Private Lives

Sam blinked at him. This was meant to be his big payday. No one won an Oscar for doing voice work on a cartoon, but the financial rewards could be phenomenal. He had been promised ten million for what amounted to a week’s work, plus all the extras for the merchandise: licensing his voice in the talking dolls, mugs, greetings cards, the whole caboodle. After all his hard work, this was supposed to be his golden pay-off, his retirement fund. And now it was slipping through his fingers.

‘It’s fallen through?’ he said, panicking. ‘What do you mean – that it’s not happening at all?’

Jim shook his head slowly.

‘Course it’s happening. Animation’s almost done. The problem is you voicing the lead . . .’

‘But we signed a contract.’

Jim picked up a handful of nuts from a bowl on the table and tossed a couple into his mouth.

‘Look, they’re not happy about the publicity you’ve been getting. Dreamscape is a family company and they can get very jumpy about that sort of thing.’

‘But by the time the movie’s out, this is going to be old news.’

Jim shrugged.

‘Right now they’re pointing at the morality clause in the contract and they’re saying they don’t want to take their chances. It’s Hollywood, baby. They don’t want to add any risk to their investment.’

By now the restaurant was beginning to fill up. There was still a party atmosphere – lots of shouted greetings, air-kissing and shoulder-clasping – it was LA, after all. If an alien had stepped into the scene, they would have concluded that the people gathered at the party were the closest friends imaginable, rather than deadly rivals prepared to stab each other in the back for the next movie deal. People were glancing in Sam’s direction, but most were looking away again, embarrassed looks on their faces. Two-faced wankers, he thought angrily. Half the people in the restaurant had done exactly what he’d done at some point in their career, probably on a regular basis. But Sam had got caught.

‘Look, we need to talk,’ said Jim, sipping a fruit juice.

‘More bad news?’ said Sam cynically.

‘Just a strategy.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s Jessica.’

‘Jim, enough of that.’

‘Seriously, I know she didn’t want to speak to you a few weeks ago, but I think you should try again and make it work.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you need her. You need stability. A wife. Even a family.’

‘What I need is you getting off my back.’

‘I mean it, Sam. You have a credibility problem. You need goodwill on your side and you need it fast. Hollywood loves a love story. I can make this work for you. Let me talk to her.’

‘I mean it, Jim. No.’

As the VIP area started to fill, Sam felt as if the walls of the restaurant were closing in on him. He stood up.

‘Where you going?’ snapped Jim.

‘The bathroom.’

‘But Evan Black is coming this way. You need to network.’

‘I need the bathroom.’

His agent tutted.

‘The damage limitation starts in five minutes. You got that long to get back here.’