Chapter 13: Making Some Money
[Chapter 13: Making Some Money]
"Chris, how much money do you have on you? I mean, how much are your total savings?"
Back at Bird Streets Burger King, Link approached Chris Barnes with the question.
"What?" Chris put down the metal tray and flexed his biceps, trying to make them look bigger.
"Let's not talk about your muscles just yet," Link replied, patting his shoulder. "Here's the deal: a theater agreed to screen my movie -- 10 screens for seven consecutive days. But I need to put down a deposit. How much do you have? Lend me everything you've got. I'll pay you back within a month with a 10% interest. What do you say? How much can you lend?"
"You need a deposit to show a movie? How much are we talking? I'm not sure if I have enough cash on me."
"It's $30,000."
"Thirty thousand?! Are you crazy? Look at me -- I don't look like someone with $30,000."
"How much do you have?"
"My latest paycheck hasn't been spent yet. I've got about $250. Do you want to borrow that?"
Chris blinked, his stubby eyebrows moving, his whole face dropped below a 30 on the attractiveness scale.
"$250? Forget it, just keep it for yourself."
...
After failing to borrow from Chris, Link sought money elsewhere. He asked coworkers from his part-time job, acquaintances in his apartment, and even several fast-food restaurant owners. No luck.
Most of his coworkers and apartment mates were part of the "sunshine tribe," spending their earnings from film sets or side gigs within a day.
The fast-food restaurant owners, given Link's current credit and repayment ability, didn't trust him enough to loan more than $1,000.
When Link offered to repay $10 for every $1 borrowed, no one still lent him money. The restaurant owner treated him like a scammer and stopped letting him work there, fearing trouble.
Link could have asked Jerome Preston for money. But even with their relationship, Jerome might not lend him money. And borrowing privately isn't exactly popular.
---
After a long day without securing a dime, Link lay in bed tossing and turning, struggling to sleep. Even the moon outside his window seemed too bright.
Around 1 AM, he thought of a desperate idea. He got up, stripped down, turned on the desk lamp, grabbed a new notebook and a fountain pen, and wrote two words on the cover: Kill Bill.
Kill Bill was Quentin Tarantino's 2003 film about a retired female assassin whose entire family was killed at her wedding by her former boss's men. Injured and in a coma for four years, she awakens and travels the world seeking revenge.
Kill Bill became a huge success, being hailed as the pinnacle of Tarantino's career and a classic of violent aesthetics.
Link decided to copy Tarantino's script to see if he could trade it for some cash. Tarantino's new movie, Reservoir Dogs, had mediocre box office results but decent video sales -- 120,000 copies sold that week, totaling $6.3 million, with projections over $10 million.
Tarantino had made a decent profit, earning hundreds of thousands of dollars. Link chose to sell the script to Tarantino instead of approaching the major Hollywood studios or independent production companies because he had tried before without any success. No film company had contacted him to buy his script rights.
Link had also copied a short sci-fi novel and sent it to publishers, but after three months, there was still no response. Selling the script to Tarantino had a higher chance of success than submitting it to film companies.
...
After writing from midnight until morning, Link stretched his stiff back, asked Chris Barnes for a day off, came back to eat a bowl of egg noodles, and continued writing his script.
"Look at me, Matsumoto... Take a good look at my face. Look at my eyes. Look at my mouth. Do I look familiar? Do I look like somebody... you murdered!?"
Tarantino's scripts were full of dialogue, but within the chatter were many humorous and interconnected parts. Deleting any of it would lose significant meaning.
Link had watched Kill Bill Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 several times, analyzing the film's structure and cinematography, but he hadn't memorized the dialogues. When copying the script, he didn't try to replicate the original lines. Instead, he followed the main storyline, using his own style to craft the dialogue. He also expanded the action scenes.
He didn't know if the revised script would impress Tarantino, but he had to try.
Under the lamp light, Link was immersed in writing. The protagonist followed his narrative, traveling from Texas to Okinawa, Tokyo, China, and Mexico, eliminating one enemy after another.
...
Before finishing the story, his stomach growled with hunger. Link lifted his stiff neck. The clock on his desk showed between six and seven AM. The room's chandelier was bright as noon, and the morning sun outside had shifted to sunset.
Link put down his pen, rubbed his wrists, and went to the kitchen to make some spaghetti. He took a piece of beef brisket from the mini-fridge, cut it into small cubes, boiled them, and then fried them in a pan. He chopped two fresh tomatoes, added ginger slices, green onions, black sesame seeds, and seasoning sauce, and simmered everything together with a bubbling sound.
After eating his tomato beef spaghetti, Link remembered something and went downstairs to a phone booth to call Tarantino, asking if he was available the next day to look over an interesting script.
Tarantino said he was busy promoting Reservoir Dogs in New York and handling some work matters. He'd be back next week and could review the script then.
But next week was too late. Link asked if Tarantino could come back tomorrow or the day after.
Tarantino skeptically asked, "Why the rush to see a script?"
Link replied, "It's urgent. Lives are at stake. If you're in New York, I can bring the script to you."
Tarantino sighed, "I can give you the contact information for producer Lawrence Bender. You can show the script to him as well."
Link considered Tarantino's suggestion. While Lawrence Bender was a good producer with a keen eye, a script like Kill Bill was a perfect match for Tarantino but might not resonate the same way with Bender.
Additionally, time was tight. Meeting with Bender would take at least a day, and if negotiations didn't go well, there wouldn't be enough time to go back to Tarantino.
Link cheekily asked where Quentin lived in New York, wanting to visit him with a gift.
Tarantino reluctantly provided his address, adding that he was flying to London the day after tomorrow for overseas film promotions. If Link insisted on coming, it would have to be by the next day.
"Alright, see you in New York tomorrow," Link said.
...
After hanging up, he called Jerome Preston, telling him he was raising money and asking if he could speak with the manager of Union Theatre in Burbank about paying a $10,000 deposit upfront.
The $10,000 would secure three days of screenings. If the box office after three days was below average, he'd make other plans.
Jerome Preston called him crazy, but reluctantly agreed to talk to the theater manager. He said Link must give a response by the day after tomorrow about how to release the movie because the theaters were making preparations before the premiere.
Link understood and thanked Jerome.
Jerome mentioned he had submitted Link's cinema marketing plan to AMC Entertainment Group for review. If the headquarters liked the plan, there might be a bonus. He asked if Link wanted to wait a bit before considering self-distribution.
Link asked if the bonus was certain and how long AMC usually took to distribute it. Jerome wasn't sure but mentioned that if there was a bonus, it would likely be paid out before Christmas.
"Never mind. Goodnight to you and your family," Link said.
...
After hanging up, Link hurried upstairs to continue writing his script. At the stairwell on the third floor, his shoulder suddenly bumped into something soft and bouncy. The owner of the object let out a startled "Ah~," and a scent of roses mixed with orange filled the air, clearer than before.
"Sorry, ma'am. I was careless. Oh, are you Monica Bellucci?"
Link stepped back to apologize, looking at the woman across who resembled the Italian actress known as "The Flower."
"Hi, do you know me?"
The woman held her left chest, scrutinizing him. Her English wasn't fluent.
"I'm Link, I work part-time at a pizza place on Hollywood Boulevard. A few days ago, I delivered pizzas to your crew for Bram Stoker's Dracula, right? I saw you in the break area -- you're very beautiful, quite memorable."
"Thank you!"
"Ms. Bellucci, the security here is pretty average. It's more dangerous for beautiful women. If you live alone, it's best to stay indoors at night. Goodbye!"
...
Link waved and strode up to the fourth floor, returning to his small apartment to continue writing.
Around 2 AM, he finished the revised Kill Bill script -- 22 pages with narration, dialogue, scene descriptions, and character relationships, totaling about 30,000 words.
After writing, he had a cup of water but found he wasn't sleepy at all. Instead, he was highly energized. He wandered around his room before sitting back down to start a new script, Django Unchained, as a backup plan. If Tarantino didn't like Kill Bill, he could present the second script instead. If that didn't work either, well, he hoped it wouldn't come to that.
*****
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