America achieves both fame and fortune

Chapter 89 A Big Deal Worth Hundreds of Millions

On the golden beach, music was blasting, laser lights danced and flipped, and men and women dressed in revealing clothes were dazzling in their own way. Dozens of young and beautiful bodies twisted wildly, like snake demons dancing wildly.

Director Julian then called "cut," and the last scene of the day was finished.

Martin quickly glanced around and spotted the short, blonde woman. He first borrowed a Polaroid camera from someone he knew on the film crew, and then went to find her.

Scarlett Janssen, wearing tight hot pants and a short-sleeved t-shirt, is talking to someone.

Martin waited a moment, and when the person left, he went over to greet them: "Hi, Scarlett."

"Hi." Scarlett remembered Martin; he was a supporting actor in the film crew.

Martin laughed and said, "I have a friend who became a huge fan of yours after watching Lost in Translation."

Scarlett asked curiously, "How crazy is it?"

Martin dared not tell the truth and lied, "He called and threatened to twist my head off in order to get an autographed photo of you."

He raised his camera: "Scarlett, for my sake, can you do me a favor?"

Scarlett took two steps back, her professionalism allowing her to quickly find a suitable background. Facing Martin, she straightened her back and tucked in her stomach: "You can take the picture now."

Martin thought to himself that he couldn't get a picture of his butt like that, and even if he gave it to Old Brooks, he wouldn't want it. But asking for a picture of his back was unreasonable, so he tentatively asked, "Can you take a side view? My friend said you look best from the side, and Marilyn Monroe is nothing compared to you."

Scarlett shrugged helplessly, turned her body slightly, and habitually struck a pose that accentuated her figure.

Martin quickly snapped a photo, and after it dried, he took out a prepared pen from his pocket and handed it over.

Scarlett signed the photo.

Martin said thank you, then left with the photos.

Martin went to the film set to take Polaroid photos, and coincidentally, director Julian was there as well. Martin took the opportunity to chat with him for a few minutes.

The production team of "Entourage" hired four directors, but Martin's scenes did not overlap with those of the other directors, and he only met Julian.

When she came out, she met up with the male lead, Adrian.

Adrian greeted him, "Hey Martin, want to go play on the beach for a bit?"

Martin laughed and replied, "I was just about to head over. Want to grab a drink?"

Adrian nodded: "Wait until I'm done."

"Okay." Martin continued walking forward.

The two passed each other, their smiles fading almost simultaneously.

Martin returned to the beach, ready to join the dancing crowd, when Daisy approached him.

"Are you leaving the film crew tomorrow?" she asked.

Martin said, "I don't have many scenes; we finished filming the last one today."

Daisy said meaningfully, "I've worked with many actors, but you've left the deepest impression on me."

"Oh?" Martin asked, "Really?"

Daisy said, "You may seem promiscuous, but you're a true gentleman at heart."

"A gentleman is just a synonym for a rogue," Martin readily admitted. "That's not entirely wrong."

Daisy was direct: "Gentleman, would you like to stargaze together tonight?"

Martin suddenly thought of the Astronomical Society: "Stars? A multi-million dollar business..."

Unexpectedly, Daisy chimed in, "Pretty much." Her tone suddenly shifted, "Being a minor actor is tough. The pay is pitifully low, and I can only survive by doing part-time jobs. I already owe my landlord two months' rent."

Martin politely declined: "I really need to talk to someone about business related to stars."

"That's a pity." Daisy extended her hand. "I hope we can work together again in the future."

Martin gently squeezed his hand: "I hope so."

Daisy left without looking back and found another male supporting actor in the crew, and they chatted enthusiastically.

Martin checked the time and decided to go home.

There are far too many minor actors like this.

Martin got into the car and took out his phone to call Thomas.

As soon as the call connected, a voice filled with suppressed anger came through: "Damn it, it's nighttime, not work hours, I'm on a date with my girlfriend!"

"Just one sentence," Martin said quickly. "That's all for now. New job?"

In the hotel room, Thomas's female companion glared at him, her gaze like a barrage of arrows that pierced through Thomas.

Having spent years in the mailroom of an entertainment agency, Thomas, a master of deep-seated PUA techniques, knew it was time to put down his phone, appease his girlfriend, and close a multi-million dollar deal.

But his duty as an agent compelled him to continue, "There aren't that many suitable job opportunities in Hollywood. I'm looking for some for you, but you also need to figure things out yourself. Go to the Directors Guild tomorrow and see if any productions are hiring."

The woman jumped down, put on her slippers, and went to get dressed.

Thomas quickly added, "That's it. Don't call me outside of work hours, okay?"

By the time he hung up the phone, his girlfriend was already dressed.

Thomas was dumbfounded: "Honey, you're leaving?"

"Go sleep with your work!" The female companion walked out.

Thomas pointed and asked, "What do we do with it?"

Her female companion scoffed, "You can do the rest of the needlework yourself."

The door opened, then slammed shut again.

Thomas slammed his fist on the bedsheet, grabbed his phone, dialed Martin's number, and yelled as soon as the other end answered, "Martin Davis, I hope you stay a damn gay guy for life, and the one who gets fucked!"

Martin couldn't understand why Thomas was so hysterical, but that didn't stop him from retaliating: "I have a habit of recording phone calls. There's one thing I forgot to mention in the documents: I'm a well-known figure in Atlanta. You can check if you don't believe me. I'll pretend I didn't hear that discriminatory remark..."

Thomas was frustrated, exhausted, and annoyed. What a piece of shit customer this was!

He took a deep breath and decided to let it go for Louise Mayer's sake, saying, "We'll both look for opportunities regarding work."

Martin said, "I'll be waiting for your good news."

Thomas didn't want to do needlework, so he took a cold shower, sat in front of the hotel computer, and searched for keywords such as Martin Davis and Atlanta.

A pink water bottle popped out.

It felt like I was poking Thomas in the face through the screen.

Online sources indicate that this device was created by Martin Davis and a woman named Kelly Gray.

Thomas concluded that such a despicable thing must have been done by that bastard.

After that impulse subsided, Thomas gradually cleared his head, and his thoughts changed again.

How can this guy see that far?

…………

The following morning, Martin slept in late. When he went out for breakfast, he bought a pile of newspapers to look at actor recruitment information.

Most of them hire temporary actors.

Martin can no longer work as an extra.

The newspaper article was useless to him; instead, the article from a nearby gym caught his attention. Martin went to learn more about it and found out that it was one of the largest chain gyms in Los Angeles.

In addition to regular fitness activities, there are also training grounds for swimming, archery, and combat sports.

The gym walls were covered with posters of hunky men and beautiful women. Remembering his promise to Bruce, Martin got a membership card and drove to a newsstand to buy a whole bunch of posters of Jennifer Lopez, Scarlett Johansson, and Madonna.

Unfortunately, we couldn't find Kardashian.

Martin searched online and in video stores; Paris Hilton's tapes were being sold secretly, but Kardashian's weren't.

He remembered someone saying that the latter deliberately learned from the former, and then evolved from the former's handbag carrier into a black killer.

No, they evolved into socialites, and their family's fame spread all over the world.

Back at his apartment, Martin packed up the autographed photo from the previous night, sent it to Bruce via airmail, and drove to the Directors Guild to check job information.

Similar to what's reported in the newspapers, important roles are never advertised for here.

Martin picked up the job posting, found a quiet place to look at it carefully, and searched for any movies that stood out to him.

I actually saw a familiar film; the crew of "National Treasure" has been recruiting extras for the past few months.

The crew of "Dawn of the Dead" is reshooting and recruiting zombie actors.

Martin flipped through it but found nothing; high-end resources rarely flow to this level.

It's also difficult to find a bargain.

Martin had never even heard of most of the movies listed in the job posting.

After a moment's thought, he understood what was going on.

Just like the late-night shows produced by Grey Company, only a small fraction of the films and television series shot here can be broadcast on major platforms, and even fewer can gain fame across the Pacific Ocean.

On the way back, Martin received a phone call from Louise in Morocco.

"Hey hunk, missed me?" She was still as flirtatious as ever. "I'm getting ready to go back to Los Angeles for vacation. Have you got your penicillin and expansion bolts ready?"

Martin knew how to seduce Louise: "I tried making a new cocktail called the Italian Cannon."

Louise raised her voice: "You stay in Los Angeles, don't go anywhere, wait for me to come back! I'll be back five days before Christmas, and then I'll come to Morocco after New Year's."

Martin asked, "Do you need me to pick you up from the airport?"

"No need." Louise composed herself and raised her voice: "An international master like me must maintain my mystique."

She still had work to do: "Wait for my call, I have a surprise for you."

It was another weekend, and Martin went to his accent class.

As soon as I sat down in the classroom, Menez, a Black actor whose skin was almost completely whitened, leaned over and asked, "How's work going lately?"

Martin mumbled, "They're all minor actors; you understand the situation."

Menez held out his hand in front of Martin's eyes: "It's too hard for minor actors to make money; they have trouble even making ends meet."

Under the lights, the Rolex gold watch on his wrist gleamed. Martin narrowed his eyes slightly: "You've been doing quite well lately."

Menez withdrew his hand: "Have you ever considered doing a part-time job? You're slightly less attractive than me, but you could still earn a decent income."

He pulled out a card and handed it to Martin: "Brother, don't say Menez didn't take care of you!"

Martin glanced at it; the card had the name of some high-class club written on it.

"Women can make money with their bodies, and so can we." Menez lowered her voice. "Let me tell you, many of the clients at this club are female celebrities, screenwriters, directors, and producers in the industry. They might be a bit older, but is age a problem?"

Another deal worth hundreds of millions, Martin told Menez, "Thanks, but I don't need it."

Menez frowned, then looked away: "So you do have connections."

(End of this chapter)