America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

Chapter 89: Chapter 89 A Business Worth Several Hundred Million

The music on the golden beach was pumping, with laser lights leaping and reversing as scantily-clad men and women of every color twisted and writhed their youthful and beautiful bodies, as if a host of serpentine demons were dancing wildly.

It was then the director, Julian, called cut, as the day's final scene was wrapped.

Martin quickly scanned the area and spotted a petite blonde woman. First, he borrowed a Polaroid camera from someone he knew in the production crew and then headed over to her.

Scarlett Johansson was wearing tight shorts and a crop top, chatting with someone.

Martin waited a moment until the person left, then approached her and greeted, "Hi, Scarlett."

"Hi." Scarlett remembered Martin, an actor with a minor role in the crew.

Martin said with a smile, "I have a friend who became your crazy fan after watching 'Lost in Tokyo.'"

Scarlett asked curiously, "How crazy?"

Martin didn't dare to tell the truth and bluffed, "He threatened to twist my head off if I didn't get him your autograph."

He raised the camera in his hand, "For the sake of my head, could you do me a favor?"

Scarlett took two steps back, her professionalism allowing her to quickly find the right background and face Martin with her chest out and stomach in, "You can take the picture."

Martin thought that if he didn't capture her posterior, Old Cloth wouldn't want it, but it felt unreasonable to ask to take a photo from the back. He tentatively asked, "Can I take a side profile picture? My friend says you look the most beautiful from the side, even Marilyn Monroe has got nothing on you."

Scarlett helplessly spread her hands and turned half her body, posing naturally to highlight her figure.

Martin quickly snapped the photo, and once the picture was dried, he pulled out a prepared pen from his pocket and handed it over.

Scarlett signed on the picture.

Martin said thanks and dashed off with the picture.

He went back to the crew to return the Polariod and bumped into director Julian just in time for a quick chat.

"Star Partners" had hired four directors, but Martin's scenes did not overlap with any director other than Julian, whom he had met.

As he was leaving, he bumped into the male lead, Adrian.

Adrian initiated the convo, "Hey, Martin, not going to hit the beach for a bit?"

Martin responded with a smile, "Was just about to head over there, join me for a drink?"

Adrian nodded, "After I wrap up here."

"Sure thing," Martin continued on his way.

As they passed each other, the smiles on their faces almost simultaneously vanished.

Martin returned to the beach, ready to join the frenzied crowd, when Daisy came up to him.

"Are you leaving the set tomorrow?" she asked.

Martin answered, "I don't have many scenes; I wrapped up my last one today."

Daisy hinted at something more, "I've worked with many actors, and you've left the strongest impression on me."

"Oh?" Martin replied, "Really?"

Daisy remarked, "You seem carefree, but at heart, you're a true gentleman."

Well, a gentleman is just another word for a rogue. Martin candidly admitted, "That's not entirely incorrect."

Daisy was straightforward, "Gentleman, would you like to watch the stars with me tonight?"

Martin suddenly thought of the Astronomical Society, "Stars? That's a multimillion-dollar big deal..."

Unexpectedly, Daisy picked up the conversation, "Roughly," she said, her tone changing, "It's tough being a small-time actor, with pitiful salaries; I have to do side gigs to survive, I'm already two months behind on my rent to the landlord."

Martin declined very tactfully, "I really do have to discuss some business about the stars."

"That's too bad." Daisy extended her hand, "I hope we can work together again in the future."

Martin gave her hand a light shake, "I hope so too."

Without looking back, Daisy left to approach another male actor from the crew, starting an enthusiastic conversation.

Martin looked at the time and decided to head home.

For a minor actor like him, such situations were all too common.

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

The moment the call connected, an angry voice squeezed through, "Asshole, it's nighttime, not work hours, I'm on a date with my girlfriend!"

"Just one thing," Martin spoke quickly, "I'm done here. Any new jobs?"

In the hotel room, Thomas's female companion glared at him, her eyes firing arrows that riddled him with holes.

Emerging from the mailroom of an entertainment agency as a PUA masterpiece, Thomas knew it was time to put down the phone and attend to his girlfriend to secure a deal worth millions.

But the duty of an agent made him continue, "How many suitable job opportunities do you think there are in Hollywood? I'm looking for you, but you need to find a way too. Go to the Directors Guild tomorrow and see if any crew is hiring."

The companion jumped down, slipped on her sandals, and started dressing.

Thomas quickly said, "That's it, don't call me outside working hours, remember!"

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

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

"Go sleep with your work!" she said, walking out.

Thomas pointed at the bed, "What about this?"

With a huff, the companion shot back, "Finish the rest of the needlework yourself."

The door opened and then slammed shut.

Thomas pounded the sheets in anger and picked up his phone to dial Martin's number. Once it was picked up, he roared, "Martin Davis, I hope you stay a damned queer for life, and the bottom one at that!"

Martin couldn't figure out why Thomas was hysterical, but it didn't stop him from retorting, "I have the habit of recording calls. There's one thing I forgot to mention in the information—I am a renowned figure in Atlanta. You can look it up if you don't believe me. I'll pretend I didn't hear that discriminatory comment..."

Thomas felt annoyed, tired, and irritated. What kind of shitty client was this!

Taking a deep breath, he decided, for Louise Mel's sake, not to stoop to the other's level and said, "About the job, both sides need to look for opportunities."

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

Thomas, not wanting to do the grunt work himself, took a cold shower, sat down in front of the hotel's computer, and looked up keywords like "Martin Davis" and "Atlanta."

A pink water kettle popped up.

It seemed to poke Thomas in the face through the screen.

The internet showed that this thing was concocted by Martin Davis and a woman named Kelly Gray.

Thomas deduced that such a despicable thing must have been the handiwork of that bitch.

Once his impulsive anger had subsided, Thomas's thoughts shifted.

Could the guy really have such foresight?

......

The next morning, Martin slept in. When he went out for breakfast, he bought a pile of newspapers to look for actor recruitment ads.

Mostly they were hiring extras.

Martin couldn't possibly go back to being an extra.

The newspaper ads were useless, but an advertisement for a nearby fitness center caught his attention. Martin took the time to find out more, and it turned out to be one of the largest chain fitness organizations in Los Angeles.

Besides regular fitness, they also had swimming, archery, and combat training facilities.

Posters of hunky men and gorgeous women adorned the walls of the fitness center. Remembering his promise to Bruce, Martin got a membership card, drove to a newsstand, and bought a heap of posters featuring Jennifer Lopez, Scarlett Johansson, and Madonna.

Unfortunately, he couldn't find Kardashian.

Martin had looked online and in video rental stores; there were underground sales of Paris Hilton's videos, but none of Kardashian's.

He remembered someone saying that the latter learned from the former, then evolved from being the former's bag-carrying little sister to a black man's slayer.

No, she evolved into a socialite, and her entire family's fame spread across the world.

Back at the apartment, Martin packed up the autographed photos from the night before, sent them to Bruce via air courier, and drove to the Directors Guild to check job information.

It was much the same as what was in the newspapers—the important roles were never openly recruited for.

Martin picked up an recruitment information sheet, found a quiet place to carefully look over it, searching for any film titles that struck a chord.

He actually found a familiar one. The crew for "National Treasure" had been recruiting extras for months.

"Dawn of the Dead" was doing reshoots and was hiring actors to play zombies.

Martin flipped through but found nothing promising—high-end resources rarely trickled down to this level. Finding a lucky break was unlikely.

Most of the movies listed in the recruitment catalog were ones Martin had never even heard of.

After mulling it over, he understood the situation.

Just like the Gray Company's late-night dramas, only a small part of the films and TV shows produced here made it onto major platforms, and an even smaller part of those gained recognition across the Pacific.

On his way back, Martin received a call from Louise from Morocco.

"Big man, missing me?" she was still so flirtatious, "I'm getting ready to come back to Los Angeles for a vacation. Have your Penicillin and expansion screws ready?"

Martin knew how to pique Louise's interest, "I tried mixing a new cocktail called 'Italian Cannon.'"

Louise's pitch rose, "Just stay in Los Angeles, don't go anywhere. Wait for me to come back! I'll return five days before Christmas and head back to Morocco after New Year's."

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

"No need," Louise steadied her emotions, raising her tone, "An international figure like me must maintain a sense of mystery."

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

Another weekend, Martin attended his accent class.

He had just sat down in the classroom when Mene, a black actor on the verge of washing to white, came over and asked, "Is work going smoothly lately?"

Martin vaguely replied, "Just small parts, you know how it is."

Mene extended his hand in front of Martin, "It's so hard for small actors to make money, even to afford living expenses."

Under the lights, his wrist adorned with a Rolex gold watch was blinding. Martin squinted slightly, "You seem to be doing well recently."

Mene withdrew his hand, "Ever considered a part-time job? You're slightly less attractive than me, but you wouldn't lack for income."

He handed Martin a card, "Brother, don't say Mene hasn't looked out for you!"

Martin glanced at it, and the card mentioned the name of some high-class club.

"If women can make money with their bodies, so can we." Mene whispered lower, "I'll tell you, the clients of this club include many female stars, screenwriters, directors, and producers from the industry. They're just a bit older. Is age a problem?"

It sounded like a multimillion-dollar deal. Martin handed the card back to Mene, "Thanks, but I don't need it."

Mene frowned, then took it back, "So you've got your own connections already."