Youngsters

The revenge of the put upon

 

 

 

Youngsters

 

by

 

Jon McDonald

 

           

Daniel couldn’t believe what he was holding in his hand.  Yes, he had heard the announcements that early morning when the Academy announced the nominations.  And, of course, his phone had not stopped ringing all that morning either.  But here it was, in black and white - the official invitation to the eighty-third Academy Awards.  With his name on it - Best Original Screenplay, for his quiet little film, Youngsters.  Wow.

He sat down and picked up the phone and called his agent, Nash Gordon.   (Of course everyone called him Flash behind his back.)

“I got it.”  Daniel announced, once he had gotten through the brigade of secretaries that protected his agent from intruders.  “I’m holding it right here in my hand.  It’s even got my name spelled correctly this time.”  Daniel was still smarting from the time his last name was spelled Colbaltz instead of Kolbaltz at the Golden Globes.  “Guess I’d better get my tux cleaned.  It’s been awhile.”

“Can we have lunch?”  Nash cut off Daniel’s sweet rhapsodizing.  “Couple a things we gotta cover.”

“Oka-a-ay.” Daniel responded, a little unsure.

“I’m on another call �" Cahoots at one?”

“Got it.  One o’clock, Cahoots.  See you then.”

Daniel put down the phone, and sighed because he really didn’t want to go out today.  He was still in his PJ bottoms, an old Cornell sweat shirt and his scuffies.  All he really wanted to do today was work on the new project for Kiva.  He had been knocking out the first draft pretty quickly and thought he would be able to present it next week if he got a good day’s work in today.

Now Daniel could hardly be called a looker.  Here he was at sixty-two, rather rumpled, a bit bent by all the years at the typewriter before he was forced to use a computer by the studio execs who wanted that script file emailed to them right now; and what hair he had left was combed across his head and reacted like a flag in a stiff wind. 

His wife had left him twenty years ago and he had still not stricken her name from tag below the door buzzer at the entrance to the apartment building.  Yes, apartment - no fancy condo, house in the Hills or mansion in Bel Air for him.  He was just about as unpresuming as any Hollywood celebrity could be.  Of course, as a writer he was not exactly paparazzi fodder - he could easily pass as a low level CPA or a salesman for a carpet cleaning service.  Didn’t bother him one bit, though.  He liked the anonymity and the freedom it gave him to pass freely and unobserved through the sparkle dens of Tinsel Town.  But now he would have to go out and face his agent over a seared sesame tuna Caesar. 

He would actually have to put on some pants.  He knew better, of course, but he put on a pair of plaid golf pants and a chartreuse polo.  He loved outraging the fashionistas, and Cahoots would be totally outfitted with Swank at a Friday Lunch - just before everyone scooted off early for the weekend in Palm Springs.  He could just imagine the sneers over pulled down “shades” as comments tumbled out about his garish attire.  But few would recognize him till he sat down with Nash.  Then the light bulbs would go off and they would realize it was only Daniel Kolbatz �" that crazy writer.  Then someone would remember that he had just been nominated, and the conversations would subtly shift from snark to wondering if he would be interested in that bright little investment they had been trying to unload ever since the Crimean war.

Daniel sailed into Cahoots, having left his ’93 Chevy Malibu with the Valet Parking Folks in total bewilderment.  Was this some kind of exotic vintage Jaguar they speculated?  No one had ever seen one of these before.

Nash was already waiting for him, busily working two cell phones.  He snapped them both shut as Daniel slipped into his chair under the umbrella on the patio.

“You have my undivided attention.” Daniel announced after they had ordered and been served their San Pellegrino.

Nash put both of his vibrating phones aside and focused solely on Daniel.  “Just have to say congrats again.  Wow, you did it kid.  I’ve been talking you up a storm all over town.  Even if you don’t win this one, we got ourselves a hot ticket with the big boys.  Got half a dozen enquiries already about your availability.”  He nodded fiercely, which meant that he was processing more information than he could put into words.

“And we needed to have lunch for you to tell me this, why?”  Daniel might look like a schlub but he knew the Hollywood shuffle and suspected something else was afoot.

“Yeah…”  Nash was nodding wildly.  He picked up his phone then put it down again.  “Yeah, well the thing is….  There might be a slight problem.”

“Uh huh, and what might that slight problem be?”  Daniel bent down and looked up at Nash who was avoiding his gaze by looking down at his fried calamari.

“Well, you see….  You know this town.  Perception is everything, right?  You know that.”  Daniel was waiting for the clincher.  “And the studios are hot for the youth market.  So I was thinking that we need to put a nice young face up there at the Oscars.”

“You want me to have a lift?  Is that it?”

“No, no, nothing that radical.  I mean, come on, what would that accomplish?”

“So I’m past rehabilitation?”

“Well….  Actually I was thinking more along the lines of a stand-in.”

“What!”  Daniel stood up.  A few forks paused at the surrounding tables.  And eyes peered over like hidden tree animals in the jungle.

“Now, don’t get all bent out.  Just for the telecast.  You could go to the parties and all, as my guest.  Like my uncle, say.”  Daniel was turning red.  “Sit down. Sit down.”

Daniel sat down again, too outraged at first to speak.  Nash reached over and patted Daniel’s hand.  “It’s nothing personal, you know that.  But age doesn’t sell too well in this town.”

“And what about experience? “  Daniel finally managed to grunt out.

“Hey, you’re only as good as your last block buster.  And Youngsters, it’s a nice little pic.  Hey, that kid was adorable.  But it grossed what? - ten, fifteen mil domestic?  I mean come on what’s that gonna get you?  It’s all about the buzz, and the bucks that follow.”  He snapped his fingers three times to emphasize the speed of how Hollywood works.

“But I’ve been nominated for an Academy Award. What’s that - dog s**t on the sidewalk?”

“Okay, okay.  Don’t get uppity.  Just listen to my proposal.  Remember, I’m thinking of you.  And your career.  Who’s your daddy?”

“I am.  You’re thirty-five, for chrizsake.”

“Don’t look over thirty-three, though, do I?”  He brushed back his tastefully tinted hair.  “So, here’s the deal.  I’ve hired this actor - nobody you’d know - to be you for the event.  Not too old.  But not too young either.  Good Central Casting - slightly younger daddy type.  Little silver on the sides.  Strong jaw.  Maybe a three day old stubble.  Breakfast of Champions.  You get the picture.  And he’s on the red carpet and in your seat when the cameras scan the nominees.  Hey you can even write the acceptance speech if you win.  The whole gig’s yours except for the face.  It’s perfect.  High impact on the market and a home run if you win.  He’s an actor remember - will give a great speech.”

‘No.”  Daniel was adamant.  “Damn it, Nash.  This goes too far.”

“Well, it’s not an option really, I’m afraid.  You know you’ve never really put yourself out there.  You always took conference call pitches and emailed your scripts.  You always wanted to work at home and never play the game.  Only a few insiders know what you really look like.  Let’s use that to our advantage.  Look at yourself.  Would you want to see that ascending to the podium?”

Daniel glanced down at his thrift store appearance.  His cute little fashion joke didn’t seem so clever right now.  “Well….I don’t care.  I’m not going to miss out on what may be my only award experience.”

Nash rose, after signing the check.  “Get used to it.  If you want me to keep you on as a client, and if you want to continue to work and make some money you’d better play ball.  It’s not a request, it’s a requirement.” 

*      *      *

When Daniel got back from the lunch in a stew, the light was blinking on his answering machine.  He pressed the button to listen to his message.  It was from Raymond Hirsh, an agent he had run into many times out and about who ran a small agency of very select writers, and a few actors and directors.  He asked Daniel to call him for a brief chat.

Daniel picked up the phone and called Raymond.  He got through right away.  “Mr. Hirsh, this is Daniel Kolbalt.”

“Yes, Daniel.  Thanks for getting back to me.  Really appreciate your prompt reply.”

“Of course.”

“Congratulations on the nomination.  I’ve seen Youngsters and it’s really deserving.”

“Thanks, I’m proud of it.”

“Listen Daniel, I’m not fishing for new clients.  I never poach, but I was at Cahoots for lunch today and saw you and Nash Gordon.  He’s your agent, right?”

“Ummm.”

“Well that doesn’t sound very decisive.”

“There are issues.”

“Yes, I overheard.  Sorry about that.  But the patio is rather small and one does hear almost everything.”

“He’s a son a b***h.”

“I know it’s none of my business but I believe he treated you abominably.  Just wanted to let you know there are alternatives if you want to consider them.”

“How about lunch tomorrow at noon?  Not Cahoots though.”

“Noon it is, how about Splash?”

“That’s good.  See you then.”

Daniel sat brooding at his computer.  He was too distracted by the episode at lunch to concentrate fully on the screenplay.  He sat watching the blinking cursor.  He was working on a mob revenge story �" Reluctant.  His mind kept flashing back to lunch but would launch forward occasionally with a new caper or plot twist for the script.  Then it came to him and he smiled. 

*      *      *

Raymond was waiting for him outside Splash when Daniel pulled up to the curb.  Raymond leaned in the window and asked, “May I?” indicating he wanted to get in the car.

“Sure.” Daniel replied. 

Raymond sat beside him and looked over with a sly smile.  “You like Falafel?”

“Yup.”

“Good, drive two blocks and turn left.  It’s just on the right.”

“I know that place.  Why there?  Why’d you change the restaurant?”

“I don’t want what happened to you yesterday to happen again today.  No industry prying eyes or ears.”

“Un huh.”  Daniel smiled.  “I wonder if we might be thinking along the same lines.  I’ve had a few thoughts myself since we chatted yesterday.”

Raymond turned to him and smiled.  “Ya never know.”

*      *      *

The big night finally arrived.  Nash was pacing nervously in the neighborhood of the red carpet, watching the celebs arrive, and waiting for Benton Miles, the actor he’d hired to impersonate Daniel, to arrive with his fake mother.  Nash had decided that Daniel would have brought his mother to the awards show so he had hired an actress, Mildred Dunlop to be ‘Mom’.  Now Mildred had struggled for years to make it big, and had had a brief flash in the 60’s playing a TV mom, but she also struggled with other demons as well, and soon vanished from any public or industry recognition.  He was counting on her being unknown ‘cause she really looked the part.

Nash was a little miffed at Daniel because he had declined to come to any of the after parties, and was not taking his calls.  Had he gone too far?  Nah, just some crazy old dude with a grudge.  But Nash was getting a lot of inquiries about writing assignments for Daniel.  He was still a viable meal ticket.

Finally the car pulled up.  Not a limo - Nash was not about to spring for that.  And a very respectable looking gentleman and ‘Mom’ emerged from the car smiling.  None of the media knew who they were, so they proceeded into the theatre with absolutely no attention given them, whatsoever.  Whew, first hurdle over.  Nash trundled after them and caught up with them at the bar.

It was his first real up close look at Benton. 

“What happened?”  He asked, as he took Benton by the arm, holding him at arms length and viewing what appeared to be an evening suit about four sizes too small.

“I have no idea.”  Benton responded, looking down at the suit - cuffs showing about three inches, and the pants coming several inches above his ankles.  “It was just fine when I tried it on at the store and they delivered it to me the next day.  I never thought to try it on again before this evening.”

“Christ, you look like a clown.  Pull your pants down at least.”

Just then Mildred, Scotch in hand, weaved her way from the bar to Nash and just before reaching him did a little tumble, catching herself by grabbing hold of Benton’s sleeve at his left shoulder.  The sleeve detached itself from the jacket and slid away into Mildred’s hand.  She reeled backwards, holding the sleeve up for intimate inspection.

“Ooopsie.”  She giggled and waved the sleeve around her head like a revolutionary waving a flag of independence.  “What have we got here?”  She tried to focus, but slipped again and ended up sitting on the floor; Scotch flying around her head like a dog shaking itself coming out of a pond. 

Nash could not speak but looked around to see who might be witnessing this.

“I think we have a teensie weensie little pwoblem here.”  She uttered, then she fell backwards and passed out.

Benton bent over to assist her and as he leaned in to pull her up, the back seam of his pants split right down the middle completely exposing his boxer shorts that read, This is an entrance and an exit.

Nash was panicking.  He grabbed Benton to pull him up so his coat would cover the split pants and the right sleeve broke loose in Nash’s hand as well. 

Mildred had somewhat revived and was now crawling back towards the bar crying out.  “I just need a little refreshment and I’ll be right as rain.”

Nash stood up, Benton’s sleeve in hand, and glanced at the mirror behind the bar.  His recently touched up hair color was streaming down his face like chocolate sauce on a hot fudge sundae.

Just then Daniel walked up, fresh from the hairdressers with a facial, a manicure, his head completely shaved and a brand new Valentino evening suit.  He was accompanied by Raymond and a stunning looking woman in a red chiffon gown with a necklace of diamonds and rubies. 

“Nash, is this a bad time?”  He looked around at the fallen Mildred, the cowering Benton with what was left of his coat covering his rear, and the very subdued Nash, chocolate streaming down his face.  Daniel brought Raymond forward. “I’d like to introduce you to my new agent, Raymond Hirsh.  I believe you two know each other.  Raymond has so kindly introduced me to this charming lady, who is also one of his clients, and a very talented writer as well.  We’re looking into doing a collaboration together.”

The lobby lights flickered, as it was time for the telecast to begin shortly.

“My, Nash, you look a little frazzled.  Perhaps you might want to watch the ceremony from the bar.  Might allow you the opportunity to regroup.”

They started to walk away.  Nash was still unable to find any words, his head nodding away like crazy.  But Daniel stopped and returned.  “You have my tickets, I believe.”  He held out his hand and Nash reached in his coat pocket and gave the tickets to Daniel.

As he was about to leave, Daniel leaned in to Nash and whispered in his ear.  “Never underestimate the imagination, or the resources, of an old fart writer who knows how to craft a really good revenge saga.”