For the Love of Money (48 page)

I said, “Okay, well, here's the deal: if I sign with you, it's only going to be for new work and higher pay than what I'm getting now. I don't think it would be fair for you to get ten percent of what I already established for myself, but for the things that you get that I haven't been able to, it's yours.”

Susan said, “Traditionally, the work of an agent would be to continue to service old, present, and new contacts so that
you
wouldn't have to, but I understand your predicament. So what we'll do is make a short list of the contacts that you would like to keep on your own, and then we'll go from there so that we're not bumping heads. However, when and if you decide to renegotiate any old or present relationships with a new business understanding, then I'll be capable of stepping in for you.”

I don't know what Kendra was talking about, but Susan sure sounded like a seasoned agent to
me.
I like how she used the term
short list of contacts.
She almost made it seem as if my Rolodex of working business relationships amounted to next to nothing.

I asked, “So, when will we be able to sit down with some paperwork where I can see what we're talking about?”

I sounded real pushy, but Susan had to understand that she was moving into a business relationship with me, and I was always pushy in business. Blame it on my Virgo sign again for always wanting to be on top of my game plan.

Susan said, “We can sit down and discuss it this weekend. You want me to swing by your house?”

She was still taking it light. I admired that. It looked as if we
could
work together.

I smiled, pleased with the idea of Susan Raskin representing me. I said, “Yeah, swing past my house when you get a chance and we'll talk about it.”

$   $   $

To make a long story short, I signed with Susan and by the end of March she had sold two of my spec scripts to NBC and ABC respectively, for twenty-five thousand dollars each. Both scripts were produced for mid-season pilot shows. Susan was outright
earning
her money, but like Reba Combs had said about agents, it was easy for Susan to walk me through the doors with my talent and track record. Nevertheless, she still had to have the
keys
to open the door.

Yolanda looked over the paperwork and said,
“This
is where you need to be, at the
big
networks. And don't you
dare
think about going back to that small-time shit either! But you have to
fight
to stay up there!”

Kendra called me and said, “Well, I guess you made the right decision with Susan.”

Coe called and asked, “Can you get me on one of those NBC shows?”

Tim Waterman called and said, “Keep up the good work, Tracy. You got me in your corner all of the way.”

Reginald called and said, “I guess you're untouchable now, hunh? Watch your back up there, Tracy. I hear it's treacherous.”

My mother called me from home and said, “I guess you've proven
me
wrong.
Again!
Your father and I are very proud of what you're doing out there, Tracy. Keep up the good work.”

Raheema called and said, “As they say, you're ‘
blowing
up the spot' in Hollywood. Now tell me something that I
didn't
know would happen.”

Reba called and said, “What do you think about the chances of our own pilot show being picked up now?”

I told her that I was working on it.

I got a call from Rich, and all of the praise stopped there.

“So, you ditched
my
show for NBC and ABC, hunh?”

It was a no-brainer.
Brothers and Sisters
was headed for a fast exit on a smaller station, and he actually expected me
not
to write for an NBC or an ABC pilot. He had to be out of his
mind,
but I still felt guilty about it.

I said, “It wasn't in my plans for things to happen this way, Rich. Honestly.”

He paused over the phone for a minute before he laughed. He said, “Yeah, I knew you were the money type. You tried to play it off like you were not, but it all comes out in the end.”

“
You
were the one chasing the money,” I snapped at him defensively. “All
I
want is good opportunities, and your show was
not
one of them. I'm sorry.” I had to be real with him.

Rich said, “You think those NBC and ABC pilots you wrote for are gonna last? Hell no! They only did those shows to appease black people while they get ready for next season. At least UPN sticks to the audience.”

I was speechless. Rich was right. None of the major three networks had much patience for black television shows. Even FOX, the new upstart, was beginning to get stingy with black audiences as they moved their way up the ratings chart.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked him.

He said, “Well, I really can't blame you. I was just pissed off when it first hit me, you know, because I felt like second fiddle. My show wasn't good enough for you,
and
you got better pay over there.

“I guess that anybody would have done the same thing,” he admitted with a chuckle. “And I guess I'm a little jealous about it, but that's cool. Just remember to hook
me
up like I tried to hook
you
up.”

I paused. It was a setup. I said, “Rich, to be perfectly honest with you, your writing has to get a lot better. I mean, your ideas are great, you just have to focus more on developing those ideas.”

Rich laughed out loud and right in my ear. “Oh my God!” he responded. “You get a couple of writing credits with the big boys, and all of a sudden you become an
expert.
”

“I didn't call myself an
expert,
”I said, “but we
both
know that scriptwriting
is not really your forte. And to be honest, if
I
were you, I'd put more of my energy into creating and producing shows and leave the writing to other people.”

He said, “That's what I told
you
last year.”

“And then you went ahead and tried to write the first four episodes of
Brothers and Sisters
and you ruined a great idea,” I told him.

He chuckled. “You think my writing is that bad, hunh?”

I didn't even respond to that. He knew that his writing was bad.

“Well, thanks a lot, Ms. Expert. I'll take your advice, and the next time I create a show, I'll let
you
write the first four episodes.”

I didn't make him any promises, and when I hung up the phone with him I felt hollow for some reason. All that response to my moving up in the industry made me feel as if I was hungry, but I wasn't. I just felt eerie. It was as if I didn't know what to do with myself, so I called my girl Raheema in New Jersey to talk about it.

I said, “Raheema, it feels like things are moving too fast for me or something. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel yet.”

“Success anxiety,” she told me. “Everybody feels that way when they get there. Now you just have to keep going.”

“But what if I can't make it at the next level?” I asked her. I didn't want to verbalize it, but I was afraid of failure. People's expectations of me were rising, including my own.

Raheema chuckled. She said, “Fear has never stopped you before, so why should it stop you now? If I know
you,
you're already thinking about creating your own show ideas, writing screenplays for the big screen, and everything else.”

I broke out laughing. Raheema knew me
back, forth,
and
sideways!
I said, “But people out here are already saying that I'm moving fast enough. I guess I should feel content.”

“Content?
What is your name again? Tracy Ellison from Diamond Lane in Philadelphia? The
Flyy Girl
?
Content?
Girl, please! You better
do
what you went out there to do.
I
know you, Tracy. Those people out there don't know you. They can read your book and
still
don't know you.

“You're on your
own
pace, Tracy, not theirs,” Raheema told me. “You've
always
done things fast, because you plot out your plan, and then you do whatever you have to do to get what you want, while other people just sit around and talk about it.
You
know that.
They
just don't know it. So keep working right along to get to where
you
want to be.

“That's why you don't know how to feel right now,” she added.
“You
know that you're not really there yet. And you're in your
zone
whenever you're working
toward
something and not when you're being praised for things that you've already done.”

When I hung up with Raheema, I smiled and felt at peace again. “That's my girl!” I told myself, and I was inspired to write another poem, called “Volcano,” before I went to bed.

Hot, creative
lava
boils in my brain,
searching for an orifice
to erupt on nature,
violently
burning the old soil,
and terrifying the settled creatures
who have gotten used to things
as they were,
so they run, shriek, and squeal
as my lava rolls
quickly down on them
from up high.

But when it is over,
I cool off in fresh ashes,
raising those old things
to higher levels,
so that the creatures can return,
enlightened,
and start again,
while the earth awaits
my next
eruption.

Copyright © 1998 by Tracy Ellison

A
s soon as I arrived back in LA, I went out to the video store by my house in Marina Del Rey, and rented
Barb Wire,
starring Pamela Anderson Lee, to do some research. I figured that I would hate the thing because the movie didn't really create any positive buzz outside of her breast size, her reckless rock-star husband, and her pregnancy. However, after watching
Barb Wire
for the first time, I liked the movie, and I could see exactly what my brother was talking about by making a pretty woman believable with fast reflexes, violence, and plenty of weaponry. I didn't particularly like the flashbacks though. Flashbacks tended to slow movies down. I didn't particularly care for character narration either; it tends to get in the way, unless you really like the sound of the narrator's voice.

I had a million things I wanted to do, including shopping for something to wear to the meeting that would fit the character Alexis; something sexy enough to turn a man on, but sane enough not to alert him to a setup. I also wanted to begin picking out and typing up twenty-five or so poems for my sequel book deal.

I went out to a thrift store to buy some inexpensive clothing for my character. I bought a couple of denim skirts and shorts with bright and colorful halter tops. I went to a nearby adult store and bought some of that freaky, black leather lace to give Alexis some of the edge that her name implied. When I arrived back at home, I hooked up a complete outfit for the meeting, planning to show up in character and seal the role as quickly as possible.

I decided to wear the pair of black leather strapped sandals that I had bought from the adult store with a pair of baggy denim shorts that would allow room to keep a small gun on my hip underneath. A pair of silk pink panties would do the trick to give me that extra feminine appeal. I could wear the red halter top so that I could keep a knife in the back where my bra clip would be. Around my neck, I'd wear more black leather straps that crisscrossed like a bra and matched the sandals. I'd put my hair up, or in a ponytail to keep it out of my way, like a woman on the go, a jogger or workout nut or something.

I put on all of my props and looked at myself in a full mirror, absolutely
loving
it! However, my mother was right, my arms and legs needed toning, but the look was
working,
so I told the mirror, “My name is Alexis, and I'm one tough bitch, but don't call me black; I know
what
I am, and
who
I am. Okay? Now let me go find some psychos. I want to give them a taste of how it feels to die.”

While still wearing my gear to feel out my character, I read the
Road Kill
script again with a red pen in hand, making all of the changes that were needed.

$   $   $

I met my agent at twenty of eleven, up the street from the studio lot, so that we could do a final game plan before going into our meeting with the producer at his office. He was a forty-something guy named Donald Hollis, who liked to refer to himself as “The Don.” My girl told me when she briefed me about him over the phone that morning.

As soon as she saw me stepping out of my black Mercedes convertible,
in character,
she smiled and said, “Good idea.” She was dressed in a dark gray suit with a hot pink silk shirt, and looked hip herself.