“Are you out of your fucking mind!? A fucking dollar? I earn fifteen percent of what you earn. What do you expect me to do with fifteen cents, donate it to the folk singer on the sidewalk who’s addicted to oxycocktin?”
The voice of Lou’s literary agent, Raymond Rivera, booming from the speakerphone was so loud it as if the man were standing beside him in the hotel room, yelling directly into his ear. Lou winced, immediately lowering the volume on his cellphone, fearing guests in neighboring rooms would call downstairs, complain, and have the cops knocking on his door.
“It’s ‘Oxycontin,’” Lou corrected, “not ‘Oxycocktin,’ Raymond.”
“I stand by what I said about the folk singer, because all I have to offer him at the end of the day is fifteen fucking cents, which means he’s now got to suck a cock to get his next fix. Do you understand what you’ve done?”
“Hopefully encouraged that poor artist to get off opiates,” Lou stated almost righteously.
“No, asshole,” Raymond yelped, his anger unfazed, “you gave up a high six-figure deal with one of the most successful independent film production companies in Hollywood - they basically have studio power now - and I must reiterate that fifteen percent of said deal was going into my fucking pocket. GODDAMNIT! I was fucking going to tell you the great fucking news about For Once going from number fucking four to number two on the New York fucking Times bestsellers list this week, and you give me this horrid fucking news that you sold the film rights for a fucking, goddamn, elephant cocksucking DOLLAR!”
“Wow, Raymond, you’ve gone totally Joe Pesci,” Lou commented. “You’re mormon, man. I expected disappointment from you, but not like this.”
“I’m a mormon who’s thirty years old with four kids, and a wife who wants a fifth. Lou, you’re my first big, successful client, and with the money from the film rights sale, my wife and I were going to leave the kids with the in-laws, then head to the Caribbean. There we planned to conceive our next child under a full moon, on a white, sandy beach, to the sounds of waves washing ashore, after drinking the greatest cocktails the hotel has to offer.”
“I never knew money could really dirty a mormon’s clean lifestyle,” Lou said, astonished.
“Yes, yes it does,” Raymond said, a little calmer after he had let off some steam. “My wife and I are transgressive. Don’t tell my mother. Now, please give me the reason you’ve done this to me…sorry, I meant to yourself.”
Lou sighed, knowing that even the most comforting lie would not satisfy Raymond.
“I have my reasons,” Lou said, “and they are mine, and mine alone.”
“Fine, Lou,” Raymond said, not relieved in the slightest, but a bit more at ease at that moment.
“It’s great to hear my book has gone up in the ranks on the bestseller list,” Lou said, attempting to alleviate the literary agent further.
“Yeah, I guess,” Raymond said, uninterested.
“How about this? Go to the Caribbean as you and your wife planned, and I’ll pay for the entire thing. I’ll go to the bank today, and put fifteen in your account.”
“Fifteen what? Fifteen cents?” Raymond’s anger came back. “Don’t fucking joke with me, Lou, that shit ain’t funny.”
Lou chuckled, then said, “No, man, not fifteen cents, fifteen thousand. Dollars.”
“Shit, dude, that’s a lot. You don’t have to make it up to me that much.”
“Look, I’m earning more from my first publication than I ever expected, and I believe it wasn’t just because of me. I attribute most of my success to you. You took my hand, and guided me in the right direction. So take the money, leave the kids with the in-laws, go to the Caribbean for a few weeks with your wife, both of you conceive another child, and in between all the drunken sex you two free spirited mormons have, read the new manuscript I sent you yesterday.”
“What new manuscript?” Raymond asked.
“Though it was never my intention after finishing the first draft of For Once - and because you and the editor convinced me to change the original ending - I wrote a sequel. I completed it a week ago, and mailed it to you from here in Hollywood for, I don’t know, good luck. Should be there today. I sent it for NEXT DAY EARLY A.M. delivery.”
There was no voice coming from Lou’s cellphone, only the sound of feet stomping on office carpet, then the sound of a door being thrust open.
“Hello,” Lou said.
“Stella!” Raymond at his assistant all the way back in New York City.
Again Lou lowered the volume of his speakerphone a bit more, this time afraid his cellphone would short-circuit, as if the phone would kill itself rather than put up with a New York Literary Agent like Raymond Rivera ever again.
“Where’s the package from Ludwig Eyvind?” Raymond yelled at his assistant.
Lou heard Stella give a reply, but could not discern what the words she said.
“You put it in the ‘Submissions’ pile?”
Pause as he listened to Stella.
“He goes by ‘Lou.’ Don’t you remember? Whatever, forget it, just give me the package.”
Lou then heard a door slam shut, feet stomping on carpet, and finally a package being dropped on a table and being ripped open.
“Uh, Ray,” Lou said, “you there?”
He heard Raymond taking a deep, shaky breath, then saying, “The title page alone brings tears to my eyes.”
“I think the title’s fucking corny, man,” Lou admitted.
“‘Once and For All’ is the perfect title, Lou,” Raymond said, as if he had just been done receiving a full body massage with a happy ending.
“What if there’s another book with the same one?” Lou inquired.
“I haven’t heard of this kind of title for a book, or even a movie. Have you?” Raymond countered.
“Well, I couldn’t think of anything,” Lou said. “I haven’t read every book, or seen every movie on this planet. I can Google it.”
“No, don’t. Anyways, we should get to work on this right away. When are you coming back east?”
“Here’s the thing, Ray, I’m not gonna be home until the movie’s principal photography is over. It was part of the deal I made with Terrence Wallace for selling the film rights for a dollar. I’m going to stay here for the pre-production, the filming of it - like I just said - but not post. I’m going home right after filming wraps. So ‘Once and For All’ will have to wait until then.”
“Are you getting like a producer’s credit, or something?” Raymond asked.
“No,” Lou replied. “I’m going to be creative consultant.”
“You could’ve done that shit, even if they paid full price.”
“Look, Raymond, I don’t want to talk about the fucking money anymore. I’ll go to the bank later, and put the cash in your account for your baby-making vacation. Go and have a great time with your wife, and enjoy the sequel to For Once, you’ll love it, I’m sure.”
“What makes you so sure I’ll love it?” Raymond inquired.
“Because as I wrote it, I pretended I was a fucking sellout.”
“You bring artistic integrity to a whole new plateau, Lou. So you’re telling me you feel like a sellout for writing a follow-up to For Once, but when it comes to the film adaptation, you just basically give it away to the Hollywood, money-hungry simpletons with no control on how the finished product will turn out. I’m flabbergasted by your actions, Lou.”
“Try not to think about it too much, Raymond,” Lou suggested, “you’ll make your headache worse.”
“Wait a sec,” Raymond said, “this can only mean one thing.”
“Like what?”
Raymond was silent for a moment, as if a revelation were conjuring in his mind.
He then asked, “Who’s the actress?”
“Damnit,” Lou uttered.
“I knew it!” Raymond exclaimed. “You made that deal with Wallace so he’d get a certain famous actress cast you’ll attempt to woo on set. Who’s the skirt you’re trying to get under?”
“Uh,” was all Lou managed to utter at that point.
“I must tell you, Lou, that’s rather romantic. I suggest you put it in your memoir.”
“It’s not a fucking actress,” Lou said, a little frustrated. “I mean, I’m not trying to screw anyone, okay. Especially not some damn actress.”
“You know, I heard Kristy Mora is single again,” Raymond informed. “I think she’d be perfect for the role of Caroline.”
“Just stop it!” Lou snapped like a ferocious cat hissing at it’s overly affectionate owner.
“All right, Lou, your secret is safe with me. Forget about sending the money for the vacation. My wife and I will conceive our next child at home on our marital bed. Your romantic actions have changed my mind. Have fun in Hollywood. I’ll read Once and For All right away, and call you later to let you know what I think of it.”
Raymond then hung up.
In an instant Lou was overcome with an anxiety attack, his legs became rubbery, causing him to lose his balance, and stumble backwards. Luckily he was near the bed and simply bounced atop it, managing to maintain a sitting position. His cellphone slipped out of his hand, landing on the carpet with a soft tapping sound. He let out a soft sigh in a meek attempt at regaining his senses.
As Lou’s momentary bout of disquiet declined, he noticed he was sitting on something. He leaned to the side, and reached under his butt to retrieve the paperback copy of An American Tragedy. For a few seconds he stared at the cover, not to see if it had suffered any tearing from his ass landing on it, but at it’s title.
“Have I made the biggest mistake at the zenith of my existence?” he asked aloud. “I made it so damn obvious that others are over-exaggerating. My intentions—.”
Lou’s frustration interrupted his outspoken pondering.
“Damn it,” he continued, “my intentions aren’t what they think.”
He dropped An American Tragedy to the floor next to the cellphone, then covered his face with both hands, head leaning forward. He did not have the urge to cry — far from it — but had that feeling of despair, that moment when a person wants so bad to choose the reactions of other people, but the only thing they can do is accept the fact that the world, and everyone in it, is beyond their control.
We fail more than we succeed, Louisa’s soothing words formed subconsciously in Lou’s mind with such clarity it was as if she were sitting in the chair near the hotel room’s window, an apparition which brought hope by it’s presence.
If your actions are positive, and remain that way, then nothing too negative will result, even if it’s not a success, Louisa said.
“Yeah, of course you’re right, Weesah,” Lou admitted, no longer emotionally weary. “I’ve got nothing to prove, nothing to lose, but everything to do.”
I’m always right, Lou, Louisa’s words finished.
Lou giggled, dropped his hands away from his face, and threw his head back. He reveled in the slight catharsis, accepting from that moment on he’d go with the flow, let the motions of his current predicament guide him to whatever destination life would have him arrive at.
The cellphone began ringing and vibrating on the carpet between Lou’s feet. He looked down to see who it was, hoping it wasn’t Raymond. The screen display said it was Henry Johnson. He bent down and picked up the phone, pressing the answer button, then immediately putting it on speaker.
“Henry, what’s up, bro?” Lou said, very upbeat. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen your handsome mug.”
“Louie, Louie!” Henry’s voice sang from the cellphone speaker. “Great to hear your voice. I’ve been waiting for your call for hours, Hollywood-man. Doin’ it big, ain’t you?”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Lou said, standing up off the bed, running a hand through his hair. “Had a meeting with that producer — what’s his name?”
“Dude, you can’t talk out loud about Terrence Wallace like that in this town. Somebody’s bound to hear it, and pass it down the dirty grapevine. I’ve heard people ending up only being able to teach preschool kids how to color saying worse things about the man.”
Lou began to belly laugh uncontrollably. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself, laughing so hard.
“I’m being serious,” Henry said. “No fucking joke.”
Regaining his self-control, Lou said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true, but I made the man so happy that if I cut off his cock and balls right now, he’d still be grateful adapting my novel to a film.”
“Goddamn, Lou,” Henry said, astonished. “What’d you do in the meeting, blow him?”
“No, Henry,” Lou said, chuckling a little. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Cool, man, I can’t wait to hear the story. What hotel are you staying at?”
“Sunset Tower Hotel,” Lou informed. “You know where it’s at?”
“Of course I do. I’ve lived here for over six years, man. I’ve got this town on lockdown. Every hip place knows my face. So get yourself all pretty and sexy, because I’m on my way with a surprise.”
“Alrighty then, Henry, I’ll be waiting. Send me a —.”
Lou stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Henry had already hung up. He dropped the cellphone atop the bed before disrobing to take a quick shower.
As the water ran down from head to toe, Lou wondered what Henry’s surprise could be. Based on how well he knew the guy back in high school, Lou expected Henry to bring him to a small stage play where he’d be introduced to the actors backstage after the show, then head to a dinner party at someone’s apartment, drinking Napa Valley wine, and have healthy conversations about art, politics, or the combination of the two, being the two can be relative. Such an experience would be a complete turnaround from Lou’s experiences as a twenty-something; he desperately wanted those days to be a distant memory.
After turning off the shower, Lou heard pounding coming from outside the bathroom. It stopped for almost five seconds, then started again. Lou got a fresh towel, did a quick once-over his wet body with it, and loosely held it around his waist line as he stepped out of the bathroom into the room. The pounding was coming from the door, along with Henry’s voice singing with a bad tune.
“Louie, Louie,” he sang from the other side of the door, “open the fuckin’ door, cause we gotta go now. Bitch open the fucking door.”
“Henry!” Lou snapped, opening the door as fast as he could. He almost dropped the towel.
“My old friend, my old pal, Lou,” Henry said.
The big guy had a shaved head, wore a black, sleeveless shirt, and black pants. His hands were up, and on display were big, biceps textured with bulging veins.
“You look good half naked,” Henry continued, pointing a finger at Lou. “Who’s your Pilates trainer?”
“Get your ass in here, you’re annoying my neighbors,” Lou said, moving aside for Henry to go in his room. “They’re gonna call management and complain, if they haven’t already.”
“It’s the afternoon, man, most people are already out on the town,” Henry proclaimed, stepping inside the room.
Lou closed the door, fastening the chain door lock.
Henry noticed what Lou did, and said, “Don’t be so fucking paranoid. Anyways, it’s good to see you. You’re on top of the world now. Come here, give Hanz a hug.”
“Let me get some cloths on first,” Lou said, making his way over to his suitcase on the other side of the bed.
“Fuck that shit, come here,” Henry said, stopping Lou by wrapping his big arms around him.
The strong bastard lifted Lou off his feet, giving him a big bear-hug, causing Lou to lose his hold of the towel from around his waist.
“Shit, okay, you fag, love you too,” Lou said in a strained voice. “Put me down.”
Henry dropped him, and said, “Can’t talk like that in this town. The liberals will castrate your reputation. Anyways, I work at a gym, remember? I see naked guys all the time: straight, gay, bi, trans, old, and all that other shit. And they all got better looking bodies than you. So if I were to fuck a guy, it would be one that goes to the gym on a routine basis. I’m not saying you don’t look good, I’m just sayin’ you’re not my type if I were a gay.”
“Thanks for uplifting my self-esteem, Henry,” Lou said.
Still fully exposed, Lou stepped over to his suitcase, picked it up from the floor, placed it atop the bed, then zipped it open.
Henry moved over to the table at the corner of the room, and sat in a chair. He looked at the closed leather journal on the tables glass surface, with a pen laying on it’s cover.
He asked, “So that’s what you write your novels in?”
Lou slightly turned around and saw Henry pointing to the journal.
“Yep,” he replied, turning back to open suitcase. “I’ve written three novels in it so far. It’s cool because after I fill up a notebook, I can simply take it out of the leather cover, then put in a fresh one.”
“Do you write in it everyday, Ludwig?”
“Yes. Writers must write everyday, Hanz.”
“That reminds, Lou, when we leave this hotel — let alone this very room — refer to me as ‘Hanz Ramado,’ please.”
“You got it, Hanz. See, I already got the hang of it, Mr. Ramado. So what are we up to this evening?”
“We clubbin', mothafucka. So make sure you wear a getup that’s formal: black jeans, black shoes, black shirt. You got a black leather jacket?”
“No, but I got everything else.”
“We’ll just have to go shopping then,” Hanz said. “I know a cool place.”
“What surprise you got in store for me tonight, Hanz?” Lou inquired as he extricated the suggested attire from his suitcase.
“It wouldn’t be a fuckin’ surprise if I told you,” Hanz said.
“I know,” Lou admitted, “but everyone feels compelled to—.”
Lou was interrupted by the sound of something tapping against the table’s glass surface. He turned around to see Hanz shaking out a white powdery substance from a glass vile onto the table, lining an imperfect strip before him.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lou blurted, shocked and mad. “Is that seriously fucking cocaine? This has got to be a joke.”
Of all people Lou has known in his entire life, he never expected Henry(Hanz) to be doing such a thing, EVER.
As he was pouring out a second line, Hanz shushed Lou, then said, “You’ll bother the neighbors.”
Lou stepped up to the table, grabbed his leather journal and pen, turned back around, and tossed them atop the bed.
“What’s wrong, man?” Han asked. “This is Hollywood. You’ll see more than just cocaine. I assume you’ve never tried it.”
With his back to him, Lou said to Hanz, “Yes, I’ve done cocaine a bunch of times. I never thought you’d be the kind of person to do it.”
“And I would never have thought you’d be the type of person to try it,” Hanz rebutted.
“Yeah, guess that’s true,” Lou admitted with a sigh.
“Everyone who knew you in high school would never assume you’d even smoke weed,” Hanz said, straightening out the two cocaine lines with a credit card. “Now with me they’d say, ‘Maybe,’ or, ‘possibly.’ But not you, man. What other shit have you done?”
“I don’t really want to get into the shit I’ve put into my body,” Lou said, putting on a pair of boxers.
Hanz snorted one line with a rolled up dollar bill.
“Damn fine shit,” he said to himself. “Come on, man, you’re a storyteller, tell me a story.”
“Not now, Hanz.”
Hanz then snorted the second line.
He said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, “Okay, you’re right. Tell me a story after we get downstairs. Hurry up. I’m getting tired of staring at your pale, slim body.”
“You know,” Lou began to say as he put on a pair of black jeans, “mixing steroids and cocaine can make your heart stop beating. All of a sudden you’re doing the biggest deadlift in your life, and you just drop dead.”
“How you know I do ‘roids?” Hanz asked, bewildered.
“The veins in your arm look like they’re about to explode,” Lou informed.
“Shit,” Hanz muttered, disappointed.
Fucking Hollywood, Lou thought.
A few minutes later they were riding the elevator to the lobby. Hanz talked to someone on his cellphone.
He said, “Yes, we’re on our way downstairs now. Pull up to the front. We’ll be coming out soon. Thanks, man.”
He hung up.
“So I know the reason for using pseudonym in Hollywood, but why the name ‘Hanz Ramado?’ Is it from some famous silent film actor, or something?” Lou asked.
“Well, I wanted my first name to be ‘Han,’ but you know, Star Wars and shit, so I put a ‘Z’ at the end of it because it’s cooler,” Hanz said. “And the name ‘Ramado’ is like the complete opposite of ‘Johnson.’”
“You ever consider going back to your birth name?”
“No,” Hanz replied. “You ever want to be referred to as ‘Ludwig?’”
“Yeah, okay, you got a point, but I have to let you in on something. I mentioned you to Terrence Wallace.”
“You DID!?” Hanz yelped in excitement. “You told him about me. Did you get me a part? Please let it be more than just one line.”
“Of course I mentioned you, man,” Lou said. “What makes you think I wouldn’t? Anyways, the thing is he thought your name sounded like a porn name. A gay porn name.”
“You got to be fucking kidding me, Lou? My careers over before it even could start. Fuck.”
“No, Hanz. I told him the nickname those fuckers back in high school gave you. You remember it? ‘Hairy’ —.”
Hanz quickly put his hand over Lou’s mouth.
He said, “Don’t. I’m still traumatized from those words, man.”
Lou said something that Hanz couldn’t understand.
He removed his hand away from over Lou’s mouth, and asked, “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘He actually preferred your stage name.’ After I told him your old nickname, that is.”
“Oh,” Hanz said, more at ease. “Thanks, man. So you think I’ll get a good enough part in the movie to get my name in the opening credits.”
“I don’t know, man,” Lou said. “I don’t have that kind of control over the movie. I just mentioned you. He may cast you as a favor to me.”
“How strong is the possibility that I’ll get a part on camera that lasts for more than five seconds?” Hanz asked.
“Damn strong as those muscles on your arms,” Lou said. “I mean, I did sell the film rights of my novel to him for only a dollar.”
Hanz went silent. It seemed Lou’s last three words caused the muscles in Hanz’s face to cease functioning. He simply stared at Lou, mouth agape in near shock, while Lou looked at the elevator doors as they slid open.
“We’re here,” Lou said.
He exited, seeming not to notice his friend still remaining immobile — not even moving his eyeballs. Taking a few steps into the lobby, Lou stopped and turned around to look into the elevator at the frozen Hanz.
Hanz finally managed to get out of his momentary stupor, and say the words, “A fucking dollar.”
The elevator doors began to close. Hanz made a move to put his hand through the threshold to catch the censor, but it was too late.
Lou’s eyes rolled and his head went back.
He said to himself, “Shit, another flabbergasted money-fucker. At least this one doesn’t get a percentage of my earnings.”
