WTR-LAB
Best Movie Star
Ch. 16 /
That same evening Matthew received a call from Dennis Coulter; the Fat Agent told him to come to Starlight Company the next morning for a face-to-face and to collect his pay from the "girl, interrupted" Crew. As soon as Matthew clocked out he handed over his duties and rushed to Starlight. After meeting Dennis Coulter he went straight to Finance and picked up his wages.
Because he showed up in person, Starlight's Cashier paid him cash on the spot. Ten percent agency commission was deducted, leaving Matthew with one hundred and eighty dollars.
Not much money, but it had been wrung out by racking his brains and pulling every trick he knew.
"Let's talk in my office," Dennis Coulter invited warmly.
Matthew thought for a second, then nodded. "Sure."
The cheque was in his pocket; it was time to draw a line under this tasteless Agent. Matthew knew he himself wasn't exactly classy, but he hadn't sunk to Dennis Coulter's level.
He followed the Agent into an office that housed five or six other Agents. Fortunately the room was large, so it didn't feel cramped.
At an unoccupied desk Dennis Coulter dragged over a chair and waved Matthew in. "Make yourself comfortable."
Once Matthew sat, the Agent asked, "Coffee? Or…?"
"Water's fine," Matthew answered off-handedly.
Dennis Coulter went to the cooler to fill a cup. Matthew figured he'd end things tactfully, but while he was hunting for words the young man opposite suddenly leaned forward. "You're Matthew Horner?"
Matthew blinked—Am I famous?—and nodded. "That's me."
The youth glanced at Dennis Coulter, who was still at the cooler, and lowered his voice. "Switch Agents. Dennis Coulter's got a lousy rep inside the company—low character. The minute you're no use he'll kick you to the curb."
"Really?" Matthew sighed, realizing the agency was as cut-throat as anywhere, and produced a thin smile. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." The young man slipped him a card at lightning speed. "If you can't find a rep right now, call me. I know plenty of producers and casting directors."
Matthew pocketed the card without comment. The youth peeked over, then snapped back to his monitor as if nothing had happened.
Dennis Coulter returned with two cups of water, set one in front of Matthew, and pulled up a chair.
"I've got a question," the Agent said, curious. "Matthew, how did you land that role?"
Matthew lifted the cup and answered before sipping, "Someone helped me convince Winona Ryder."
That confirmed Dennis Coulter's suspicions; he beamed. "How about this, Matthew—let's sign a long-term contract."
After meeting Dennis Coulter, Matthew had done some homework to keep from being screwed. He'd picked up the basics of Hollywood contracts: day-players only registered with the middleman agency; if a talent agency wanted you, you signed a formal deal and joined its vast reserve pool.
To protect actors, California passed tough laws. The California Talent Agencies Act states that the first contract between an actor and an Agent/agency can run no longer than one year; every renewal after that is capped at three years.
In other words, dumping an agency isn't hard if you're unhappy.
This limits agency power and keeps them in a service-provider role.
Matthew was mulling all this over,
so for a moment he didn't answer Dennis Coulter.
"About the contract—I'll have the office draw up a professional one next week," Dennis Coulter said, taking silence for consent, his grin stretching ear to ear. "No rush on that…"
His features almost folded in on themselves from smiling. "Matthew, could you invite Mr. Georgia Kacandes out to dinner?"
"Hm?" Matthew saw at once: the so-called long-term deal was just bait.
"Why don't you give him a call?" Dennis Coulter probed. "Ask Mr. Kacandes when he's free."
Matthew recalled that on the "girl, interrupted" set Dennis Coulter had asked whether he knew Georgia Kacandes. He'd neither confirmed nor denied it.
A guy who lives for profit had jumped to the wrong conclusion.
"Let's leave it for now," Matthew said, ready to state his real purpose today. "I can't get him to come out."
He glanced across and caught the young man eavesdropping.
Dennis Coulter grew impatient, thinking Matthew was stonewalling. "But you do know Mr. Georgia Kacandes, right?"
"Sure, I know him."
This fat guy's sense of purpose was even stronger than his own. Matthew couldn't be bothered to argue. "Mr. Georgia Kacandes is the producer of the 'girl, interrupted' Crew."
"You only need to introduce—"
Dennis Coulter hadn't finished when Matthew cut him off. "Problem is—he doesn't know me!"
"What?" Dennis Coulter seemed not to catch Matthew's words.
"I know Georgia Kacandes."
The so-called knowing was merely recognizing the man's identity. Matthew shrugged. "Georgia Kacandes doesn't know me!"
Dennis Coulter shot to his feet, a finger stabbing at Matthew. "You! You… you dared to trick me!"
"Trick you?" Matthew stood as well. "When did I ever say Georgia Kacandes knew me?"
"Uh…" Dennis Coulter searched his memory and froze.
"Ha… hahaha…"
Laughter came from across the desk. The young man lifted his head and burst out laughing at Dennis Coulter. "So this is the opportunity you bragged about? Haha…"
Dennis Coulter's face turned livid. He glared at the young man, then spun back to Matthew. "Don't expect me to land you a single job ever again—never!"
"Whatever." Matthew shrugged. "Actually, I came to tell you we're done working together."
He sighed, turned to leave, and added over his shoulder, "Still, thank you. You showed me how tough this job is—and how treacherous people can be."
With that, Matthew walked out of the office without looking back.
Dennis Coulter stood there blankly, as if stunned.
"So much for the simple-minded fool you mentioned." The young man finally had his chance for payback. "Dennis, turns out you're the fool, huh?"
Everyone else in the office looked over, sympathy in a few eyes, but mostly contempt.
An Agent strung along by a bit-part extra—word of that would make the whole industry laugh its head off.
Clutching a hundred and eighty dollars, Matthew stepped out of the Starlight Company building. For no clear reason he felt much lighter; watching Dennis Coulter's antics had grated on him—claiming he didn't hate it would be a lie.
"Maybe the moment I agreed to walk into his office…" Matthew knew he was no saint, "deep down I wanted to see him humbled."
With his ties to Dennis Coulter and Starlight severed, the next priority was finding a new agency. He had contacted three before; now, with time on his hands, he could pay them a visit.
First he headed to North Hollywood. Two of the agencies sat near Laurel Valley Drive—small outfits much like Starlight, fewer than ten Agents, mainly handling extras and minor actors.
Though receptionists greeted him, everything proceeded routinely. Like at Starlight, he left his ID, headshot, résumé and contact info—registration done. The only difference: under credits he specifically noted a speaking role in the "girl, interrupted" Crew.
When he handed the form back, he saw the receptionist circle that line in red.
After registering with those two agencies, he caught a bus to Burbank. The third company he'd called sat in the world's media capital.
No sooner had he reached Burbank than his phone rang—an unknown number.
"Could work be coming this fast?"
That red circle on the form fed his hopes; he answered at once.
"Hello, Mr. Matthew Horner! This is attorney Chris Walker."
The slightly familiar voice continued, "I urge you to pay the breach-of-contract penalty for the 'forbidden tarot' Crew immediately, or we'll resort to legal action."
The fantasy popped like a bubble. Matthew muttered, "Won't these ghosts leave me alone?"
Still, he had indeed broken the contract.
Broke and stalling, he pinched his throat and rasped, "Who is this? You've got the wrong number!"
Then he hung up and powered the phone off.
As for their threatened legal steps—he'd deal with those when they came. Big deal, a lawsuit; in every American movie he'd seen, those dragged on forever.
By the time a judgment came he might actually have the money.
With that thought, he quick-stepped to the address he'd called: Angel Talent Agency. A freestanding three-storey office block greeted him, two vans at the door and workers unloading desks and chairs into the building.
Matthew followed the movers inside; clearly this was a brand-new outfit.