“Hey, I’m going to need 50,000,” Ben says. “I’m going to need it by tomorrow.”
I may have switched my focus, but annoyance may have played a fair part in my immediate response. “You’re out of your goddamned mind,” I tell him. “First off, you said you were going to stop calling me, and now you’re telling me that you need fucking 50,000 by tomorrow? You can go fuck yourself, you little piece of shit!”
“If that’s the way it’s going to be,” Ben starts.
“You said you weren’t going to raise the payments anymore,” I tell him, switching from antagonism as a tactic to guilt. “I don’t know when you’re going to call and you say you need it by tomorrow; things are pretty crazy around here, you know.”
“Yeah,” he says, “you see, the problem is that absolutely none of that is my problem. So, you figure out whatever you need to figure out, but I want that money in my account before midnight tomorrow night.”
I take a deep breath.
It was never the nudity that I had the problem with, really. I mean, I would certainly like to have control over how much of my body is available for the public viewing consumption, but I’m sure I’m going to have at least a couple of nude scenes during my career. It’s not the same thing, I know, but that part wouldn’t be the end of the world.
The problem I have is apparent because I’m naked, but it’s not the nakedness itself.
“Fine,” I tell him. “But you’ve got to promise me this is the last time we do this.”
“Whatever,” he says. “Just make sure it’s in my account by midnight tomorrow night or those pictures of yours are going to be the only thing trending anywhere.”
“I’ll get it done,” I tell him. “Just back off a little now, will you?”
“Bye, sweetie,” he says condescendingly. “Have a good day at work.”
He hangs up.
“Fucking stupid bitch bastard piece of fucking garbage…” I realize that woman’s still sitting there at her desk, only now she’s looking at me with her chin reaching for her knees. “Sorry,” I tell her. “You can call that the bad side of this business.”
“I guess,” she says. “What was that about? Is everything all right?”
Yeah, now she gives a shit.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “Hey, I was wondering if there was any chance I might be able to pop in there a little early and maybe chat with Tag Strawman—” yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s a pseudonym, “—during the commercial break.”
“Yeah,” she says, picking up her phone quickly. “That’s not a problem at all.”
I would have imagined that hearing only one side of that conversation would have shown me to be the victim just about as well as hearing the whole conversation would have, but the way she’s acting, it almost seems like she thinks I’m the aggressor.
That nice dose of fear really got her moving, though.
“You can head on back,” she says. “Here, let me walk you there.”
While I ponder how she could have heard any of what I was saying and find me suddenly intimidating, I follow the woman back to the studio. She doesn’t even wait for the on air light to be off before she opens the door to the studio.
“…and hey, look who just came into the studio. It’s the star of what promises to be the hottest summer movie of the year, Emma Roxy. It’s good to have you in the studio,” he says. “How are you doing?”
Shit, I think I just talked my way into starting the interview early. There goes my prep.
“I’m doing great,” I tell him. “I’m glad to be here.”
“I was just talking about how actors in the movie industry genuinely do have things pretty rough in some ways,” he says. “You can’t go out of your house without someone stopping you for an autograph—I mean, that’s never happened to me, but I’ve heard that
it’s just irritating.”
“It’s not so bad,” I tell him.
“Then you’re not that famous,” he says. “I’m tellin’ ya.”
Funny guy.