Sipping on coffee while watching a boring news program, William felt frustrated. All he wanted was to quietly make a film, but people just wouldn't let up.
"Darling, come shopping with me. You can't just stay in the villa all the time. Or I could find something fun for you," Nastassja suggested.
William glanced at the beautiful woman with wet hair and replied tersely, "No way. Your circle of friends is a complete disaster."
"A disaster? You're not exactly blameless, but you have been behaving yourself lately," she shot back.
"Cough, cough."
Not wanting to discuss the matter further, the woman rolled her eyes and said, "You have ready-made scripts. There's no need for a stop in production, is there?"
"Did you forget I'm a member of the Writers Guild? Who knows how long these folks will keep this up?" William replied.
The strike had lost its original meaning. Now, it seemed like more of a ritual. Regardless of any low pay, since William White emerged, Hollywood flocked to great scripts, so how could writers not benefit in this environment?
Human nature often leans toward comparison. The Writers Guild saw producers and studio heads making too much money and thought they should share their wealth.
William wasn't quite for or against this idea. As far as he was concerned, as long as you kept delivering good scripts, those Hollywood heavyweights would spare no expense.
"If you don't handle your business properly and keep complaining about how much others are making, that's just foolishness," he added.
The situation coincided with an election year, and William didn't want the chaos spilling over onto White Films.
"Do you think the Hollywood big shots will agree to their terms?" Nastassja asked.
"Of course not! If your script is good, you can share in the profits. But if it flops, do you think they'll cover your losses?" William snorted dismissively. "Dream on if you think you can shake down the Hollywood giants."
"If everyone's guaranteed to make money, I might as well invest myself," she argued.
"That's not how it works. You have no idea if it will even succeed without studio approval. They might spend a fortune making it, and whether it gets released is even uncertain. Who bears that risk? If the studio takes all the risk and offers you a fair buyout, that's a fair deal, isn't it?"
The woman clearly disagreed with William's stance. "But a good script does provide tremendous value, and that's an undeniable truth!"
"Ha! The script I write could fetch ten million on the open market," he claimed.
She rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Who could get you to write a script these days?"
"You don't need to roll your eyes. It doesn't look good on you. Just look at Terminator -- I paid a hefty price for that too. Plus, I risked working with a flopped director. And why? Because his script was innovative."
Nastassja had no reply. The income for writers at White Films was average -- bonuses were decent, with the chance of sharing in ticket sales helping -- but without a truly exceptional script, it was another story. Cases like Terminator weren't isolated; talent still mattered.
Despite William's grievances, Hollywood was indeed at a standstill. The ones most enthusiastic about it were the youngsters.
William just hoped they realized the consequences of their actions.
Hollywood never lacked great scripts, but turning them into great films was no simple task. Actors, directors, and marketing were all vital components. Most importantly, you needed a mountain of cash and connections, otherwise you were bound to fail.
"Sure, you say art is priceless. But you gotta pay good writers better, or art won't mean much at all," he pointed out.
The moment you start talking about art in Hollywood, you might as well be speaking a different language. From the very day it was born, Hollywood had been a film factory, working with its own effective system.
If you were keen on art, Europe was a better fit.
Americans excelled at marketing. They had no interest in whether your film had artistic merit or contributed to world peace. If it didn't show market potential, it would be tossed aside.
...
"William, I've noticed your films are taking longer and longer. Is it the Hollywood influence?" Lucas teased.
William brushed it off. There were reasons for the delay that might raise eyebrows if he shared them.
The plot for GoldenEye still had some issues -- the Soviets were always portrayed as the villains. Better to wait until they were weaker. If they became someone else's target, that would be a real headache.
"Lucas, I've been too unconventional in Hollywood, which isn't good. As someone benefiting from the system, I'd rather stick to tradition," he admitted.
"Ha! Hearing that from you is rather surprising. Honestly, you're starting to resemble those old-timers," Lucas quipped.
William felt a bit speechless. As a former rule-breaker, he was now becoming more conventional -- a real shocker.
"Isn't that a good thing? I just want to make my money quietly. Look at this mess; who has time for quiet profits anymore?"
"Ah, to be young again," Lucas lamented.
"Ha! Is this crocodile tears coming from you?" William laughed. "You're a boss too, right? Time to quit pretending. Those troublemakers will definitely face the music."
"Right, no boss appreciates this chaos. I didn't expect you to take this stance," Lucas remarked.
"Ha! Lucas, don't tell me you're unaware that group of Donkey's senators is out to mess with me?"
"Guess so. Didn't you overly ally with Bush? The Democrats are in serious trouble this time, of course they'll want to make things difficult for you," Lucas replied.
"Hmph, my news agency and TV station have no political stance. If I get riled up, I'm not supporting Bush; messing with the Democrats will be just fine. I could spend twenty-four hours tearing them apart, and what could they do about it?"
Lucas found himself speechless. California was traditionally a Democratic stronghold, and now a wild outsider had crashed the party, making everyone uneasy.
*****
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