Hollywood

Sixteen hours, four minutes, and 29 seconds. That’s how long they’ve been on set now. Michael knows this because he made one of his PA’s – production assistants – set a timer. Everybody was at their utmost limit, and it could be seen from their dreary eyes and bobbing heads, as boom operators, producers, gaffers, and even film extras tried to keep from falling asleep.

Michael didn’t care though. What he cared about was getting this one fucking shot done right; and damn it to hell if someone fucks it up by —

— “Boom in shot!” yelled Michael, frustratingly, at the 42 year old boom operator, who just now woke up with a start.

“Let’s reset. From the top. Remember, none of us go home until we’re done with this.” Everyone let loose a collective groan, but didn’t complain more than that. They all went back to their original positions and waited for their cue.

If you hadn’t noticed yet, Michael Han was the film’s director. He was the newest thing to hit Hollywood by storm, and with a few blockbuster hits on his belt now, it didn’t seem like he was a one hit wonder. Everybody was running to get a piece of the action that was Michael Han. After all, everything he touched turned to gold, or, in the case of the actors, academy awards.

Yes, Michael was good. Fucking good, by the estimates of his success. He was considered the best director under 40, and even then, some considered him the best director ever.

The praise was nice to Michael, but unnecessary. He could be a bum on the street with a camera phone, and he’d still be making films. Or at least that’s what he thought. Making films was his life, and he spent every waking day and night perfecting his craft. If you took that away from him, Michael wouldn’t be sure what he’d have left. Probably a sad, boring, miserable life.

“Action!” The cameras whirred on, as the steadicam operator followed a beautiful young Hispanic actress, with a feigned worried look on her face.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Don’t you know!? This is all for you. This has always been for you!” A white male co-star stood in front of the girl, fake blood dripping off his glistening rock hard abs.

“I never asked you to!”

“You never needed to!”

Michael was intently watching their every movement, the sway of the camera frame, the slight reflection of light on their faces, even the flowing pieces of paper in the background. Everything needed to be perfect.

The two actors continued the scene flawlessly. It was an amazing performance, even by Michael’s standards. He had no complaints this time around, and when they came to the end of the scene, everybody stood up and clapped.

“Alright. That’s a cut guys. Go home! Get some sleep. I’ll be seeing you bright and early tomorrow morning, in…” he looked at his watch, “… 4 hours.”

It’s been a long day, and even Michael was relieved to go home. He grabbed his satchel, that held everything from his ipad to his wallet and cell phone, and began to head home when he heard a cough.

Brian DeMarco, Michael’s co-executive producer walked up to him, all smiles and smarm. What a loathsome little prick, Michael thought. If there was one thing Michael hated more than incompetent people, it would be the fakers. And Hollywood was full of them. Everyone had their own agendas and no one gave a rats ass about each other, at least not until they needed something from you.

Brian DeMarco was the embodiment of this. He was the cockiest son of a bitch, this side of Kanye West, who would sleep with a one-legged transvestite, if it meant he could get something from you.

“Michael! I’m glad you’re still here.” said Brian, as he tried to go in for a hug. Michael put out his hand and stopped him there though. Not over my dead body, he thought. “What is it Brian?” replied Michael, unenthusiastically.

“Oh right. I forget, you’re not a hugger. I’ve got some good news for you! You’re going to like iiiittt,” said Brian, in a sing song tone.

“I’m trying to get home here, so if you could hurry it along…”

“We’ve got Elisa’Marie to co-produce our soundtrack with Luke! Isn’t that great?” He said, while trying to make it seem like it was the best thing in the world. Michael was less than thrilled.

“Who?”

“Elisa’Marie! The girl who did the soundtrack for your last movie. She became a huuuuuge hit because of you, man.”

While Michael was sure this was all true, the name didn’t ring a bell to him. To be honest, Michael didn’t concern himself very much with people he has no need to be concerned with.

“Yeah, don’t know her, but if that’s who Luke wants to work with, that’s fine,” said Michael. It was true. He didn’t care who Luke wanted to work with, hell he didn’t even care if it was Luke that was working on the soundtrack. As long as it was done accordingly, and by someone talented.

Thinking that was it, Michael moved to leave, but once again Brian stood in front of him, blocking his path.

“Greeaat! I’m glad to hear it! This is going to be huuuuuge for our movie, you don’t even know. I’m really really happy you decided to bring her on. I was a little worried you wouldn’t allow it, since she asked for full creative control.” Brian chuckled. Then Michael chuckled. Who knew Brian could crack a joke, thought Michael… then it hit him, Brian wasn’t joking.

“No fucking way,” said Michael, emphatically. “This is my movie, this is my ship. I run it how I want it to be run. I am not going to let it go down because some prissy princess bitch wants to be ‘an artist’, you got me?” If he didn’t make his point before, Michael sure did now.

“I got you Mikey, but the thing is… you’re not making this movie without her. The studios want her, I want her, the audiences want her. We’ll pull the plug on this whole thing if we have to. But you’re working with her or you’re not working at all,” said Brian, as matter of factly as he could.

Michael’s never been prone to violence, but this guy was one hell of a piece of work, and before he knew it, his fist came flying at Brian’s face. Unfortunately for Michael, Brian was a two time golden gloves boxing champion. He easily sidestepped Michael and threw a quick jab that landed squarely on his left eye.

“Aw fuckkk!” yelled Michael, as he crumpled to the floor in pain. “You mother fucker!”

“Sorry, Mikey. No hard feelings. This is just business afterall. All I ask is that you speak with her, before you make your decision. I’ll even have my assistant set up lunch for you two. How does Saturday at 1pm sound? Thai food? Or maybe Sushi… Either way, I promise you’ll like her! She’s quite the beauty.”

Brian didn’t bother to stick around after their confrontation, he just walked out of the studio, all eyes on him, as if it were another day in the office.

“This is my movie! You can't do this!” screamed Michael, futilely to Brian’s back. He didn’t bother to respond, he just waved him off, and carried on.

Michael was furious now, but he wasn’t willing to risk the movie. This film was going to define his career for the next twenty years. He’ll have lunch with this Elisa’Marie, and then he’ll convince her to quit on her own accord. Or at least, that's what he thought.

Swarms of cameramen and paparazzi littered the pavement, like vultures waiting for the sickly drop of their next meal. That’s what they were to Michael – vultures; and dozens of them were lined up outside the steakhouse, salivating at the opportunity for the next big sleazy shot of everyone’s favorite celebrity. Why people cared enough to employ such deplorable people he would never understand, but what he did know, was that he despised every last one of them. They were the dregs of society. The only ones worst than the Hollywood elite, for they didn’t just buy into the superficial glitz and glam of the biz, they perpetuated it, took advantage of it, even manipulated and warped it.

But disgusting, morally bereft, opportunistic creatures that they were, they were a part of the Hollywood ecosystem that you couldn’t get rid of; so, all you could do was ignore them. And that’s exactly what Michael did.

Michael strolled into the restaurant wearing sweatshirt and jeans, clothing too casual for the restaurant, and a pair of sunglasses hiding the nasty shiner on his eye – courtesy of Brian DeMarco. He stood out like a sore thumb from the rest of the patrons, but he didn’t care about his appearances. Playing nice to a young upstart, who was acting too big for her britches, was a huge pain in the ass that he wanted to get over with as quickly as possible. He could be at home right now watching some How I Met Your Mother.

“Excuse me sir, can I help you?” said the nervously cute hostess. She was clearly unsure whether Michael was a crazy bum who just wandered in from the street or someone so famous and important they need not care about societal constraints. Sometimes it was such a thin line between the two that you could never tell the difference in this absurd town.

“I’m looking for a girl. Reddish hair. Supposed to be mind-blowingly beautiful…” said Michael, ignoring the worried looks from the girl. “I’m sorry, but do you have an appointment?” Michael was already over it. He hands her Brian DeMarco’s business card. “Yeah. Dinner’s on him by the way. Just put it on his tab.”

Immediately recognizing the name on the card, the hostess turned full employee of the month, having finally figured out he was the latter of the two. “Of course, right this way sir.”

Michael followed the hostess through a bevy of socialites that he would never associate himself with in a million years, and then his eyes found the only thing that stood out more than him in this establishment – Elisa’Marie.

She was wearing some lightly printed jean shorts and a white cropped maiden bodice, that seemed to barely cover all her precious bits. Michael thought to himself, that there was no way she could be wearing any less clothing and not be naked. She was clearly everything he already knew she was. Sure she was pretty, and possibly mediocrely talented too, but obviously an attention whore who succeeded by flaunting her good looks and receiving handouts from those foolish enough to fall for her tricks.

Michael told the hostess he could find the table himself and walked over to where Elisa’Marie was. She was on her smartphone doing something he didn’t immediately recognize. A rude, prudish, brat to boot, thought Michael.

“Elisa’Marie, I presume?” asked Michael, taking the seat in front of her.

“So you’re the one who wants to ruin my movie.”