America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

Chapter 84: Chapter 84: Inferiority Like an Alien

Inside an apartment building that was completed less than three years ago, Martin followed the landlord Antonio up to the second floor.

Walking up the stairs, Antonio suddenly asked, "Are you an actor?"

Martin was slightly surprised but did not deny it, "Good eye."

"The ones with your accent are all actors who are daydreaming," Antonio, as large as a mountain, panted as he walked, "Don't be surprised, I've seen too many, numerous tenants who have lived in this apartment complex have claimed to be actors."

Martin asked, "Has anyone here become a star?"

Antonio was astonished, "Are you joking? A star? Ha... Let me put it this way, the lucky ones that left here woke up in time and went back to where they came from; the moderately lucky ones became high-end escorts; the unlucky ones ended up as streetwalkers downtown; and the worst of them might have become homeless in some alley."

Martin thought for a moment and asked again, "Are there any who are extremely lucky?"

Antonio reached the third floor and turned into the corridor, "There were two who went to the valley in the north, I heard they make over ten thousand US dollars a week, they also realized their dream to become actresses."

He took out the keys, opened a door, and said, "The previous tenant was also an actor, she was lucky enough to go to the valley."

Martin checked the apartment again, as during the viewing, a not-too-big two-bedroom apartment with full furniture and appliances, clean tables and floors, ready to move in with just a suitcase.

Antonio added, "What do you think? It's expensive for a reason, from here, within 15 minutes you can reach any production studio in Burbank, 25 minutes to Los Angeles International Airport, and it's surrounded by restaurants, bars, movie theaters, arts districts, and supermarkets."

He came to the living room window and pointed diagonally across, "For long-term parking go over to that parking lot, sixty US dollars a week, park as you like."

Martin casually replied, "It's very nice, I liked this place the last time I came."

Antonio warned, "You can bring people over to stay the night, one or two doesn't matter, as long as it doesn't disturb the neighbors, but don't throw parties here, I will call the cops and kick you out."

"No problem," Martin decided to rent it, "Let's sign the agreement."

The two signed the rental agreement, and Martin paid six months' rent in one go, then he went downstairs to get his luggage.

It was not possible to park for a long time here, so he drove to the diagonally opposite parking lot and took the opportunity to register for a weekly pass at the management office.

The cost of living in Los Angeles is higher than in Atlanta.

Martin, with one hand pulling a suitcase and the other holding a bag carrying his computer, returned to the apartment building.

While climbing the stairs, a middle-aged man followed behind him, the light shining on his face made it look like the oil fields of Iraq when they were ablaze—dark, greasy, and pitted.

Martin reached the second floor and turned into the corridor.

The pockmarked-face man also entered the corridor.

Martin gripped his computer bag's strap, reached his door, and focused entirely on the man with the pockmarked face.

But the pockmarked-face man walked to the door diagonally opposite, banging on it, "Jessica, open up! I know you're in there, stop hiding from me."

The door opened, and a blonde woman appeared, "Jessica moved out a while ago, she's not here."

While the pockmarked-face man was still persisting, Martin had already opened his door, entered his apartment, shut the door behind him, and the noise from outside was much reduced.

He unpacked his luggage, organized his belongings, and cleaned the apartment.

Something seemed to be missing.

Martin quickly remembered—he was missing Elena's help with the housework; he was not used to it.

He checked the time and calculated the time difference between the two places, then called Elena's mobile, which was answered promptly on the other end.

"I've rented a place and settled down," Martin inquired, "How about you?"

Elena's voice carried a fatigue, "Everything's fine, Emma's back, and this morning Scott just had a fight with her." She didn't plan to talk more about her family's mess, instead, she said, "I asked Emma in detail, Jack might have gone to Australia or New Zealand."

Martin didn't care where Jack had gone, "He'd better not come back."

Elena also said, "There are a lot of events during Christmas in Atlanta, including a bartenders' competition which I'm thinking of joining."

Martin had left Elena with numerous cocktail recipes, "I wish you the best of luck in winning the championship."

After talking for a few minutes, they hung up the phone. Martin then found the bag with important items, and inside a hardcover notebook, he had noted down the most important addresses and contact details.

Louise Mel was still in Morocco, and at best, she would only come back to Los Angeles for a visit during the Christmas holidays. Martin would call her every few days to talk about life and cocktails.

Kate Winslet lived in London and was currently a pass.

With Robert Patrick, Martin would find an appropriate time to make a special visit.

The same went for Michel Gondry and Blanco.

Then there was the agency Louise Mel had introduced him to, William Morris (WMA).

Coming to Los Angeles meant that Martin had to say goodbye completely to the lax mode of Atlanta; he now had to comply with California's Talent Agency Act.

Work as an actor, director, etc., must be obtained through an agent.

Martin had asked Louise the last time they spoke on the phone, and she had already recommended his information to William Morris.

Of course, a small actor like him shouldn't expect to land a contract and resources from a top agent.

It was impossible to even consider.

Finding an agent was a must; having one could save him a lot of trouble, and since Martin was new to the scene, an agent could help him become familiar with Hollywood more quickly.

Martin found the number Louise had given him, called to introduce himself, and arranged to meet that afternoon.

William Morris was located in Beverly Hills Century City. Martin had lunch, dressed in formal wear, drove over, and arrived at the company's reception a few minutes early. After he reported his name, someone led him through the company's open-plan office.

In every cubicle, men and women dressed in business suits were extremely busy, almost never without a telephone in hand.

The receptionist took Martin to the very back of the hall, where a man in a grey suit, not yet thirty, sat. He gestured for them to wait upon seeing them.

The man spoke rapidly into the phone and, seemingly having failed to achieve his goal, slammed the receiver down and cursed, "Bitch!"

"Thomas, someone is looking for you," said the receptionist and then left.

"Who are you?" asked Thomas Ryan.

"Martin Davis," Martin replied succinctly. "I called this morning, and they asked me to come and see you."

Thomas remembered, "The small actor forwarded to me from above." He looked at Martin like an examiner would, leaned back in his swivel chair, crossed his arms, and scrutinized him: "Young man, where did you study acting, what roles have you played, and who recommended you to the company?"

Martin was getting his information out.

"Don't show me those useless things. You need to develop a sense of time-saving," Thomas quickly said.

Martin told the truth: "I started as an extra at sixteen, learned acting from many people, too many teachers to count, and I recently starred in a B-movie called 'Zombie Stripper'."

Thomas frowned slightly, an unorthodox background with a poor resume.

Just then, a text message alert sounded on his phone, which he checked.

Martin continued, "My recommender is Miss Louise Mel."

Thomas's head shot up sharply, "Louise Mel? Louise Mel from Pacific Pictures?"

Martin nodded, "Yes, her."

Thomas threw his phone back on the desk and pointed to a swivel chair next to him, "Sit down, let's talk." Once Martin was seated, he reached out his hand, "Your personal information? Hand it over."

Martin, unfazed, handed over his documents, his expression and demeanor unchanged.

Thomas took a close look. The front of the resume was unremarkable: a background extra in nighttime shoots in Atlanta, followed by some minor supporting roles. Los Angeles alone could produce thousands with such resumes.

But when he saw 'Zombie Stripper,' the lead role, the name seemed familiar to Thomas.

Without asking further questions, Thomas swiveled toward his computer and typed rapidly. Information on 'Zombie Stripper' appeared on the screen.

A Lionsgate Films theatrical release, North American box office of several million US dollars, lead actor named Martin Davis, looking identical to the man sitting across from him.

This was interesting; the lead in a theatrical film was an excellent resume for a small actor.

He clicked on a search result showing two big scenes of the male lead—the Zombie Gatling Dance and the Aerial Acrobat.

There was also an impromptu dance from a fan meet-and-greet event.

After the video finished, Thomas subconsciously glanced down at his midsection, where a profound inferiority complex gnawed at him like an Alien bursting through the chest.

Looking again at the young man opposite him, with his handsome face and composed demeanor, it was as if he carried an aura of disdain.

Thomas quickly gathered himself, put on a smile, and said, "The lead in a theatrical film—not great critical reception, but the box office returns aren't bad compared to the investment. You have a good starting point."

At that point, Thomas entertained a possibility: although Pacific Pictures wasn't large and never made films independently, it regularly participated in joint ventures. Louise Mel's relationship with this man couldn't be simple.

They were both climbing the Hollywood ladder; some things became clear with just a bit of contemplation.

Louise didn't care, and naturally, Martin wouldn't keep things hidden. By putting his connections plainly on the table, a lot of trouble could be avoided: "I've always been in Atlanta, Louise recommended I come to Los Angeles to develop my career. I don't have an agent or an agency, so she recommended my information to William Morris."

Now, Thomas understood that he wasn't being given a burdensome newcomer but a client with potential, and said, "You've just arrived and don't know the industry well. I can introduce it to you, starting with the agency contract."

He explained in detail: "WMA follows the industry standard, a ten percent commission, new artists sign for one year initially, followed by a three-year period..."

Martin, who had already thoroughly researched these matters, still listened attentively to Thomas.

The biggest advantage of Hollywood agency contracts is the lack of a severe servitude clause.

The relationship between actors, agents, and talent agencies is indeed complex, varying according to the power dynamics within the industry.

For example, at Leonardo's level, one could ditch CAA, forego an agent, and use a manager instead; they'd have no leverage against him.

After doing sufficient research, Martin again called Louise and then signed a one-year agency contract with William Morris.