Chương 50: Chapter 50: Zombie Strippers
"Very good, your performance was amazing!"
French director Michel seldom left his director's chair, but he walked onto the set to speak to Jim Carrey: "Your performance is Oscar-worthy. You deserve an Oscar!"
Jim Carrey simply smiled and didn't respond.
Michel then turned to Martin, who was acting alongside him: "Kid, trust my judgment. Your acting is excellent."
Since it was the director, Martin didn't have the right to remain silent. He forced himself to respond: "Thank you, Director. I will work hard."
At the makeshift flea market set, Kate Winslet's mouth almost reached her ears in a sardonic smile.
Since their argument that day, she hadn't spoken a word to the director outside of work.
Michel praised the other actors as well, seemingly trying to convey some sort of sentiment.
The film crew was just like a workplace, and backstabbing was all too common.
When someone feels good, someone else will inevitably feel bad.
Martin returned to the rest area and had just sat down when a chocolate-skinned hand reached out to him, holding a cup with a straw: "Martin, want some water?"
Martin looked up and saw Rosa. Perhaps because of her mixed heritage, she didn't look like a typical African American, and was quite pretty.
"I'm not thirsty, but thanks," he politely declined.
Rosa was enthusiastic: "If you need anything, just call me. I'm right nearby."
Martin responded courteously: "Thanks."
This woman had been hovering around him since the day before yesterday.
Robert came in carrying a box of Coca-Colas, panting. He placed the cans on the table in the rest area.
Just as Martin was about to grab a bottle, he stopped himself and sat back down.
Though it wasn't in glass bottles, Robert's Coca-Cola...
Robert sat down next to Martin, wiping his sweat, and asked, "Rosa still hanging around you?"
Martin replied, "I don't have the authority to make her leave."
"She's interested in you," Robert said, sounding bored. "It would be easy to ask her out."
Martin shook his head: "Buddy, the free stuff is the most expensive. If I get involved with her, guess what she'll want?"
Robert wasn't dumb: "If she keeps pestering you, I'll help."
"Actually, there's something I need your help with." Martin had spoken with Louise last night, who mentioned that Michel Gondry was part of the French director's circle in Hollywood.
In Hollywood, various hidden factions exist, and the most noticeable division is by nationality.
In the afternoon, work wrapped up temporarily, and many people began to leave the set.
Michel had a peculiar habit of using the restroom for a solid fifteen minutes before leaving.
Precise to the minute, Michel exited his private stall, the flushing sound behind him.
As he walked out, he heard local Georgian accents in the restroom.
"You're inviting me to a British restaurant for dinner? There's a British restaurant in Atlanta? Even if there is, who would eat there?"
"There is one. They even published a 'Guide to British Cuisine!'"
"I know," Martin said sarcastically, "the infamous garbage sorting guide."
Michel, emerging, heard this and chuckled. Seeing that it was Martin who spoke, he said, "The British know nothing about good food."
Martin, seeming to argue, said, "London does have restaurants ranked in the world's top ten."
Michel frowned slightly.
Martin's tone shifted: "And they all serve French cuisine."
"Martin, there aren't many Americans with such a clear understanding of food," Michel praised.
"That's because I've been poisoned by British food," Martin said, his face showing as if recalling a terrifying experience.
Robert, Martin's acting partner and an established background artist, stood behind Martin. His honest and decent appearance gave extra weight to Martin's words.
Michel, under a lot of stress from continuous work, asked, "Are there any good French restaurants in Atlanta?"
Since Martin had come prepared, he answered immediately: "Yes, downtown. They definitely don't serve any of that dreadful British food."
Michel was in a rare good mood: "Could I impose on you as a local to guide me?"
"It would be my pleasure," Martin replied.
During dinner, they talked about the romantic city of Paris, foggy London; elegant French people, and those dreadful British soccer hooligans...
Language is an art. Martin managed to obtain Michel Gondry's personal business card and exchanged contact information.
A bit earlier, in the president's office of Grey Company.
Director Benjamin Garvin rushed in, blocking Kelly Grey who was about to leave.
He placed a script on her desk.
"This is something we just finished writing," Benjamin said, harboring his own dreams as any director would, not wanting to spend his life making late-night TV movies: "The idea came from when you told me about Martin lying dead watching the protagonists fall in love."
Kelly looked puzzled: "That was something Martin joked about with me."
"But Martin did really well in that sketch last time. I did my research; he works at a male strip club, so I incorporated elements of that into the script," Benjamin explained.
Looking at the new script, Kelly saw the title: Zombie Strippers.
After reading a few pages, she got the gist, closed the script, and said, "Ben, the budget is too high. At this script's scale, $500,000 wouldn't be enough."
Benjamin had done a rough budget: "It would actually need $800,000 to $1,000,000."
Kelly, focusing on the higher figure, said: "With $1,000,000, we could make at least eight late-night movies, sell them to cable networks, and profit from DVD and video sales. Investing it all in one movie is too risky."
Benjamin pleaded, "Kelly, we can't keep making low-budget late-night movies forever, can we? Don't you want to break into the mainstream? Don't you want the company to truly grow?"
Kelly shook her head: "I've been in Hollywood. Do you know how many movies make a profit each year? They can wait years to recoup costs and make profits incrementally. For us, risking $1,000,000 and not making it back in six months would severely strain our finances."
There were things she didn't share with Benjamin, such as her interest in General Motors' abandoned factory space.
"I have confidence in this script," Benjamin insisted.
As the company's visionary director, Kelly couldn't outright reject him. She thought for a moment and said, "Make a budget and a detailed plan for it. I need to consider it carefully."
"I'll try my best to cut costs," Benjamin agreed.
Once outside, he scratched his head. Filmmaking is an art, but at its core, it's business.
On his way out, Benjamin ran into casting director Lynne.
Sporting a Warriors championship baseball cap, Lynne asked, "How'd it go?"
"Boss wants me to make a budget and plan. She needs to consider it thoroughly," Benjamin explained briefly.
"That's a good sign," Lynne said.
"It is," Benjamin replied offhandedly.
They separated and each got into their cars. Lynne, after thinking for a moment, dialed a number: "Adam, meet me at the Black Bar in half an hour, and bring your best stuff."
At home, Adam Smith ended the call, opened a hidden compartment on his shelf, grabbed a plastic bag, and headed out.
Kelly left the office and went to a nearby quiet bar, entering a private room with its own bar.
The room included Louise, the bartender Martin, and Kate Winslet.
Louise made formal introductions between Kelly and Kate: "You've never met formally before, but I've known both of you for about the same time. I met Kelly in '93 and Kate in '95."
Martin prepared four different cocktails. Raising his glass from behind the bar, he toasted: "To our acquaintance."
The four of them clinked glasses.
Kate Winslet took a sip of her refreshingly cold Long Island iced tea, the chill somewhat soothing her recent frustrations: "That annoying French director has a head full of crap. Excuse my language, but I just can't hold it in."
She vented, "Louise, if it weren't for you, I'd have caused a scene and bullied him into changing directors a long time ago."
Martin put down his glass and said, "Then he'd probably trim the sides off the French flag."
Kate burst into laughter.
European flags often look similar, leaving Kelly puzzled: "What's that supposed to mean?"
Kate laughed and explained, "If you cut off the blue and red from the French flag, you're left with white. That's what the French do best."
Louise gave Martin a sideways glance, thinking how extraordinary he was.
Martin said seriously: "Haven't you heard? No one can flee faster than the French when Paris is under attack!"
Kate lifted her glass: "Martin, I must drink to that!"
Martin toasted with her: "My pleasure."
Louise reminded, "Kate, if you want to use this film to aim for an Oscar, you should keep your temper in check, even though he only handles on-set shooting."
Like her lifelong friend, Kate had always been fixated on Oscars: "I've been nominated several times and lost every time."
"Not enough PR?" Kelly asked.
Kate shook her head: "Those old men think I'm too young."
Martin interjected, "I'm an outsider, but may I share my thoughts?"
Kate, clinking glasses again with him, said, "Of course."
"Kate, your stunning looks often overshadow your acting. I checked out the Oscar winners from the past decade, and how should I put it?" Martin began.
He slowed his speech and added emphasis: "It's basically a game where only women who turn into monstrous characters or neurotics can win."
The three women all laughed at his words.
Kate Winslet grabbed the bottle and refilled her glass: "Martin, you're absolutely right. Every beautiful woman targeted by the Oscars should drink to you."
*****
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