Million Dollar Julie

Maybe I read The Rules one too many times in my twenties, but I'm very good at acting like I could care less about you or the horse you rode in on, thank you. Then again, playing coy didn’t work so well in my romantic life, inasmuch as I don’t have one. Lately I've been wondering about the wisdom of applying the same technique to the career I don't have. Nearly two years out of film school and the only writing job I’ve landed is an uncredited dialogue punch for which one of my big deal screenwriter friends paid me two grand under the table. Her business manager sent me a 1099 that disqualified me from the three hundred dollar tax credit the government gives to poor people.

I've recently developed a new approach to becoming a million dollar screenwriter, or even a second rate hack who works anyway. Begging. The plan is to march into my next big deal studio meeting, accept the Evian bottle, shut the door, hit my knees, and begin weeping. Failing that, I could certainly manage to grow misty-eyed and visibly determined around the jawline, like Hilary Swank in Karate Kid III. Or anything, really.




JULIE
I just need someone to take a chance on me! Please, Charlie! I’m begging you!

EXECUTIVE
Who’s Charlie? I'm Justin.

JULIE
Okay. Whatever.

EXECUTIVE
Can you get off my floor and go now? It’s time for my yoga lesson.

Last week I had a meeting to discuss nothing in particular with a senior executive who liked my spec. My manager calls these “generals,” as in “Generally Pointless to Put On Clothes and Drive All The Way to Burbank.” On the plus side, I’ve recently discovered a Fuddrucker’s on that side of the hill. Nothing like a bucket of chili fries and a burger the size of a Volkswagen to put a positive spin on the day.

Mysteriously, they actually had my name at the guard gate so I didn’t have to pull over and hang my head in shame while important people in limos drove past. Equally surprising was ample parking and a hot guy with an Italian accent directing me to the executive suite. The assistant who met me at the elevator offered Red Vines and Hot Tamales along with a very nice bottle of Crystal Geyser with lime. As if all that weren’t classy enough, the woman I was to meet appeared ready to do that rather than having me wait outside and read the trades while she sat on the phone arguing the nutritional merits of chicken tenders with her nanny. I took in the sweeping, panoramic view of the lot and cut to the chase while she was still busy blowing on a fresh cup of peppermint tea.

JULIE
Look, if you don’t want to buy my script --

EXECUTIVE
I do want to buy it.

JULIE
Please! I just need someone to take a chance on me!

EXECUTIVE
Would you also consider an open assignment?

JULIE
Look, lady. I'm not above begging.

EXECUTIVE
I think you need more candy.

JULIE
Fine, then! Run off to yoga class!

EXECUTIVE
Yoga? Honey, I'm from New York.


At last, someone with upper arms as flabby as my own who was willing to give me a job and ply me with sugary snacks!

My big Hollywood life being what it is, however, victory was fleeting. I read in the trades this morning that the studio president jumped ship over the weekend. While it's too soon to tell what this means for my future or indeed that of the nice lady with the candy jar, gee I’m glad I stopped at Fuddrucker’s on my way home just in case.