"So when are you free to start recording again?" Jake asked when the complimenting died down.
"April 11 of next year," she said, though not with much enthusiasm.
"It must be exciting," Pauline said. "Starting out new and fresh. Jake and I were just talking about the same thing on the ride over here."
"I don't know," Celia said. "My agent has been putting out feelers to the various record companies and... well... so far there isn't a whole lot of interest in a Celia Valdez solo album."
"No?" Jake said, although he wasn't terribly surprised.
"I'm considered something of a has-been," she said. "Aristocrat wants nothing to do with me at all. Neither does Capital or Columbia. National offered to sign me for a six-option period contract, but the terms they're offering are insulting at best. Worse even than our first contract."
"What do you mean?" Pauline asked.
"Ten thousand dollar advance," Celia said. "They maintain complete and total control over the song selection and composition and even over the make-up of my supporting band. They are also putting provisions in about my weight and physical appearance."
"Your weight and physical appearance?" Jake asked.
"I would be in breach of contract if I were to weigh any more than ten pounds less than the standard AMA height and weight chart says I should weigh."
"Ten pounds less?" Pauline said. "That's like... uh..."
"I'm five-ten, or 178 centimeters, as I like to think of it. According to the AMA, my healthy weight should be one hundred and forty pounds."
"One hundred and forty?" Pauline asked. "That's what I weigh, and I'm only five-six."
"Yes," Celia said. "And you look very good at that weight, but according to the AMA chart, you're borderline obese."
"Who comes up with these standards?" Jake asked.
"Someone who thinks everyone should be emaciated, apparently," Celia said. "And remember, that's just my ideal weight. Under the contract, I would be in breach if were to weigh more than one hundred and thirty pounds."
"One hundred and thirty pounds?" Celia said, shaking her head. "That's appalling. You would look like a concentration camp survivor at that weight."
"Is it legal for them to put provisions like that into a contract?" Jake asked Pauline.
Before Pauline could answer, Celia did. "I don't know if it's ever been challenged before, but standard screen actor's guild contracts have weight and attractiveness provisions in them. So do contracts belonging to newscasters and even stunt performers. They're making their way into music contracts now because we're expected to be video stars as well."
"Yes, I know," Jake said sourly, remembering how Brainwash had been shot down without their music even being listened to on the grounds that they weren't attractive enough.
"And we all know the camera adds ten pounds," Celia said. "So anyway, to sign with National when I'm free means I would have to lose thirty-five pounds just to get to the maximum weight. Realistically, I'd have to lose at least forty in order to give myself a cushion."
"I find a provision like that to be completely demeaning, as well as disgusting," Pauline said.
"I'm not going to worry too much about it," Celia said. "I have no intention of signing a contract as restrictive as what I'm being offered anyway. I'm not going to starve myself and work myself to death in the gym just to make music. And I'm sure as hell not going to give complete artistic license to a record company again. That was my mistake the first time around, and look where it got me."
"What does your agent say about all this?" Jake asked.
"He tells me to take whatever they offer," she said with a frown. "He'll try to work on the advance fees and the number of option periods, but he maintains that the record company knows best when it comes to musical direction and image."
"Holy Jesus," Jake said. "Who the hell is this moron?"
"Rodney Growtana," Celia said.
"Who?" Pauline asked. "I thought I'd heard the names of all the major music agents in Hollywood by now."
"He's not exactly a music agent," Celia said. "He works for the same firm as Greg's agent. He came highly recommended."
"There's your problem," Jake said. "He's not a music agent. He's used to working with actors and actresses. He probably knows nothing about the music business."
Celia nodded. "I'm starting to figure that out. I thought he would be useful for his negotiating skills and that I could handle the part that has to do with artistic license. So far, however, his lack of skill as a music agent is immaterial. National is the only company that is even the slightest bit interested in me and their offer had the unmistakable feel of 'take it or leave it'."
"So what are you going to do?" Jake asked her.
"What I've been doing for the past year now," she said. "I'll keep composing my songs on my twelve-string, writing them down, and waiting to see what happens next. My hope is that Greg's movie will be everything he's predicting and I'll be able to ride his coattails to a better contract offer."
"Well then," Jake said, raising his glass. "Here's to The Northern Jungle being everything Greg is predicting."
"I'll drink to that," Celia said.
Chapter 20c
Jake knew right away that The Northern Jungle was not going to be everything Greg predicted. In fact, by the time it was over — after an agonizing 176 minutes — he was starting to think that maybe Greg had just done irreparable damage to his career and credibility.
The movie was horrible. There was no other way to describe it. The very premise of it — that global warming had killed off most of the Earth's population and caused the Pacific Northwest to be one of the few habitable places left on the planet — was scientifically unrealistic, if not flat-out impossible. It was never explained just how global warming had killed so many people or how it had caused the collapse of the previous civilization. While it was explained that the Pacific Northwest had turned into a new tropical rainforest and that the rest of the planet was basically an empty desert, it was never explained just why the Pacific Northwest was spared this fate or just why the rest of the planet was doomed to its fate.
The premise itself was only the beginning. Though the cinematography was majestic, even grandeur in places, most of the dialogue was campy at best, embarrassing at worst. The protagonist — Greg's character, named simply, "The Traveler" — was the cliché reluctant good guy who wanders into a situation by being at the wrong place at the wrong time and then rising to lead the people on a magnificent (though painfully predictable) victory against seemingly insurmountable odds. The antagonist — a character who had actually been named "Taker Black" by the screenwriters — had been made overly evil to the point that his actions were predictable and laughable and his dialogue was among the worst in the film. It would not be until Jake watched the film Titanic some seven years in the future and saw how Rose's mother and fiancée were portrayed, that he would experience anything even close to the level of overdoing the evilness of an antagonist as Taker Black.
Nor was this even the worst of it. The plot holes in The Northern Jungle were many and some were wide enough to drive a tour bus and a freightliner through. For instance, the collapse of civilization was supposed to have happened so long before the events in the film that there were no written records or even genetic memory of a time when civilization was intact. Though no actual years were given, it was suggested that thirty or forty generations had passed. Yet, with all this, the evil army headed by Taker Black was in possession of working firearms, working matches, bottles of commercially produced Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo, and cans of Budweiser beer. The good people of Seattle were still in possession of working automobiles, generators, and gasoline.