‘There will be other projects for them.’
‘Not that simple. The business revolves around the A list. It rises and it falls depending on the number of seriously marketable stars there are around; that is why they are all, every one of them, so important. And then we get to the really vital people.’
‘Who?’
‘The people who gave you the money you’re enjoying. Those ordinary men and women who’ve made you wealthy simply by going to your movies and buying your videotapes and DVDs. Those people have formed personal relationships with you: to them you’re family too, whether you like it or not. You gonna disown them? You gonna say, “Thanks but I’ve got enough now”?’
‘I don’t own them,’ I snapped. ‘They don’t own me.’
He stared back at me as if I was a stranger, and maybe I was: he hadn’t seen that side of me before. ‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘but you owe them.’
‘And do I owe you too, Roscoe?’
‘Maybe, but I’m not including myself in this argument. I don’t need you, if that’s what you mean. I have other clients, all of whom feel loyalty towards me. They’re all right there on a list on my agency website, alphabetically, from Adams to Zederbaum. Go on, take a look, why don’t you? When you came to me, most of them were bigger than you were. They’ve seen you shoot up the pecking order, but none of them object too much, because they understand the nature of the industry, and believe it or not, a few are hoping that I’ll be able to place them in supporting parts in your productions. But don’t you worry, boss: my son will go to Harvard, when he’s old enough, without your help, if that’s the way it has to be.’
That brought me up short: I’d never thought of Roscoe Brown as a family man. An unfamiliar feeling swept over me as I realised that I’d never thought of him as anything other than someone who could do me a lot of good. Unfamiliar or not, I recognised it as shame.
He picked up the folder. ‘You have the power, Oz: the power to walk away, the power to disappoint them, the film-makers who are looking for work through you and the fans who are looking forward to watching your career develop. Say the word, I’ll put these papers away and I’ll be on the first plane back to Hollywood. In fact, I reckon that’s what I’m going to do with or without. .’
‘Enough!’ Susie’s shout jolted us both. When I turned back towards her, I saw that her hands were clenched into fists and that the knuckles were showing white. ‘Roscoe,’ she growled, ‘you try that and you won’t make it through that door.’ Then she looked at me with the same expression she uses when she’s giving Janet a rollicking. ‘Oz, stop this nonsense right now. And don’t think you can map out my future without consulting me about it. If you think I’ve backed out of a business I love just to watch you sit about the house all day drinking beer and getting fat, then think again. I’ve done it to support you in your career. The kids and I don’t want your undivided attention. You’re a great dad as it is: being around all the time won’t make you any better. The fact is we want to bask in your movie-star glory. So whatever it is you’ve got up your arse right now, get rid of it and look at what’s on the table.’
‘But, love,’ I protested, ‘you heard that: the new Sean Connery, for Christ’s sake.’
‘That’s crap, I agree: there’s only one Sean and only ever will be. But you don’t have to believe it just because a few silly journalists are saying it. You concentrate on being the first Oz Blackstone and let them get on with it.’
There’s no arguing with my wife when she’s in full flow … well, there might be, but I’ve never been brave enough to try it.
‘Okay, Roscoe,’ I said, a chastened man, ‘the moody’s over. Let’s talk business.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He put the folder back on the table.
I tried a funny, to lighten the atmosphere. ‘With all this Sean stuff, they don’t want me to play James Bond, do they?’
My agent frowned: I’d forgotten that he’s a very literal man. ‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘The guy in the part at the moment is under contract for at least one more. But after him, you’re high on the list. What we have on offer now, though, is the lead role in an action drama about the second Gulf War, shooting in Morocco next spring, followed by a killer part in a huge version of Don Quixote.’
‘Where will that be filmed? Mexico?’
‘Spain. Where else?’
See? Nice guy, but he’s had a total sense of humour bypass. ‘Indeed. Who are the directors?’
‘Spielberg’s doing the war movie and Quixote is Minghella’s.’ Now there were two compliments.
‘What’s the money?’
‘The war movie’s offering five, the other, four: our price is seven for each.’
‘Excuse me,’ Audrey interrupted. I had asked her to take a record of the meeting. ‘Is that million?’
He looked at her, patiently. ‘Of course.’
‘US dollars?’ I queried.
‘They tried that: I told them that everything’s euros these days.’
‘Thank God for President Bush.’
‘Let’s not go that far,’ Roscoe murmured, his voice low as if he was afraid the room was bugged. ‘Oz,’ he asked, ‘have you given any more thought to going offshore, as I suggested?’
‘You mean setting up an official residence in Monaco, or Jersey?’
‘Yes.’
‘Susie and I have discussed it, but we’re not keen.’
‘There would be big tax benefits. And where’s the downside? You already spend a lot of the year outside Britain. When you went to Australia you took your family.’
‘Too much time: I thought I’d made my feelings clear on that. No, Roscoe, we have family reasons for staying here. Our kids have to know where home is. Plus, my sister’s a lone parent, and I’m a sort of surrogate dad to her boys.’
‘Tell your kids that home is where you are. Tell your sister to remarry.’
I laughed at that one. ‘You’ve got a funny side after all. You tell her.’
Actually, he was on safer ground than he might have been. My sister had a steady relationship and it was getting more serious by the minute. She had moved on from her occasional flings with her big German sex toy, and had taken up with an advocate she’d happened upon at a party.
I’d met the guy once: I’d found him a bit of a dry stick, and I hadn’t taken to him. Neither had Jonny, my older nephew, but Ellie certainly seemed to. I’d had Ricky Ross, my security consultant, check him out at an early stage, but he’d come up clean. His name was Harvey January, and Ricky had described him as a man on his way to a judge’s red robes.
‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s not off the agenda for good, but Susie and I don’t fancy being nomads. For now, we’ll live with the alternative, and that’s paying the tax. We’ll still be left with a bit more than sixty per cent of a hell of a lot.’
‘Okay, but I’ll bring it up again, trust me on that.’
‘If you must. So, these two projects: do you have the scripts with you?’
‘Yeah, and I’ve read ’em. You should agree, once I’ve nailed down the money side.’
‘If you recommend it, I do. But they’re both next year. You said there was a third serious proposition.’
‘There is, and it’ll fill up fall for you. It’s a movie about a rock singer, who tries to break a recording contract, only he finds out that the label his manager signed him to has Mafia connections. They fix him so he’ll never sing again. But he wins out in the end: he makes it bigger as a stand-up comedian than he ever was before. It’s an updated remake of an old Sinatra movie.’
‘I think I’ve seen it: as I remember, it was too long.’
‘It was: this version will be shorter.’
‘Did you think to ask if I can sing?’