The plan Randal had come up with looked good on the surface. Genius, even. Take two immature teens who were very clearly attracted to each other and use one to get the other to do what you wanted.
There was just one thing Randal hadn't accounted for: my business savviness. Sure, I wasn't some Bill Gates or Jeff Bezos-level mastermind, but I liked to think I knew enough about the world to see through schemes like that.
The little act Randal and I pulled back on the street, him pretending to leave me behind, was a bit conceited, I know. But if I had come clean with Julie right from the start, she wouldn't have even listened to me.
Luckily, my plan worked out, and she did call Randal about accepting a three-picture deal. It took Columbia all of three hours to deliver our respective contracts to our doorsteps, as if they'd had them prepared all along. The amount seemed very generous at first glance, but I wasn't some rookie who didn't know his own worth.
Randal didn't have any idea about Julie and me joining forces to negotiate. It was one of the most basic rules: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. There were no real enemies here, of course, but in business, especially in negotiations, the party you're signing with might as well be considered your adversary. And I was more than happy to make Julie my ally.
"Are you sure this isn't too much?" Julie asked, glancing around the polished lobby. We were, after all, in a very upscale law firm in New York City, the one Jordan had recommended for negotiations.
"Of course I'm sure," I said with a confident nod. "It's always good to have someone else negotiate on your behalf. That way, if things get heated, we won't antagonize the studio or the producer. All the blame will land on the agent or the lawyer."
Julie studied me skeptically for a moment before noting, "You're very well informed about these things."
I shrugged, flashing a mysterious smile, just as the receptionist in front of us called out, "Mr. Hunter and Ms. Smith? Mr. Thorpe will see you now."
"Come on," I said, leading the way inside. Julie followed, but I could tell she was a little hesitant.
Michael Thorpe, the man seated behind the large mahogany desk, radiated elegance. He was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard, wearing a designer suit that probably cost more than my first car. Fit for his age, a rarity for someone tied to a desk job, he wore a confident grin that immediately reminded me of Harvey Specter from Suits.
"Noah, Julie," he greeted us warmly, crossing over to shake each of our hands firmly. "Please, come in."
We accepted the offered seats, and Michael wasted no time diving into business. Given that he charged $150 an hour, I appreciated his efficiency.
"So you both got contracts from Columbia," Michael said, picking up the document I had placed on the table between us.
"Yes," I confirmed. "They offered us similar contracts, $50,000 for the first movie, with a three-picture deal attached."
Michael hummed thoughtfully, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for.
"This doesn't make sense," he noted, frowning. "$75k for the second film and $100k for the third? Nah, that's not standard. Usually, the pay jump between movies is much bigger, especially if the first film does well. Their initial offer is also pretty low."
I leaned forward eagerly, the question already burning in my mind. "How much do you think we should get for this film?"
"Let me take a better look first." Michael turned a few more pages and suddenly raised an eyebrow.
"The nudity clause is awfully detailed here," he said, clearing his throat before reading aloud:
'The Artist hereby agrees to appear partially and fully nude, including exposure of frontal and rear nudity, in accordance with the requirements of the script and direction. Simulated sexual activity, including scenes depicting intercourse, masturbation, intimacy, or sensual contact, shall be performed under the direction of the Director and within the bounds of the agreed-upon shooting schedule and storyboard.'
He glanced up at us. "You two are aware of this?"
Julie and I exchanged a quick, uneasy look. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she seemed to shrink slightly in her seat. Michael, to his credit, politely skipped over the next paragraph, which, if anything, got even more explicit, specifying which body parts could be filmed and what exactly constituted "intimacy" and "sensual contact."
Essentially, short of actual penetration or oral sex, we could be asked to perform just about anything, and we'd be contractually obligated to comply.
"Yeah," I said after a beat. "The film's a little on the liberal side. I'll be wearing just a loincloth for most of it. Julie's wardrobe... is basically rags."
Michael's eyes gleamed with professional interest as he leaned in closer.
"Go on. Give me more details about the story so I know exactly what I'm negotiating for."
So I did, giving him a quick rundown over the next ten minutes, with Julie chiming in now and then whenever I missed something important.
When we finished, Michael leaned back in his chair, looking positively pleased.
"That's good," he said, beaming. "That gives me a lot of room to negotiate. In addition to a nudity bonus, I'll also push for skin cancer hazard pay. Since you'll be spending so much time nearly naked on a beach, better safe than sorry."
Thanks to Poseidon, I'm unlikely to get cancer anytime soon, but they don't know that.
Michael tapped the contract thoughtfully with one finger.
"Given how detailed and demanding their nudity waiver is, $75k should be the starting point, at least. If the film ends up cheap or poorly received, it could hurt your reputation before you even have the chance to build one."
So Vic Ramos had been right, the studio would bump up the salary significantly because of the nature of the role. He had promised me an even higher salary, three times Columbia's offer, but I understand that that was probably a false promise to lure me in. He had no authority to approve my pay at all.
Still, I would wait to see it in writing before I believed anything.
For now, I'd trust Michael. Even if he couldn't negotiate beyond what Columbia was offering, it would serve as a good measure of his negotiating power, and based on that, I'd decide whether to keep employing him in the future.
"I'll also add a few more conditions for you, like your stay, flights, meals, and the like," Michael added. "Any special terms you want me to discuss with Columbia on your behalf?"
Julie shook her head after a brief pause.
"Just one," I said, thinking it through. "It'd be good if Columbia could provide a professional swimming coach while I'm shooting the film."
"I'll see what I can do," Michael promised.
(Break)
Michael Thorpe was your typical lawyer, the kind who was too much of a coward to ever face a judge or jury. Instead, he chose a specialty that formed the bread and butter of most corporate lawyers: contract negotiations.
Based in New York, Michael had built connections with many of the bigwigs in the TV and film industry over the years. Back in the early '60s, when studios were hell-bent on creating stars and locking them into ironclad contracts, it had been a nasty, cutthroat business.
But as times changed, so did the industry. Actors started seeking opportunities beyond a single studio, and just like that, the door swung open for free agents and for lawyers like Michael. In the past decade alone, new talent agencies have popped up everywhere. It was jarring how quickly Hollywood's face was changing.
When one of his older clients, Jordan Duncan, called to recommend one of his models as a potential client, Michael had been skeptical. Most models couldn't afford his rates.
Only when he learned that the boy was coming to negotiate an acting contract did it start to make sense.
Noah Hunter, the model-turned-actor, had gone even further, showing up with his female co-star, Julie Smith, in tow.
When Michael reviewed the contracts Noah and Julie had received, he knew immediately what they were walking into: two kids being lured by the promise of fame into a cheap sexploitation film.
Sexploitation was a dying genre. Each year, fewer and fewer of those films were made, but the industry's hunger to exploit young, ambitious newcomers hadn't faded.
Even so, Michael was surprised by the initial offer: $50,000.
Big studios didn't usually pay that much for sexploitation roles. It was less than what they should have gotten for a legitimate film debut, but it was still better than the typical bait-and-switch contracts that flooded the market.
He decided to treat it as a real negotiation for a studio-backed film. After all, that was what he did best.
And Noah, well, Noah was smart. Most boys his age wouldn't have had the sense to team up with their co-star and leverage that alliance to negotiate a better deal.
Michael could already tell: even if this film went nowhere, someone like Noah would find success sooner or later.
Better to help him now diligently and cultivate a long-term client.
Anyway, time to see if Michael's skills were worth their price.
"Sam," Michael began slowly, smiling at the fat old man sitting across from him, "this offer is too low. We both know that. Let's be a little more generous here.
"Those kids are putting everything on the line for this role. Just imagine, they'll still be in college when the film releases, and all their friends and classmates will see them naked. I'd be mortified if I were in their place. Please, don't exploit two promising young talents just starting their careers."
"They're not the only actors out there, Mike," Samuel countered immediately. "We already have other equally talented young men and women lined up if this deal falls through."
"Yes, but you chose Noah and Julie for a reason," Michael pressed. "Together, they're better than any other pair you've seen, aren't they? Come on, Sam. Don't be so rigid. Throw me a bone here."
Samuel mulled over the terms Michael had listed, tapping his fingers lightly against the armrest. After a few moments, he said, "To begin with, I can allow a clause that limits the shooting of future films to the summer months. But Noah won't get access to a freshwater pool. If he's willing to swim in the ocean, I'll bring in a professional-level trainer from Australia."
"I'll talk to him, and I'm sure he'll agree," Michael nodded appreciatively.
He had added the freshwater pool condition mainly as a bargaining chip, and clearly, it had worked.
"Now, what about the pay offer?" he prompted.
Samuel closed his eyes in thought for a moment before responding.
"Before that, we need to hash out a few details. Aside from the pay, I agree to all your conditions except one: exclusivity. They'll be free to seek opportunities elsewhere, but they'll need our approval first. We'll only block them if we have another role lined up for them. That's non-negotiable."
Michael inclined his head slightly in acceptance.
"We can live with that — if the pay offer's good enough."
Sam leaned back, eyeing Michael carefully, before making a bold offer.
"How about this: stick to the original $50k each, and I'll personally pay you $20k in cash — right here, right now. Noah and Julie don't have to know."
Michael closed his eyes briefly. The offer was tempting. Very tempting. But he knew it wasn't a good one. It was one thing to bend the IRS rules; deceiving your own client was another matter entirely.
And if he didn't get them a raise, there was a good chance Noah would drop him after this deal anyway. Long-term gains were always better than short-term ones.
Even if that weren't a risk, there was still the matter of ethics. Michael was willing to bend the law, but not his principles.
"No," Michael said, shaking his head. "No deal. Whatever happens, happens with my clients' full knowledge. Give me your next offer."
Samuel gave Michael an impressed look. "You're a good one. Most would've taken that offer. Have it your way, then: $60k each for the first film, $75k for the second, $100k for the third. Non-negotiable if we make those movies."
"That's not fair," Michael countered immediately. "It's very unlikely either of them will get another job after this with another studio given the nature of the film. We both know that. They know that. Everybody does. Please don't exploit them so blatantly, especially when Columbia itself is unlikely to offer them a second film."
Samuel shook his head, all seriousness. "I'm not exploiting anyone. That's how the studio system works. We can't pay inexperienced kids the same salaries as Al Pacino or Jack Nicholson, can we?"
"Jack Nicholson charged $2 million for his last movie," Michael shot back. "At least pay them five percent of that. And everyone knows the salaries for the second and third films usually double and triple when the initial figure is this low. So don't give me that bullshit."
They locked eyes, entering a fierce staring contest. Finally, Samuel looked away, conceding defeat.
"$75k, $150k, and $225k for the three films, respectively," he said slowly. "That's my absolute final offer. I am not authorized to offer any newcomer even a cent more than that. Take it or leave it."
Michael felt a rare surge of satisfaction. Ecstatic inside, but outwardly calm, he gave a small nod. "That's doable. Let me present the offer to my clients, but I'm positive they'll accept it."
Samuel nodded back, then asked a question Michael hadn't anticipated. "When the time comes, do you want the full $75k wired into the bank account, or partly in cash?"
Michael frowned slightly, rubbing his chin. Good question.
The federal tax rate was brutal: going up to 70% for the top earners. Not to mention the 14% top marginal state tax for New York residents.
Actors and high earners often structured their deals to receive part of their salaries in cash, shielding themselves from brutal taxation. If Noah and Julie took half their pay in cash, they could save tens of thousands. But this wasn't a decision he could make alone.
"I'll have to talk to my clients about it," he replied.
"You do that," Samuel said, rising to shake his hand. "Wait outside for ten minutes. Someone will bring out the revised contracts. Pleasure doing business with you."
"The pleasure's mutual," Michael said smoothly as he stood up.
He left the room feeling deeply satisfied. If it were up to him, he'd recommend they take half in cash. It would easily save them a good chunk in taxes. Backroom arrangements like this were very common, or top actors like Jack Nicholson wouldn't have been able to afford their lavish living.
Even if Noah incorporated and filed taxes as a company, he'd still face a maximum of 46% corporate tax.
As he waited outside for the revised contracts, Michael was already planning his next moves. He needed Noah to see just how much he had delivered, so that their relationship would last for years.
Michael had handled many artists and industry types over the years, but this was his first time managing a lead actor. And he was determined to make sure it wouldn't be the last.
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