Hollywood Director 1992

[Chapter 16: Quentin's Ecstasy]

Early that morning, before the sun came up, Link woke up Quentin, who was still fast asleep, to sign the contract and transfer the funds.

Quentin climbed out of bed, grumbling as he repeatedly asked Link if he really wanted to sell the script, insisting that once it was sold, there was no turning back.

Link assured him it was the real deal, that there would be no regrets, and they could go ahead and sign the contract. Quentin thought it was a decent idea. They headed over to the nearby Rogers & Jones Law Firm on Wall Street, where they signed a draft contract in front of a notary.

...

After that, they went to Citibank to complete the transfer. Link glanced at the numbers on the bank statement and let out a sigh of relief; the trip had been worthwhile.

Link stepped outside to call Jerome Preston in Los Angeles, asking about the conversation with the manager of United Theatre.

Jerome Preston replied with a hint of exasperation, explaining that William Mason, the manager at the United Theatre in Burbank, agreed to lower the deposit but insisted on a minimum of $20,000 -- no less.

"Link, there's really no need to bargain for a deposit of $20,000 or $30,000. If you're short on cash and don't want to borrow from anyone, how about this? I can cover the deposit for now, and once AMC headquarters pays out bonuses, I'll deduct it from your share. What do you think?"

"Jerome, I appreciate your kindness, but that won't be necessary. Please let Mr. Mason know I'll pay the full $30,000 deposit. I hope that when Buried premieres, I can get some prominent display space at the theater for promotional purposes."

"You have the money for the deposit? Where did you manage to make $30,000 in three days? You didn't rob a bank in New York, did you?"

"Of course not! I wrote a script, someone liked it, and I sold it at a good price."

Link glanced back at Quentin, who was still on the phone in the car. Before they went to New York, he had asked Jerome Preston to help negotiate a lower deposit because he was worried the script wouldn't sell for more than $30,000.

Now that it had sold for $50,000, he felt emboldened. There was no need to act overly broke; being too needy could invite scorn. Earning a few large sums in just a few days would earn him admiration.

"A script sold for several thousand dollars? Wow, Link, I've got to say, you're an unbelievable guy. With your talent, why don't you stick to screenwriting or become a promising marketing executive? Instead, you waste your energy on a film project that seems to have no future. I don't get it; sometimes I struggle to understand how you think."

Jerome spoke with a complex tone.

Link chuckled and asked Jerome to help arrange screenings at a few theaters, promising to sign the distribution contract when he returned and to promote the movie.

...

In the car by the street, Quentin saw Link still on the phone and took out his newly purchased Motorola to call producer Lawrence Bender.

Once the call connected, Quentin excitedly told Lawrence he had snagged a fantastic script for an incredibly low price -- almost as cheap as that jacket he bought last time.

"A script? You used to say others' scripts were garbage. Why would you think about spending money on someone else's work?"

"Ha, it's not the same. This script is genuinely amazing and perfectly matches my style. I would bet that if this movie gets made, it's going to be fantastic. I'm even considering whether to shoot this new script first and save my current one for a couple of years down the line. Writing scripts is exhausting; I've been at it for six months, lost half my hair, and still can't craft one I'm happy with."

Quentin said, rolling his eyes.

"But let's set the script-change discussion aside for now. When you get back to Los Angeles, you can tell me where you found it. If it's so good, why did the writer sell it at such a low price? You didn't run into a scam artist, did you?"

"Absolutely not. The guy who sold me the script is named Link, a director like myself. He's quite talented, both as a writer and director, not too far behind me. But I think he might be a bit out there in the head -- he's a hardliner. The reason he sold the script is that he wants to self-finance Buried."

"Self-financing Buried? That bizarre movie he wrote, directed, and starred in?"

"That's the one! I've told him countless times, 'Stop it, man. That film has no selling points, and even if it gets released, it'll bomb.' He didn't listen, and instead sought out film distribution companies. I heard he approached fifty or sixty places, and not a single one would agree to distribute Buried. Even still, he wouldn't give up. He is actually considering self-distributing the film."

Quentin glanced at Link in the phone booth and lowered his voice, "To self-fund a movie, you need money. If he's short on cash, selling the script is his only option. But you know what's even funnier?"

"What?"

"Ha! To sell the script, he flew from Los Angeles to New York just to hand it to me in person. When I asked how much he wanted for it, he said, 'Whatever.' I nudged with $50,000, and he didn't negotiate. He reached out his hand and said, 'Deal!'"

Quentin grinned widely.

"Link might be a good writer with potential as a director; he just doesn't seem to have a knack for negotiations."

"That's my thought too. That's why when I signed with him, I felt a bit guilty, like I was taking advantage of a nice guy."

"As long as Link was willing to make the deal, you shouldn't feel too burdened."

"I get it. I won't keep you -- Link just arrived, and I'm taking him to the airport."

...

Quentin hung up, looking at Link as he jumped into the passenger seat. "Aren't you going to hang out in New York a few more days?"

"Buried is premiering in a couple of days, and I need to handle some stuff back home."

Link fastened his seatbelt.

"Where's it premiering? Will it be here in New York?"

Quentin started the car.

"For now, it's only showing at one theater in Burbank."

"Only one?"

Quentin's muscles twitched at the corners of his mouth.

In the film industry, even a project lacking market potential typically premiered in at least four theaters. Link hustled to sell the script to secure funds for self-distribution, and he only managed to connect with one cinema.

"One theater with ten screens, though it's not much, I'm sure in a few weeks, not just theaters in New York will be showing Buried, but theaters in every city across America will pick it up."

"Ah, right, right. You're right. I hope your dream comes true."

Quentin ground his teeth, holding back laughter at the thought of sadder things, making sure not to burst out laughing in front of Link.

When they arrived at JFK Airport, Link stepped out of the car and waved goodbye. Quentin watched him walk away, then rolled up the window and burst out laughing, slumping over the steering wheel.

*****

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