The Fame Game

I meet Steven at the front door.

“Nico,” he says with concern furrowing his brows. “We have a problem.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t paid your rent.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “My accountant handles all of my expenses.”

Steven is a businessman who bought this house in the seventies as an investment. It’s worth a fortune now. Most of the year, he lives overseas, only stopping in the United States on business. He had no interest in renting his house, but he’s a big fan of my work.

“The last check bounced,” Steven says, his words hitting me like a punch to the gut. “My business manager deposited the check twice before he asked me what’s going on with you. And since I’m in town for a few days, I figured I’d stop by.”

Translation: You’re homeless if you don’t pay me.

“There must be some kind of mistake.” I hold up my finger and reach into my pocket for my cell phone. “Give me a second to call my accountant. He’ll clear this up.”

“Go ahead.” Steven waves his hand dismissively and then wanders over to the bar on the right side of the living room. “I’ll fix myself a drink.”

He sits on one of the leather bar stools, making himself at home, his back to me as I dial my accountant. I speak to Josh’s secretary first, and then she patches me through to him. He’s been my money manager since I signed my first movie contract.

Josh answers on the second ring. “Nico,” he says with a sigh. “I’m glad you called. We need to talk.”

“I’ll say,” I shoot back. “Steven Marx is at the house claiming the rent check bounced.”

He blows a deep breath into the phone. “It did. I was about to call you.”

I step out of the room, pacing in the foyer. “What’s going on? Why did the check bounce?”

“There’s no good way to say this, so I’m just going to rip the Band-Aid off. You’re broke, Nico.”

My chest collapses from his words, sucking every ounce of air from them. “No… That’s not possible. I’ve made millions of dollars over the years.”

“You haven’t had a hit movie in about four years. Your paychecks keep getting smaller, and yet you spend money like you’re still in your prime.”

“I am in my prime,” I snap.

“You know what I mean,” he challenges. “You’re not raking in the big bucks anymore. If you were smart, you would have listened to my advice and moved out of Beverly Hills.”

“I like this house.”

“You don’t need that much space. No one does. You can live in a nice single house in The Hills for a lot less money.”

“I can’t be broke,” I say in a hushed tone as I walk onto the balcony overlooking the pool. “That’s not possible.”

“It’s basic math,” Josh says. “You spent more than you made. Simple.”

“How much longer do I have until the money runs out?”

“You can’t live in that house,” he says.

“Fine,” I groan. “I’ll get a different place. How much time do I have?”

“You can afford an apartment in Hollywood for about six months. But the car needs to go. I suggest ending the lease on the Maserati before they repossess it.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers, fighting the tears welling in my bottom lids. For months, I’ve been in denial. Josh tried to tell me the truth, and I was too stubborn to listen. He kept harping on my spending habits. At one point, he even canceled one of my credit cards to get me to stop using it. We fought over it and our friendship suffered. Now, I wish I hadn’t been such an asshole. If I had listened to him, I could have prevented this from happening.

“I lost Vinnie this week,” I confess. “Now, this…”

“Sorry, Nico. I don’t know what to say. I know this sucks. You need another job. That will get you back on your feet.”

“I need an agent to get another job,” I point out.

My manager quit months ago when I tried to renegotiate his contract. He walked away, taking his contacts with him.

“A woman has been following me around. She’s a junior agent at Brenton-Lake.”

“Talk to her. She could help you get another role.”

“I blew her off earlier.”

“Call and apologize,” he says, sounding somewhat distracted.

“I gave the business card back to her.”

He laughs. “Your attitude has a lot to do with why this is happening to you.”

“I don’t have an attitude,” I challenge.

“Yes, you do, and you damn well know it. You’ve had a chip on your shoulder ever since Sony paid you fifteen million for Legendary.”

Silence passes between us as I consider his words.

“I have made little since,” I admit.

“Because the fame went to your head.”

Josh is more than my accountant. He gives it to me straight, whether I want to listen to him. Most of the time, I ignore him. He likes to lecture me like I’m a child too incompetent to understand the value of money. Maybe I need his counsel more than I realize. If I had taken his warnings seriously, I might have been able to prevent this.