Chapter 34: The Tech Geek

Michael's black Cadillac drove past USC and into the southern part of Los Angeles, soon reaching the target neighbourhood. He didn't dare park just anywhere. South of USC was one of the most chaotic parts of Los Angeles, and car theft was all too common. He didn't want to end up filing a police report.

He drove a bit further and found a managed public parking lot in front of a large supermarket. After parking, he walked back towards the destination.

It was daytime, so as long as he didn't venture into the alleys, he was unlikely to encounter any blatant muggings.

Arriving in front of an apartment building, Michael checked the door number and then took out his phone to make a call. As before, the message said the number was disconnected.

There was no choice but to knock on the door.

Just as Michael was about to enter the apartment building, which had no front door, a suitcase fell from the second floor, hitting the ground and kicking up dust.

The lobby of the building hadn't been cleaned in ages.

"I told you last month to prepay next quarter's rent!" a man's loud voice boomed. "I've already given you an extra month. You still owe me a month's rent. I've had enough!"

Then came a woman's pleading voice.

Michael looked up. He couldn't see anything from his position but didn't dare move forward. If another suitcase fell, it could be dangerous. He didn't want to test his luck a second time.

"Just go! I don't want the rent anymore!"

The landlord seemed alright, just very loud. "Here's a piece of advice: get a proper job. Stop dreaming of being a star. I've seen too many women with that dream, and they all end up on the streets."

His words were harsh, but he spoke the truth about many girls who came to Hollywood with star dreams.

Footsteps echoed as a petite woman in a wrinkled beige suit came down the stairs. She glanced at Michael, her face slightly embarrassed under her blonde hair, and she picked up the suitcase and headed for the door.

Michael quickly stepped aside and, recalling the name of the editor he was looking for, asked tentatively, "Jessica Felton?"

The woman turned to him, her face vaguely familiar under the blonde hair.

"No, I'm not," she said, revealing small rabbit-like teeth. "You've got the wrong person."

Michael nodded. "Sorry to bother you."

The blonde woman said nothing more, carrying her suitcase as she walked away.

Michael watched her petite figure leave, shaking his head as he entered the apartment.

Much like his difficulties when he first arrived in Hollywood, the lower tiers were filled with various failures. Some might get lucky and rise; some return home or end up in less savoury professions. Not being able to pay rent was far from the worst situation.

He climbed to the second floor and saw a middle-aged black man. "Excuse me, could you tell me which room Jessica Felton lives in?"

The human-sized Michael up and then pointed down the hall. "The one at the end."

"Thank you."

Michael walked down the hall and knocked on the door. The door had poor soundproofing, and footsteps quickly approached. The door opened, revealing two large mounds that appeared before their owner.

Because they were so large, Michael couldn't help but notice them.

A man not seeing his feet is a tragedy; a woman not seeing hers is a triumph.

"Who are you looking for?" came a slightly hoarse female voice.

Michael snapped back to reality, quickly moving his gaze up. "Are you Jessica Felton?"

The question asked if he saw the owner of the mounds. She was a typical Latina with a slightly tanned complexion, probably mixed-race. Her features were very delicate. To be precise, she was a naturally beautiful woman, even without makeup.

Unfortunately, she was very chaotic.

Her brown hair was a greasy, tangled mess, and her high, grey T-shirt had several grease stains, probably from food. The stains had been there so long they had turned black.

Jessica looked at Michael with a strange expression. "I'm Jessica Felton. Who are you?"

"I'm Michael Davenport." Michael extended his right hand. "Professor Johnson at USC's film school recommended me. He was my mentor."

Jessica shook Michael's hand and then opened the door wider. "Professor recommended you."

Michael wasn't a germaphobe, but his right hand felt unpleasant as if it had picked up some greasy residue.

This was a studio apartment. As Michael entered, Jessica said, "Make yourself at home."

"Alright."

Michael looked around; there wasn't really a place to sit.

Closest to him was a dining table with a spoon smeared with hot sauce and a half-eaten Mexican pancake. The pancake looked like it had been there a while.

There was only one chair by the table, which held leftover takeout boxes.

Looking further, a small double bed had a pair of women's underwear with a hole in it and several pairs of socks, some of which were so stiff they could almost stand on their own.

The entire room smelled distinctly sour.

Dirty, messy, and poor...

Michael instantly recalled his high school dorm, where his roommates often soaked and left their clothes until the water reeked.

Finally, Michael's gaze landed on a set of equipment at the back of the room—a small projector, a film splicer, and a film editor, with heaps of 16mm and 35mm film on the floor.

There were as many film scraps as there were dust.

"Um..." Jessica scratched her messy hair. "I've been busy with short-shot editing. Sorry for the mess."

Michael guessed where the greasy feeling on his hand came from. Smiling, he waved it off. "It's fine." He looked at the piled-up trash bags and takeout boxes. "Have you not been out for a while?"

Jessica smiled sheepishly. "I lose track of time when I'm busy."

Combining what he observed, Michael concluded this beautiful woman was a crazy tech geek.

Should he change his approach?

Dealing with a tech geek and a seasoned insider required different strategies.

Before coming here, Michael had a plan: How to win over a talented but overlooked editor? Offer opportunities like editing a theatrical release or a standalone editor's credit, and offer a mutually acceptable salary.

Now, it seemed that approach might not fit.

"Why are you looking for me?" Jessica asked.

With the room in such a state, she didn't invite Michael to sit. "Or is it something from the professor? No, he would've called."

Michael reminded her, "I did call. Your phone was disconnected."

Jessica slapped her forehead. "I'm so scatterbrained."

Michael was more convinced she was a tech geek. "Ms. Felton, I'm here because Professor recommended you."

"Call me Jess," she said, showing the Latina warmth and enthusiasm. "What do you need?"

Michael briefly explained, "I'm a producer. I'm filming a horror movie and need an editor. I asked the professor for help, and he said you were good at it."

Talking about editing, Jessica became serious. "I'm pretty good."

Michael decided to hold off on his prepared pitch. "Would editing a real movie be better than practicing alone? How about trying it out with me? After this horror movie, I'll be shooting another one."

"Two movies?" Jessica was interested. Editing real movies wasn't something you could compare to practicing alone. "Are they real movies?"

This young man was still a student of the professor. Could it be a student project? That wouldn't be interesting.

Michael nodded. "They're theatrical releases. The director has worked on 'The X-Files' and is very skilled." He introduced himself, "I'm the president of Seashore Entertainment. I'm the producer and investor for these two films."

"Great!" Jessica had longed to edit real films. "I'm in!"

Michael was surprised. Did she agree so quickly? That was too simple.

"Do you have an agent or representative?" He didn't show his surprise. "I'll negotiate your terms with them."

Jessica shook her head. "No need. I used to have an agent, but he kept bugging me, so I fired him. As for terms, I'm not picky. I just want to edit films."

Michael cautiously offered, "How about $2,000 per week?"

This wasn't a random offer. At this rate, Seashore Entertainment had previously hired editors for direct-to-video films.

In the industry, the difference between ordinary and well-known positions was vast.

Jessica didn't immediately agree. Instead, she asked, "Can I borrow your phone?"

Michael handed her his phone. Jessica quickly dialled a number. "Professor, it's Jessica..."

Half a minute later, Jessica hung up and returned the phone. "Alright, let's do it."

Michael nodded. "You can come to Warner Bros. Studio, Stage 17, to sign the contract anytime this week."

"No problem." Jessica agreed readily.

After a few more polite exchanges, Michael left Jessica's apartment. The meeting had gone entirely differently from what he had expected.

He had thought he would have to exert effort to persuade this talented editor, but it turned out to be simple.