It was as soon as I left the hospital that Shelly Kind called me.
"Hey," I said.
"We got problems," he said.
"What kind of problems."
"Budget," he said.
I stared at the sky.
"Well, look, I'm gonna need some more detail because I'm not a mind reader and 'budget' doesn't mean much to me."
"Money. You're out of it."
"I thought you were the money guy and I was the creative girl and we were each gonna take care of our ends."
"You're spending faster than planned."
"I gave you nine-hundred thousand dollars."
"And that's appreciated. The studio looks positively on that. But you've already burned through that 900K and a whole lot more. At this rate your production will be bankrupt by Wednesday, next week."
"This isn't how I thought this was supposed to work."
"I'm sorry, Lauren, but your project is spending money faster than designed."
"What am I supposed to do, un-hire people?"
"Maybe you shouldn't have hired them in the first place."
"Look, why don't you send someone over who knows what they're doing. This is my first time directing, remember?"
"Your directing isn't the problem."
"Well what is the problem."
"Your burning through cash."
"Well send over someone to help. You told me to make the best film possible. That's what I'm fucking doing. I don't know what else to tell you, Shelly—can't you forward us another million or whatever it's gonna take to get to the end of this thing? I'm under extreme personal pressure, you might know, and this project is my life."
"That is good and that is bad," Shelly says.
"Tell me about it," I say.
"I'm going to keep your film going. But I'm going to need something from you."
"Like a blowjob?"
"No, something more substantial."
"You wanna fuck my ass, Shelly, that's fine—I just gotta make my film."
"I don't want to fuck your ass."
"Why not? What's wrong with my ass?"
"What I'm talking about is shares. Points."
I'm at my car, hand on the door.
"You want my points or I can't continue."
"Not all of them."
"No, I'm going to give you all of them. You ever heard of games with incomplete information? That's what you're playing with me. I'll give you all of my points if you guarantee that my production will complete, money wise. Can you guarantee that? 'Cause if you can, you can have all the points you want."
"I'm not taking all your points."
"Yes you are, Shelly. Yes you are. That's your business, right—making money off movies?"
"Making movies, yes."
"But making money off them."
"I'll take half your points for an advance."
"No take all my points for a guarantee."
"That's what you want."
"If you can give it to me."
"What are you going to do after?"
"After my movie? You don't want to know."
"I'm sorry, Lauren—"
"Save it. I'll be at your office in 30 minutes."
"Why?"
"So we can draw up a contract. Guaranteeing you'll fund the rest of my movie no matter what. Which is I thought the agreement we had in the first place."
"People get nervous."
"Isn't that your job—to protect me from such people?"
"There's only so much I can do."
"Yeah. Well. Have your lawyers ready. I'm coming over the hill. I'll be there in 25."
"Lauren. You don't have to do this."
"Only if I want to make my film."
"Film isn't everything."
"You've made a thousand films. To you film isn't everything. I'm making one—to me it is everything."
Silence from the other end of the line.
"Are you there?"
"Lauren, I'm here."
"Do you care what I'm saying."
"I care."
"Well keep in mind that I'm putting forth my vision."
"I know."
"I'm going to put forth my vision regardless of what you do."
"I believe you."
"There is nothing I will not do to make my movie."
"Lauren, I know you—I know what you're saying is true."
"I'm not feeling too good about you right now."
"The director and producer are fundamentally at odds, my friend."
"You can call me Teacup Pritchett."
"Ok Miss Teacup Pritchett."
"My movie is going to be a hit."
"I don't doubt it."
"Well then take my balls out of your vice," I say, and click off.
In his office I pace.
"You're taking all of my shares," I say.
His lawyer is there, a hot brown-haired girl in her twenties with a bob haircut. We're all signing and shuffling papers.
"Why didn't you bring an attorney?" Kind says.
"Why not? Because fuck it," I say. "I'm not nickel-and-diming you. You're nickel-and-diming me."
"It's the business."
"Well I'm not in the business." And then quietly I say, "I am the business."
"Blade Runner," Shelly Kind says.
"I'm surprised you got the reference."
"Lauren, I'm as much into movies as you are."
"Well fucking act like it."
And I grab my copy of the revised contracts which screw me up the ass and I leave Warner Bros studios at about 90 miles per hour in my Honda. I weave in and out of traffic on the highway and then Sunset Boulevard headed back to my house.