For the Love of Money (35 page)

He laughed and said, “Well, the insiders know who you are. You always have to keep your eyes on new talent.”

“I bet you do a heck of a job at that,” I said. I didn't really feel like talking to him. He represented what
all
women needed to get themselves the hell away from: the wrong kind of man.

I asked, “So what has Juanita been up to?” just for the hell of it.

He paused and said, “I think she went back to New York. I haven't seen her in a while.”

Yeah right,
I thought to myself.

“Look, if you need a mentor or anyone to take you around and introduce you to important people, just let me know,” he told me.

I asked, “Are you a lawyer?”

“No.”

“My mentor is,” I told him, referring to Yolanda.

“Oh, so you have somebody already.”

“How do you think I got
this
job?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Tim Waterman is the boss over there isn't he?”

“I didn't get the job
that
way,” I snapped, irritated by his insinuation.

“What?” he responded to me, playing the innocent role.

I said, “You know what, you are a sad excuse for a brother. I just want you to know that.” I had no time to bullshit with him, and my tolerance level was at zero. He had
Victor's
narrow ass to thank for that!

Reginald paused a long time. I think I got to him. I wanted to see how he would respond to it. He said, “You don't really know me to be saying things like that. I've helped out a lot of people in the business.”

“It seems to me like you're more concerned with helping out yourself,” I responded.

He said, “I don't know how people are in Philadelphia, but out here, you definitely want to make more
friends
than enemies.”

“Oh, yeah? Well maybe you should learn to play by your own rules for a change. How many enemies do
you
have?”

That skinny-ass man was getting on my
last
nerve that night. He couldn't do a damn thing for me, not even lick my fucking toes!

He said, “Have it your way then,” and hung up.

Three minutes later, he called me back.

He said, “You know what? You are really starting to irritate me. I'm trying to go out of my way to help
you
out, and you treat me as if I'm trying to harm you.”

I said, “Look, what the hell do you want from me?”

“What do I
want
from you?”

“Yeah, what the hell do you want? I never asked for your help.”

“Sister, don't even go there,” he whined.

“Don't give me that
sister
shit,
brother!
All that is is a front. If you
acted
presentably, then I would
treat
you that way!” I told him.

“Why do you think I'm trying to hurt you so much?” he whined again. He sounded like a big punk.

I said, “Look, I was enjoying my night, sitting up in bed and eating ice cream. Okay? I don't need this shit. So don't call here no fuckin' more!”

It was
my
turn to hang up.

CLICK!

I went back to eating my ice cream and thought nothing of it.

$   $   $

At the trailer that week, on the job for
Conditions,
we all had a visit from Tim.

“How's everybody loving the show so far?” he asked us. “
I'm
sure loving it.”

The head writer, Joseph Keaton, mumbled something about a raise and laughed it off.

Tim looked at him and said, “That'll come, Joe, but right now we have to focus more on our consistency, and we did pretty well in our market share last week due to Tracy's first script.”

I heard my name and froze. He was singling me out.

“Oh, thank you,” I said.

“Yeah, it seems that we had a lot more
women
who tuned in for last week's show,
and
we didn't lose any men. You got any
more
scripts for us, Tracy?”

I froze again. I was supposed to be an
assistant
writer. I don't think the other writers took too kindly to me stepping on their toes with a superior script. Nevertheless, I was not planning on backing down from a challenge.

I said, “Not yet, but I'm working on it.”

Joseph Keaton shot an ugly look at me that I caught before he could smile it off. I knew what he was thinking: my scripts would turn
Conditions
into a girl show.

Tim said, “Well, these next couple of months are very important to see if we'll be picked up for next year. Everything looks promising so far, but let's not lose our edge on anything.”

“That's right. Let's keep it edgy and fresh,” Joe commented. It sounded to me as if he was sending a clear message to stay away from “girl” scripts, but I didn't plan to write any. As I had already informed Kendra, I wanted my next script to be more from the male perspective.

It's funny how things can change when other people feel that you're moving up in the world. Elizabeth Finley, one of only two women staff writers (outside of myself and another assistant) on the show, began to ask me things that she didn't seem to care about before.

“Hey, Tracy, so what's it like in Philadelphia? Is it pretty rough?”

Liz was a flaming redheaded California girl. I guess she got into the science fiction thing just to take on something new, because she didn't appear to be too successful in her scripts. They were manly enough, but far-out. I think most people just didn't get it. Maybe Liz was ahead of her time.

I thought about my book and answered, “It's only as rough as you make it. If you hang around with the wrong crowds, it can be
very
rough, just like it is in different parts of California.”

She nodded, in deep thought about it. She asked me if I had ever been to the Watts housing projects in South Central Los Angeles.

“For what?” I asked her.

She shrugged and said, “I don't know, just to visit I guess.”

Why, because I'm BLACK?!
I wanted to yell at her. I kept my cool instead.

I shook my head and said, “I have no reason to go over there.”

“Would you want to go out there with me? You know, maybe we could come up with some script ideas together.”

I looked at her and smiled, venomously. “Like a safari trip to the 'hood, hunh?” I was being sarcastic, but Liz didn't even get it.

She smiled and said, “Yeah, exactly.”

I said, “Would we take a couple of wide-lens cameras too?”
This white chick is crazy!
I thought to myself.

Liz finally stopped herself and frowned at the idea. “Well, I don't know about that. I mean, do you think that we could get away with cameras? You know, I don't think they would like us taking their pictures.”

“Oh, no, they wouldn't mind. We could just line them up with their blue and red scarves on their heads and start snapping away. You know, because gang members love to take pictures.”

Liz looked at me and caught on to my sarcastic drift.

“You're wild,” she told me. “But I'm seriously thinking about going out there.”

“I know you are, but I'm not the person to take you there,” I told her. I could see it in her eyes. She was excited even to mention the name Watts. I wasn't. I had seen all of that hard life shit before. It wasn't any news to me.

After Liz was finished with me, Joe walked over to add his two cents for the day.

“So, are you working on any new scripts for real, or you just didn't want Tim to think that you were done for the year.”

He was insulting me, and being rather blunt about it.

I said, “Well, I signed on to
Conditions
as an assistant because I wanted to break into the writing game, not because I wanted to help others to write
their
ideas. Of course I'm working on new scripts.”

I was thinking that maybe I had come off a little too strongly for him, but he responded with a nod.

“Well, let me see it as soon as you have something, okay?”

I looked at him hesitantly. I didn't trust him. Maybe he wanted to have a quick opportunity to shoot my script down. Well, I had news for him: I was not planning on rushing anything.

“When it's ready, it's ready,” I told him. “I had ideas since I walked on the job, but I didn't present ‘The Seduction' until I felt good about it. That's just the way I work.”

He wasn't going to rip apart
my
script ideas. I was way ahead of him.

He said, “Well, when you become a regular staff writer one day, you won't have the
luxury
of popping scripts out of your
lab
whenever you get
ready
to.”

“I guess that being an
assistant
has its advantages then,” I commented like a smart aleck.

He got me right back when he said, “In everything but the pay. Are you sure you don't have another script ready?” he asked me again.

I guess he figured that my three-thousand-five-hundred-dollar pay was
an insult, but I had news for him again: most people would
kill
to make that much money in one week. I paid Joe no mind. I would hand in another damn script when I was good and ready to, because I was
far
from starving!

That same night, Tim Waterman called me at home. He said, “It was the smartest idea ever to hire you on as an assistant, Tracy. What do
you
think about that? Have you learned a lot with us?”

“Of course I have,” I told him. He knew
that
already. He was getting at something else, so I waited for the hook and bait.

“How hard will it be for us to hire you on for next season as a full writer? You seem like the type of woman who has bigger and better things on her mind. Are we just a stepping stone?”

First he was pumping up my head. I spoke very carefully.

I said,
“Stepping stone?
Is that all you think of
Conditions of Mentality
? I thought it was your baby.”

“Oh, it is, but babies grow up and then you find
new
hobbies.”

“Is that right? New hobbies like what?”

“Well, feature films, of course. Some people have it, some people don't. And
you,
Tracy, I can tell,
you
have it.”

There it was. Tim Waterman wanted to be my mentor in the same way that Reginald was trying, with a little bit of S-E-X on the side. I could feel the vibes from him. I already knew that Tim was a big-time flirt, and with the feature film talk, he had bigger bait, but I was smart enough to know that I was nowhere near feature film material. One damn script wasn't worth all of the attention that I was getting. Or maybe I was underestimating myself, particularly since “The Seduction” was written while in a state of minor depression. However, writing for feature films
was
my goal for the near future.

I played the starstruck role and asked, “You really think I have what it takes?”

“Sure you do. I give you a year and a half, and you'll have something piping hot for the studios to fight over.”

I chuckled to myself. Tim took the terms
bullshit
and
game
to another level. I guess he really thought that I was a damn fool.

I said, “Well, I thank you for having so much confidence in me.”

“No, you've
earned
it. You came right on board with your ideas and made our entire staff better. Some of the writers won't admit to it, but they know that it's the truth, Tracy. You're the
bomb,
baby!”

Oh my God!
I thought to myself. I couldn't believe he had used the word
bomb
on me. I had to stop myself from laughing in his ear.

He said, “Oh, I'm not pulling your leg here at all, even though they're sexy.”

When he said that, I stopped smiling. He was scaring me. I didn't want to be in an awkward position with my boss. My job was just beginning to get interesting. I didn't need any complications surrounding it. So I thought of making up a lie to get off of the phone and recuperate.

I let out a fake yawn and said, “Oh my God, I need to get some rest, I've been up since early this morning. I'm sorry, Tim. Maybe we can finish this discussion tomorrow or something. I'm just too tired right now. I'm sorry.”

I know it was corny as hell, but I was desperate to get the hell off of the phone.

My boss went for the kill anyway. “Well, how about you just say that we'll do dinner together one of these days, just to talk about where you would like to go in your career. Maybe I could point you in a few directions.”

I got nervous and faked another yawn. “I'm just so tired, I can't even think right now. I'm sorry.” I was hating myself for the weak bullshit, but I just didn't want to deal with my boss's invitations to me until I had a minute to think about it.

He said, “Well, you get some rest, Tracy, and think it over. Lunch, dinner, breakfast, whatever. As long as I can sit down and go a few rounds with you,” he said.

“Go a few
rounds
?” I questioned.

“Oh, that's just guy talk for the ropes. You know, boxing ropes, and the ropes of the business.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. At first, I thought he was talking about getting drunk with rounds of alcohol. “Well, we'll see,” I told him, noncommittal. I definitely didn't want to make any promises to him.

“Great!” he responded as if I had promised him a date anyway.

I hung up the phone with my boss and panicked. I felt trapped. Would he find a way to fire me if I didn't play ball with him? I was a nervous wreck again. My mother was killing me with all of her predictions. How could I get from under her damn spell?

“Shit! These motherfuckin'
men!”
I shouted. “I didn't come out here to sleep around. Fuck that! And fuck that
job
too if
that's
how it's gonna be,” I told myself. However, giving up a nice income was not going to be that easy. I was already getting used to the money. Nevertheless, I was
not
planning on fucking my boss to keep my job.