The Contract

A Story by J. C. Hopkins

An excercise to get me back in the swing of writing using only a rapper, a sushi bar, and focusing on dialogue. This is what evolved.

"Just the man I was looking for."

Anton looked up from his unagi to see his agent walking in to the hole in the wall restaurant it had taken him the good portion of the week to find. I cant get away from this guy, he thought as he struggled with his last piece of the only decent sushi this dump had to offer.

"I've got good news for ya buddy." Buddy? Anton couldn't believe this fake f**k even remembered his name. "I got Lysol to agree on featuring you in a commercial for their automatic soap dispensers," Anton's hired slime ball continued. "But there is a catch, they want you to write the rap they'll use on the commercial."

"Come on Jerry that's the best you can do for me? Besides you know I don't do that s**t anymore."

"Anton its something, a lot more of something than you've had in the past year. Just use one of your old songs and say Lysol instead of ho or something, its easy and it's quick money. Who knows this may even end up being your 'Pepsi commercial'."

"So what I have to embarrass myself and light my hair on fire?" Anton shot back at the reference to Michael Jackson's famous accident on the set of a Pepsi commercial.

"Look Anton don't bust my balls here, its a gig and this is what you pay me for. And God knows its been awhile since that's happened."

Anton couldn't help but let out a small laugh listening to the leech complain about not getting a share of the money he earned. The sense of entitlement from this prick was enough to make anybody sick.

"This is a start Anton, you wanted to get into acting anyways right?" Even Jerry, the king of bullshitting, couldn't hide the sarcasm.

"That's not acting, that's selling out completely."

"Call it what you want, but it pays and if you want to keep up the life you've made, you're going to have to sell out a little bit on this. These are the things that are expected from someone in this business."

Anton rolled his eyes. He didn't want to maintain this lifestyle. Maybe he was washed up, he considered it Kurt Cobain-syndrome, but it was pricks like Jerry that had pushed him to live virtually in the shadows the past year. Pricks like him that forced Anton to search for dive strip clubs and sushi joints like the one he was in. Even the sushi was a byproduct of his new life in the lyme light. He would have never even thought to try raw fish had his debut album been a flop and his fame never been built. Sushi was rich people's food, even if it was as mediocre as the s**t served in this joint. It had become apparent to Anton that getting out of the camera lenses of the paparazzi was just as difficult as getting in.

"Jerry I can't write anymore, I've lost my flow. I can't lay s**t down anymore man. F**k even thinking about writing this s**t for a commercial has got me nervous."

"Ok, a little writer's block, no biggie my man, I'll talk to the people at Lysol. They wont like it, but I'll see if they can come up with something for you. Shouldn't be too big of a deal. But I need a commitment from you before I go back to them on this."

"I don't know man, I don't feel right about it. I mean what the f**k do I know about soap dispensers."

"Don't be a pain in the a*s. You don't have to know anything. All you gotta do is lay down some catchy little rap song, smile, say Lysol cleans the hell out of everything, and get paid. Piece of cake."

Anton was growing more and more reluctant the more reassuring Jerry became. He didn't want to do commercials. Hell he didn't even want to do an album any time soon. He'd hit a wall, and anything he tried to produce just felt so forced. Maybe he needed a vacation, something to inspire him again. Or maybe he should just be done with rapping. He was getting old for the rap game anyway, and quitting now would still leave quite a legacy behind. A legacy people could admire and envy. Regardless something had to change, starting with the bloodsucker sitting across from him.

"Jerry I don't want to do commercials. I was open to the idea of getting into acting, but even then, Its not like I'm crazy about it. I need more time off, I don't know maybe travel, something to find some inspiration again."

"Anton, big playa, this is just a hiccup. Do the commercial, take that paper to the bank, then worry about all this other jazz." Jerry replied, suddenly connecting to his manufactured urban roots in his last ditch effort for a commitment. "One commercial aint gonna kill ya."

"Alright we'll see." Anton lied hoping this deflection would be good enough to silence Jerry's nagging. "I'll think about it and I'll let you know."

"That's all I was asking playa. I'll send my assistant over with the contract tomorrow. Take a look and let me know. I need a signature by the end of the day."

Anton chuckled again at how fast Jerry drop the ghetto dialect as soon as he switched from the pitch to talking about the actual contract. Too bad Anton had gotten so sick of Jerry's s**t at this point, because it would undoubtedly leave Jerry with the impression that "ghetto talk" worked on him.

"Don't worry I'll check the fine print for you, and make sure everything's legit. I can tell ya now though that its not going to be as much as your probably looking for."

"How much?"

"Well I talked them up as much as I could but they're firm on no more than 2 grand."

"How long would it take?"

"Your looking at having to shoot for a week."

"I'll think about it Jerry."

"Alright I'll hook up with ya later and get the wheels moving my man."

Anton looked back down at his empty plate as Jerry walked out, his phone hitting his ear three steps from leaving the table. Anton couldn't believe he'd given him that much time pitching this bullshit. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to do much of anything. He had enjoyed the brief isolation he'd had earlier while eating his lunch, before the vampire agent found him. Now with him gone he hoped for that isolation to return. He ordered some Saki and decided that this cheap little sushi joint would be good enough for him to spend a couple more hours in. Anton then put his headphones in his ears and continued round after round of Saki.

Nearly two hours passed before suddenly the music blaring in his ears switched to the annoying and generic sound of his ringtone. Anton looked down to see the identity of the caller was Jerry, again Jerry interrupting his semi-isolation. Reluctantly, Anton answered his call knowing that his agent was much too persistent for the glory that is the "F-U Button."

"Sup Jerry?" Anton grumbled.

"Anton my man, what's cracking?" Thug Jerry had returned and Anton hated himself for validating this dialect last time he spoke to him. "I'm looking over this contract bro, and I think its gonna be a pretty sweet deal. You still kicking it at that s****y sushi joint?"

"Yeah I'm still here." Anton considered lying, but again thought of Jerry's persistence that would inevitably vanquish all attempts he made at hiding his location.

"Cool man, I'm actually back in the area so I figured I'd swing by real quick and get that J Hancock from ya so we can get going on this thing. I'll be there in five." Jerry squeezed out before disconnecting the line. Anton never even had the chance to get in a word before the call ended.

The five minutes passed and Jerry returned with contract in hand, and this time his blue tooth had reclaimed its spot on Jerry's ear. At least he had shown the decency of removing it during his first interruption, but thus the gravitational forces between his ear and the blue tooth were too much for Jerry to handle, and balance was again reached.

"Jerry I really don't think I can do..."

"Anton its a quick gig, it doesn't mean anything and I'm sure your still the same rap star you were before. Lets make a little money to get that next album going." Jerry interjected before Anton could finish. "Look its solid money and a week's work."

"Jerry its against everything I stand for, the Beatles didn't do this kind of s**t."

"So what your a hippie now? Come on don't you even listen to mainstream rap? Its all about making that paper. Besides if you don't, they'll just find someone else to. And lets face it here man, it aint like you just put something out yesterday. This is the best I could do for you right now. Once you put something out, then we can look at better gigs, but this is the best we got right now."

"Let me see it," Anton grumbled, ignoring Jerry's attacks on him and the music that was so much more to him than just "making that paper" the way Jerry simplified it.

Anton skimmed over the contract. He was convinced at one point it was going to say he had to pull his pants down and grab his ankles on camera. Hell that might even make him feel better about it. Finally, he reached the last page. That long underscore where his signature was required. Anton took a deep breath. He knew exactly what putting his name down meant, no matter how much Jerry tried to downplay it. He knew that he would be selling out by signing that piece of paper. He knew that this life had slowly chipped away at everything he'd once believed in. Eroded every prior relationship he'd had until they were virtually unrecognizable. Jerry was wrong about the impact signing this contract would have, but he was right about needing the money. And so, Anton looked down at the agreement, took a deep breath, and watched as his soul travel through the pen and onto the contract.