Chapter 2: Same Stuff...

The beach house had been a blast, as it always was, and Mandy and the kids decided to stay a few extra days. I longed to be with them, but when you run your own business, it's dangerous to spend too much time isolated from your contacts. I dragged my feet into my home office, bleary-eyed, with a hot cup of coffee in one hand and my laptop in the other. Setting them both down, I flopped into my chair and popped open the laptop. As it started to hum, I sipped my coffee and looked out the huge bay window on the back wall of the office. I had known from the moment we walked into this room that this would be my office. The view was simply breathtaking, looking out over the 15^th green, with huge lush trees on all sides. It provided a welcome change from some of the tedium of the job.

Bringing my focus back to the laptop, I popped open my email to see what I had missed. I settled in and began to sift through the thousands of emails. After junking the ridiculous amounts of spam, I had about 200 or so left over. I did my normal sorting, separating the RFP (Request for Proposal) orders, the RFW (Request for Work) letters, and the Accounting Letters. Only the personal stuff was left and I started there, seeing that Dave had sent me a series of mails.

The first one was letting me know that Timid was thrilled to get the footage so quickly, and that they had sent it straight to their editing department. I rolled my eyes at this, remembering the three ring circus we had gone through over that. Nine times out of ten Dave did all of our editing for us. Timid, though, had been insistent. They used only in-house editors, and they would put the movie together with our footage and sound. That was the only way they could retain Quality Control, they insisted. In the end, we had backed down, but it was still a slight thorn in our sides. Dave's email claimed that Timid promised payment within 30 days. At the bottom of the email was a picture of Dave, bald head a nice lobster shade of red, blue sunscreen on the bridge of his nose, and a surfboard under one arm. In the background were some palm trees and a few topless girls lying out getting some sun. "Wish you were here." Read the caption. I grinned and closed the mail, moving on to the next one.

I spent a leisurely half an hour perusing Dave's emails, the rest of which consisted of photos from his trip. He alternated between breathtaking views of random coastlines, wonderful views of naked women, and goofy shots of himself obviously having the time of his life. I couldn't help but grin at the sight of Dave, with two unbelievably hot topless women on either side, staring awestruck at the camera. I printed that one, and stuck it in my briefcase to put up at the office. It was just classic Dave. The last one asked if I had gotten around to picking out our next job yet, and I replied that I was just getting started, and I would let him know as soon as I knew.

There were a few emails from contacts, including one from Dimetrius, asking if I could give a friend of his an audition. I replied back to let him know I'd see what I could do, and asking him for the pertinent information and photos. I let him know that it was a long shot, but that I didn't mind trying to help him out.

I opened up the RFJ ones next, and there were well over a hundred. These were enterprising starlets and male performers who all wanted to get a job. They all included photos or movie clips, and were usually sent by the performer's agent. Dave had distributed my personal email address at every opportunity to these agents, as it was the best way to find talent when you needed some. Some of the names were recognizable, but for the most part they were a sea of faceless actors and actresses. I opened each one, saved the information to my customized database for future reference, and never even looked at a name or a face. They were strictly fodder, so that the next time a job I was working on needed a natural-breasted 34D girl who did anal scenes and had a tongue ring, I could find her with a few keystrokes.

Now for the meat and potatoes. I opened up the RFP folder, and started looking through the mails. I had over twenty, from various studios. Each mail detailed the movie concept they wanted to shoot, which starlets they would prefer to be the lead, and the timeline they wanted to meet. I carefully went through each mail, printing them out and jotting notes on each one.

"Real Street Hookers 17" got a big, scrawled 'Serial?' on it, in bright red ink. I hate serials. There's no good way to do anything original, and the studio just wants the cheapest, fastest smut they can get.

"Horny Wives who Love Poolboy Cock" got a "YAWN" in big blue letters. The clichés of the business never failed to bore me. I know it sells, but it's nowhere near art. Hell, I'd settle for mildly interesting.

There were a series of starlet vehicle movies, always starring that particular studio's newest signing, and the only requirement was that the movie be all about her. They all wanted to make sure that the starlet's name was in the title of the movie, that she was in all the sex scenes, that her picture, and only her picture, was on the cover of the movie. Each of those got a "NFW" marking, in green this time. No Fucking Way.

By the time I had worked my way through the pile, there were none left. Each of them had either been stereotypical bullshit, some sort of serialized mess, or a desperate attempt to increase the visibility of one of the girls. Not surprising, I thought to myself as I picked the sheaf back up and started to finger through them. There was never anything different. I always did this, going through and eliminating them all, then going back in and trying to find the job that was the least offensive, then trying my damnedest to turn it into something of quality. I ended up pulling out three of the requests, two vehicles and one serial, and running a couple of copies. I forwarded the emails for those three to Dave, asking his thoughts, and then sent replies to the three companies, letting them know that we would be submitting a proposal within the next ten days. With that, I closed down the computer and carried my empty coffee mug and the three candidate printouts to the kitchen. I needed another cup of coffee before I dared start in on the proposals.

My phone rang that evening, catching me napping out by the pool. I answered it, only half awake, and heard an earful of static, with a barely recognizable voice among it.

"Dave? Is that you?"

"Hello?"

"Are you there? The guy swears it's a good line... can you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you, Dave. Just fuckin barely. Where the hell are you, man?"

"I'm out on some guy's yacht, and my fucking phone sounds like shit, but I wanted to call. I got your email about the three jobs. Is that really the best we got to choose from?"

"Yep, it looks like it. I mean, we could sit back and wait for more, but this looks like it's as good as it's going to get."

"Christ. They're all crap, Mac. You know that, don't ya?"

"Yep, I do. But they all pay really well, and there's some chance to make some quality out of them. You shoulda seen the ones I tossed."

"Mac, if these are the ones you kept, then I'm glad I didn't see the rest. I'd quit on you in half a second and go back to the video store."

"Hey, you think you might be able to get me a job there?"

Dave laughed into the phone. "Is Mandy giving you hell about the job again?"

"She's not giving me hell. She's worried about the kids. That's her job. She's a mom."

"Well, tell her I'll put in a word for ya, but I wouldn't expect much. They don't hire degenerate pornographers."

"Then we're both fucked. Listen, did you see any of these jobs that sounded better than the others? They're all about the same."

I glanced down at the printouts of the three scripts, my multicolored censure scrawled across each, and gazed skyward, falling back into the chair.

"I don't give a fuck, man. It's all the same old shit. Pick one and we'll run with it, just like we always do. I get tired of trying to turn the fucking pig's ear into a silk purse, though, man. One of these days I wanna show them what we can really do."

"I hear ya, man. I really do. But we can only work with what we got, and I don't think you wanna stop beach-hopping, so we'll keep plugging away. Maybe one of us'll hit the lottery or something. Until then, it's more same old shit. You take it easy, Dave. I'll hammer out the details on one of these, and let you know when we start shooting."

"Kay, man. Just lemme know. I'll talk to you when I get back stateside. See ya."

"See ya."

Mandy and the kids came back the next morning, and I was as happy to see them as they were to see me. Mandy and I held hands in side by side reclining chairs as the kids frolicked in the pool and hot tub.

"So did you find anything promising for your next project?"

"Same old crap, my dear... I swear, the industry's just as stagnant as the everglades lately. Everyone keeps making the same crap over and over again. It's just assembly line work, and it all only appeals to the lowest common denominator."

Mandy glanced at the kids, and made a small shushing gesture, reminding me to keep my voice down.

"They keep asking us to do their crappy movies because we can take that crap, and make it watchable. It's not just about the sex. It's about an actual plot, with genuine acting and attention to details. It's high production values, and it's about making a movie that people can watch over and over again, all the way through."