank you and I will try.
Kei_Hofen, I don't give out my email normally, but you can find more of my stories on fanfiction, where you can also pm me.
alphin_cj Right now, it's Cox 1 and Salma 2. So, one last chance to everyone out there who hasn't made a pick. Place your comments here right now before I start the next chapter. Who should be in Scream? Cox or Salma.
Now on with the story.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Ceaser is perhaps one of the easiest guests I have ever interviewed. No, really, I mean it. He doesn't hide anything. He is extremely open. He doesn't dodge questions, tells you exactly what is on his mind, and never apologizes. Which, of course, gets him in trouble, but it's also why people like him. His openness is his greatest weapon. He shouts out to the world here I am, and if you don't like me, piss off. Which is completely different from this friendly image thing in Hollywood." Jay Leno says.
"Were you ever afraid of him?" Joe Rogan asks.
"Was I ever afraid of him? Well, let me put it this way: when I first saw him, Joe, he was sitting backstage and getting ready for the show. He was sitting there all by himself by himself, and everyone was giving him a wide birth because, to be frank, he did not look friendly. So, I took my producer to the side and asked hey, can I even joke with this guy. I mean, he looks like he will fucking kill me if I ever try." Jay answers.
Nodding his head, Joe says, "I can see that. I mean, I only interviewed him years later, so I never knew that guy from before he became a big deal, but I have watched his past interviews, so I get where you're coming from. So what happened."
Smiling now like he remembered something fondly, Jay said, "Well, he came out from backstage like he owned the building and broke the ice."
-1996-
You know, some people like to think that they have made it once they are invited to give an interview on a top-rated TV show like The Tonight Show. They would let it get to their heads and fill their minds with thoughts of glory or something like that. That wasn't how I felt as I sat backstage while Jay interviewed Gwyneth and Brad. Both of whom had agreed to be here to help introduce me to the world. No, I personally felt like I had just gotten to the starting line and that the race hadn't even begun. I had a long way to go before the race was over.
"Now, let me introduce you all to the mind behind the movie Se7en. He is the youngest screenwriter in history to be nominated for an Academy Award. Ladies and Gentlemen, Ceaser Espinar." Jay Leno says as the crowd starts to clamp.
Upon hearing this, I straightened up and started walking out onto the set. Now, you only get one shot at making an impression on the world—just one. After that, your image was set, and it was nearly impossible to change it. You could fuck it up easily enough, but you couldn't change it. With that knowledge in mind, I walk out the back the same way I did when I went to juvy or was on the streets. With absolute confidence and an attitude that said don't fuck with me. However, that didn't mean I needed to act like some punk kid.
So when I greet Jay Leno, I shake his hand like a man would. Then, I greet Brad with the same handshake and a friendly hug to Gwyneth.
"Hello, Ceaser, and welcome to the show." I hear Jay say as I sit next to Gwyneth.
"Happy to be here, Mr. Leo," I say to the man with respect and a calm voice.
Smiling and feeling more relaxed after hearing the respect in Ceaser's voice, Jay says, "Please, Ceaser, just call me Jay."
I nod my head and say, "All right, Jay. Before we start, however, do you mind if I say something to Gwyneth?"
A little taken off guard, Jay says, "Of course, be my guest."
Looking over at Gwyneth with a serious look on my face, I say, "Gwyneth, I have to ask you one last time. Please stop calling me already. I already told you I am working on a script for you."
The audience starts to laugh at hearing this as I say it in a solemn voice. Gwyneth, however, gives me an eye roll in turn before saying, "Oh come on, Ceaser, I have to make sure you keep your promise, Mr. Academy Award nominee."
"Oh dios, por favor, ayúdame." I say out loud with a moan.
"Hey, don't be looking for him to save you, Ceaser. I will keep calling you till you finish my script." Gwyneth says, like she is scolding me but in a playful way.
Looking over at Brad, I say, "Brad, help."
Brad, however, holds up his hands and says, "Hey, don't bring me into this, man. You're on your own."
Again, this earned laughter from the audience. Which makes me think, "Good, it's working." While this may have seemed very random from the outside looking in, everything we were saying was planned. Before the show even aired, I met with Gwyneth and Brad and discussed how to make me seem more open to people. It didn't need to be pointed out to them that I came off as naturally unwelcoming and aggressive. To fix this, we agreed to do some light banter without telling Jay Leo. I wanted to help him and the world see me as more than just some punk kid.
"Thanks, Brad, you're a true friend," I tell him.
Looking slightly offended at my comment, Brad says, "Hey, if you wanted my help, you should have promised me a script too."
As the crowd laughs. I could see the gears in Jay's head moving, and he quickly understood what we were doing. Then he jumps in, "Wait…wait a moment, you're writing a script for Gwyneth?"
"Well, I had to, Jay. You know she may not look it, but Gwyneth can be scary when she wants to." I say, and we all look at her in her fancy evening gown. Looking about as scary as a kitten and probably as heavy as one.
Jay nods, saying, "Oh ya, I can see that."
Gwyneth pouts cutely and says, "Aw, come on, Jay, not you too."
The crowd eats it up. Laughing at the little comedy act we are putting on for them.
"But no, really, I am working on a script for Gwyneth. Of my own free will. Maybe not too sure about free will." I say to Jay with a smile while Gwyneth rolls her eyes.
Jay laughs and says, "Should I call the cops?"
"Maybe I will get back to you on that, Jay," I say, and Gwyneth waves us off as if to say I am done with this.
Still laughing, Jay says, "I have to say, Ceaser, you are not at all what I thought you would be like."
"Thank you. May I ask what you thought I would be like," I say to him with a smile.
Taking a moment, Jay says, "Well, honestly, I have seen Se7en."
The audience starts to clamp and cheer, and I hold up my fist in a right-on moment.
"So I am going to be honest. I thought you would be scarier. Like borderline psychotic." Jay says.
I rub my chin and smile, "Well, give it time, Jay. We just met, and I am sure you, like everyone else, have seen my rap sheet."
My voice sounds more serious than joking, but the audience laughs anyway. Jay, not so much as I was looking right at him. But he is too good a host and comedian to let it get to him, so he rolls with it.
"I have, and I must say it's long—like from here to the parking lot. Is that something you're okay talking about?" Jay asks.
"I have nothing to hide, Jay," I tell him. It's pretty much giving him the okay to ask his questions.
"Alright, well, I guess the first question would be, how many times have you been arrested?" Jay asks.
"From between the ages of 10 to 16. 36 times and been sent to 16 different juvenile detention centers." I answer him.
"Wow, 36 times?" I hear Brad ask in surprise.
"36 times," I say to Brad.
"When was the last time you were arrested?" Jay asks.
"Ahh, well, it was after I was healed up enough from being shot in the chest to be taken into custody," I say to him.
Everyone is a bit shocked by this. Seeing as, unlike my record, my being shot wasn't well known.
"You have been shot?" Jay asks in surprise.
"Shot, stabbed, beaten up, bit by a dog twice. I have lived a colorful life, Jay." I say to him in a joking manner. Seeming not to care about any of that. Which I didn't.
"Wow, I mean wow. Why were you shot?" Jay asks.
"Well, I was selling drugs on a street corner that was the turf of a gang that didn't take a liking to what I was doing. So, they shot me for it." I said to Jay like it was no big deal.
"Wow, that is…. That is something Ceaser." Jay says, not knowing where to go from here.
"Yes, it is, but you know Jay, it was kind of a blessing in disguise," I tell him.
Looking slightly surprised, Jay says, "Getting shot was a blessing?"
"That is right. You see, Jay, it is because I was shot that I ended up in the hospital, where I had….. I guess you can call it a wake-up call, you know. A moment of clarity and a question that needed to be answered." I say to him.
"Can I ask what that question was?" Jay asks.
I took a moment before answering, "Well, Jay, the question was simple. Is this how I wanted to die? As a nobody, a nothing. Someone who no one will miss or even remember?"
"I am going to take it; your answer was no," Jay says.
"Hell yes, Jay, it was a no. This isn't how I wanted it all to end. So I picked up a pin, got some paper, got to work on Se7en, and came to Hollywood, where luck would smile on me." I say to him.
"I would say so. Se7en has cleared 150 million dollars, and you have been nominated for an Academy Award. You must be proud of yourself." Jay says to me.
I nod and say, "You know something, Jay, I am, but at the same time, I am more thankful to all the people who got me this far. Even if I don't win, I am thankful to Andrew Walker, who read the script and took it to the studio, where he put his career and reputation on the line to get this script that was written by an 18-year-old made into a movie. I also thank the producer, Arnold Kopelson, for joining us on this crazy gamble. Brad, Gwyneth, and Morgan knew full well that an 18-year-old wrote this script before agreeing to take their roles in the movie. And to everyone else who made this possible for me. I am thankful to those great men and women who took a high-risk chance without a guarantee of success. I thank you guys, really thank you."
The audience starts to clap wildly, and Brad and Gwyneth say thank you while acting slightly embarrassed. While in truth, nearly all of that was total bullshit. Hell, even Jay knew it was bullshit, most likely. Brad didn't know I was the writer of the movie he was about to star in until after filming had started. Nor did Gwyneth or Morgan do to the studio, fearing, and rightfully so, that no real actor would take the role without asking for a higher salary. The only people who generally took a risk on me were David and Arnold. But it was agreed by all parties that saying the others had known I had written it before agreeing to anything only made the movie look better. It made it look like it was some kind of group effort that we all believed in and were willing to risk it all on this one thing. This allowed us all to look like geniuses when, in reality, it came down to three men, two of whom lied their asses off to get the film green-lit. But that was Hollywood for you. Nothing is ever what it seems.
After my little speech, I guess you can call it, the interview turned to other things. Where we joked and laughed. Till the show was over and we got up to leave.
As we left the set and I went backstage, Jay stopped me, "Hey, Ceaser, hold up a moment."
Stopping, I turned to face the talk show host, who was all smiles.
"I have to say, Ceaser, that was…. That was great. You did wonderful. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were willing to talk about your past like that." Jay says to me.
"It was nothing, Jay. I was happy to do it." I say to him.
"That may be so, but it sure as hell wasn't nothing. Most people who come on my show want to hide their past and not answer the hard questions. You did, and that is something." Jay says while pointing his finger at me.
I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Well, what can I say, Jay? I am not scared of my past."
Nodding his head, Jay says, "I can see that. Listen, if your next movie is a hit, I want to invite you back to the show. That sounded good to you?"
"Sounds good to me, Jay, and trust me, it will be a hit. Maybe not as big as Se7en, but I guarantee it will be a hit." I claim in a firm voice before shaking his hand and saying goodbye.
What went unsaid between us was that I wouldn't be invited back if it weren't a hit. We didn't need to say it. That was business. Jay would be welcoming so long as I was a big deal. As soon as I wasn't….well, that is life.
Later on, after I did, at last, a few dozen interviews, I was sitting in a limo that New Line had rented on my behalf. I sat back, smiling at the poster in my hand and looking at the drop-dead gorgeous woman sitting next to me. Who happened to be the same woman on the poster.
Rolling her eyes at me, Salma says, "Stop smiling."
"Not till you admit it," I tell her.
"I am not admitting to anything." She states this as a fact.
"I hear poster sales are going through the roof," I tell her.
Crossing her arms, she says, "That means nothing."
"You know, I think I will use this later tonight myself. You know, join in with half the country's young men." I joke.
Which sees her snatch the poster from my hands, "Pervertido bastarda."
I hold my heart and say, "That hurts Salma."
"God, I liked it better when you called me Miss Hayek," Salma sighed.
I laugh and stop teasing her. Instead, I will focus on tonight. "You ready for this?"
Letting out a deep breath, Salma says, "Not really, are you?"
I look at her and say, "I am fearless and therefore powerful. This is only one night of many to come."
"So confident." She says with a smile.
"I have no choice but to be. If I win tonight or don't, it makes little difference. It's only the beginning for me. And you, for that matter." I say to her.
Smiling at me, she says, "You really think so."
Looking at her in her red and very sexy dress, looking like a million bucks, I answer, "I said that after From Dusk till Dawn, you would become Hollywood's next sex symbol, and I was right. But that isn't where it ends for you. Even if you don't get the part in Scream, you're destined for great things, Salma. Don't you ever doubt it, understand."
Seeing his cheeks turning red and a broad smile forming on her lips, Salma says, "You know, Ceaser, you keep speaking like that, and I may just fall for you."
I shake my head and say, "Don't let me be but a passing moment."
The limo stops, and we can see the flashes from the cameras outside.
Taking one more moment, I say to her, "It's game time. Don't forget to smile."
"I should be the one telling you that." She answers as the door opens, and I step out.
While I wasn't a celebrity just yet, I had to give it up to Warner Bros. They truly knew what they were doing as the cameras turned straight to me and started to take pictures—giving me the star treatment even though I could tell by the faces of the cameramen that they were not that interested in me. At first, anyway, once Salma stepped out, everything changed, and who could blame them? She was, in a word, gorgeous. She was too good for me, and we all knew it, but that was the point.
It was something people often forget, both men and women. It isn't only the man who made himself famous. When it came to Hollywood, it also came down to the woman he had hanging on his arm. The better looking and famous the woman, the more she elevated the man and vice versa. That is why I asked her to be my date tonight. Not only was she quickly becoming known as one of the sexiest women in Hollywood, but she was also just famous enough to be recognizable, which would get people talking about any possible relationship we may have.
How granted, on the surface, it seemed like I had more to gain from this than she did. After all, her fame was somewhat higher than my own, and the truth was I was not nearly as good-looking as her. It could even be said that I was using my position as assistant producer and a promise for her to be in the movie I was working on to use her to promote myself. That, however, would be a shallow and stupid way to look at things. The truth was she had more to gain here than me. If anyone knew anything about Hollywood, they would know the red carpet was more about the women walking it than the men.
On the red carpet, the women of Hollywood got to show themselves as trendsetters. The right dress and look could elevate a woman's career to new heights or even recover a failing one. There was also the benefit of just being here. Sure, her agent probably could have gotten Salma an invite, but the attraction she was getting now by being with a nominee was too good of an opportunity to pass up. If my guess turned out to be right tomorrow, she would be in several magazines, and of course, offers for more roles would come as a byproduct. As for me, if Scream failed for some reason, I would be quickly forgotten. Not that it would fail. Of that, I was sure.
After we made our way down the red carpet, I quickly took her to greet people she didn't know yet, like Brad, Gwyneth, and Morgan. Each of whom was a more prominent name in Hollywood than she was. Brad greeted her with his typical laid-back attitude but seemed a bit surprised to see Salma with me. He even gave me a look or respect for bringing her as my date. Gwyneth was more standoffish, but that wasn't a surprise. Competition between Hollywood actresses was far more fierce than between men. Primarily because women in Hollywood had shorter shelf lives than men. Few women continued to have careers past the age of 30, so of course, bitter fighting over top roles was commonplace. Of course, there were always exceptions to the rule. These two are good examples of that. However, they had no idea they would still be big names well into their 50s.
As for Morgan, who I hadn't seen for some time, he was sweet as can be. A real gentleman, if there ever was such a thing. I'm not going to lie; I hated him at the moment, what with that deep voice of his. But I digress. After greeting the main cast, I said hello to David next and introduced him to Salma. He was more than happy to meet Hollywood's next sex idol, and just by looking at him, I could see the gears in his head working. Undoubtedly, he wondered if he could use Salma in his next movie.
That was the thing about David and all directors, for that matter. They always looked at actresses and actors, wondering what role fit them best. Even if they were taking time off, they were never truly off. There was also the fact that, unlike Arnold, he had a little more faith in my talent than Arnold did. She had to be someone special if I was being her over to talk with him. At least, that is what he was telling himself.
Last but not least was Arnold, who didn't say much to Salma. Not for any particular reason, mind you. It was just he was an old hand at this game. He knew I had brought her over to meet him so he could both get a feel for her and know I wanted her to get the role in Scream over Cox. A type of slight push and one he was still clearly unsure about. Upon meeting her, Arnold could say she had the looks for a teenage slasher movie. The young men who went to see the film would love her, but the real question was, did she fit the role? That he would have to wait and see about. He had to give Ceaser credit; however, bringing her as his date for the Awards was a brilliant move. It not only gave him more exposure but also gave her credibility.
After our little meet and greet, we went to find our seats. Once we sat down, I kind of zoned out. I just didn't care that much about who won and who didn't. In fact, I didn't even look into my mind to see who was supposed to win. It just didn't matter all that much at the end of the day. The nomination was good enough, and it gave me a good rep for the first movie I had ever written. So when it came time for them to announce the Best Original Screenplay, I just smiled at the cameras, and when they announced Christopher McQuarrie as the winner, I clamped just like everyone else.
I did, however, get a pat on the back from David, who was sitting next to me and leaned over to say, "That should have been you.
I respond by saying, "One day, it will be both of us up there."
The rest of the Awards are called out in short order. Again, I zone out, however. More or less mirroring everyone else. Clapping when everyone else was and laughing when they did. Being too busy thinking about what comes next. Looking through the knowledge in my head about movies and shows that are to come. Till it lands on something I could use.
"That could work. While it was a horrible movie, if I played my cards right, it should allow me to start cutting my teeth in directing. After all, according to David, TV is easier to work in than movies." I thought to myself as the Awards started to come to an end.
After the Academy Awards were over, Salma and I were invited to an after-party by the big winner of the night, Mel Gibson. Well, all the winners and losers were invited. After all, even if we didn't win, it was still a big deal to be nominated. Just being nominated spoke volumes about our talent, and while the knowledge in my head told me the Academy Awards would drop in importance down the line, it still meant something to people today. So we went, but not for me. We went for Salma, who could use this party to make new connections in Hollywood. On the other hand, I could not show up at all, and no one would bat an eye. Such was the fate of writers.
It was while I was at the party that I started to wonder why Mel Gibson had such a bad reputation as a horrible drunk. Sure, by the time me and Salma arrived, he was already two bottles in and saying some pretty fucked up shit, but really doesn't anyone know how to deal with drunks. I found what he was doing amusing to the point that I even started to laugh, which ended up with Mel getting in my face. But I wasn't scared of some drunk pissant Hollywood fruitcake—my exact words to Mel.
We nearly came to blows after I said that, but that was only till I cleared the table next to us, rolled up the arm sleeve, and challenged him to an arm wrestling contest. Where the winner took all, and the other was a straight-up bitch. Now if anyone had ever met Mel, they would know Mel didn't like his manhood being called into question or being called a bitch, so he accepted.
To be honest, I wasn't 100 percent sure what happened next. I do remember winning the first round, much to Mel's anger and him demanding a best two out of three. That just kept escalating till it turned into some kind of drinking game. Then, I remember a loud voice calling both of us girly men and challenging us both. This was followed by Mel, me, Sylvester Stallone, Brad Pitt, and I am pretty sure Arnold Schwarzenegger is taking off our shirts and comparing muscles. Now, I am not built like Arnold or Stallone, but the scars on my body, two gunshot wounds on my chest, and tattoos gave me an edge. Combining that with my boxer's body, I had a dangerous feeling about me that the others didn't have.
But while I was drunk enough to forget some things, I was not so drunk that I didn't realize what happened next. It must have been around midnight that, with a little bit of help from Salma, I found myself in her much nicer apartment. We didn't talk much on the drive over to her apartment or on our way up to her room. There wasn't much to say after all, and she had drunk quite a bit as well. Upon entering her apartment, I walked over to her couch and sat down.
Maybe it was just the alcohol that was lowering her standards. Or perhaps it was the show of bravado at the party and the alcohol. Whatever the case, she seemed to have forgotten my age or what type of message she was sending me by bringing me to her apartment.
Before anything went any further, I told her, "Salma, you know I am not that drunk, right?"
Sitting right beside me, she says, "Really, it was hard to tell with what happened at the party."
"Being in a beautiful woman's apartment tends to sober a man up. So before we go too far, I have to ask if you are sure about this?" I ask.
"Sure about what Ceaser?" Salma asked like she didn't know what messages she was sending me by pushing her chest out towards me and causally licking her lips.
At this point, any other man would have given in and been on her without a second thought, but I wasn't like most men. It wasn't that I didn't want to fuck her. God knows my body screamed at me to give in to what we both desired. But like I told Arnold, I wasn't going to let a moment of pleasure fuck everything up, and I knew all too well that even the accusation of sexual assault could end my not yet established career early.
"You know what I am talking about. I can't help you get this role more than I already have." I say to her.
"Ceaser, do you really think I am that type of woman?" She asks me.
Looking her in the eyes, I say, "No."
"Good, because this is, what did you call it? Ah, yes, a passing moment. So let it be that and nothing more." Salma says to me with a smile on her lips.
"A passing moment, huh? I can deal with that." I say, then pull her over and onto my lap as our lips meet in a heated kiss. My hands slowly roaming up and down her body. As her hands ran up and down my chest till her fingers reached the bottom of my shirt, and she took it off.
Helping her do so, I toss the shirt to the side, and she stops for a moment to look at the bullet scars on my chest. Her fingers ran up and down them along with the other marks on my body—the marks of a hard life. Seeing them made her forget that the man she was on top of was 10 years younger than her.
"Such a hard life you have lived so far." She says in a soft voice.
"A life that isn't over yet," I say to her, and our eyes meet as I help her stand back up. My hands go to her dress, and I pull it off her body.
Letting it drop to the floor, leaving her only in a red thong, stockings, and matching heels. Her braless chest was now on full display for my eyes to feast on. This was not the first time I had ever seen a naked woman or had sex. But none of the girls I had fucked in the past could compare to Salma, who I brought in for another kiss before picking her up and taking her to the bedroom.
Her legs wrap around me as I do, and when we enter her bedroom, I lay her down softly on her bed and stand there looking at her. Drinking in every curve of her body. Salma, however, isn't passive by any means as I do this. Sitting up, her hands go to my belt and start to undo my pants while her lips kiss my stomach till she can pull down my pants and free my manhood, which she then takes in one hand and starts to stroke. After a few moments, she brought her lips to kiss the tip before running her tongue around the head and making me let out a small moan of pleasure.
Slowly she opens her mouth and takes the head in her mouth, sucking on it softly before moving on to taking in more of my length. Bobbing her head up and down my shaft, it was very clear she had done this before. How often I didn't know, nor did I care. I just enjoyed her mouth for the time being. Till I wanted more and pushed her off my cock. Laying her back down on the bed.
Getting on my knees, I push my fingers into the sides of the waistband of her thong and start to pull it down. A little bit of wetness sticks to the inside of her thong. Clearly, no foreplay was needed at this point. She wanted me, and I wanted her, but one good turn deserves another. So taking what I had learned from whores, and bitches on the street, I started to go down on her. Drinking in her loud moans like the finest wines. Till she was begging me to fuck her.
Which I am all too happy to do as I stand up and pull her closer to the edge of the bed. Put her legs on my shoulders and line my cock up with her pussy, before sliding it in. Groaning at how tight she felt around my cock. I started trusting my cock in and out of her pussy slowly at first. Watching as she moans under me and her tits start to bounce on her chest. I may not have won an Oscar tonight, but I sure as hell won a grand prize tonight. I thought to myself as I fuck her through the rest of the night.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder