Chapter 6.5: Snakes & Ladders (of the corporate variety)
Beverly Hills, 90210. May 2001.
Ostentatious, it wasn’t a word used a lot these days by people who themselves weren’t pretentious. It basically meant all glamour and no class. It was the most appropriate word I had in my vocabulary to describe the building and interior of the Endeavor agency.
The moment I walked in, a blast of mega-mall level air conditioning slapped me in the face.
Even ignoring the confusing and tasteless contemporary art installations everywhere, the price of cooling this massive open concept nonsense office clearly began at the wallet and ended through the nose.
It was heartening to see mine, and every other actor’s, money being put to good use.
I swallowed my annoyance and headed to reception.
David Heyman wouldn’t let me leave LA before I’d agreed to WB exercising my option - the carry forward terms - of my contract for the next installment in the Harry Potter Franchise. Three million dollars for Chamber of Secrets.
Anita, my agent, currently held the contract. Which is why I was here at the Endeavor offices to sign it.
“Appointments only.” The receptionist didn’t even bother looking my way, far too enamoured by her freshly painted nails.
“.... I have one. With Anita Specter.”
She blew out a sigh and began typing - with the same energy as if I’d just told her to move heaven and earth for me. “Name?”
“Bas Rhys. That’s h-y-s, not e-e-s-e.” I spelled it out for her. I wasn’t sure she’d go the Starbucks route and misspell the name.
Her demeanor shifted suddenly. She pierced me with her eyes, affected that fake LA smile, and began simpering. “Of course! Mr Rhys. How wonderful to meet you and welcome to Endeavor.” She quickly typed something, stepped out from behind the podium to greet me. “You’re right on time. We’ve been anticipating your arrival. Please follow me. I’ll take you up to the meeting room.” With that, she walked forward and beckoned me. I waddled along like a lost duckling.
I probably should have been paying attention to my surroundings, “thanks.” But her pencil skirt was skin tight.
The elevator dinged. I followed her until she led me to a door, ushered me in, and stepped away.
The clack of the door shutting returned me to conscious thought. “Bas! It’s cool if I call you Bas, right?” Came the masculine voice of a very bald white man.
“Either plastic surgery’s gotten very good. Or, you’re not Anita.”
I knew I was funny, but the way this guy laughed, you’d think I was Robin Williams during his coke days. “You’ve got a great sense of humour, kid!” He pointed at the plush leather chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat and we’ll get started. Specter’s busy with another client. Hollywood, you know?”
The second my butt touched the seat, a stack of papers was plonked in front of me. “Here’s the contract.” He pushed a pen at me, too. “I’ve taken the liberty of marking where you need to sign, so just go through with your signature and we should be done before you know it.” Was this guy serious? I stared at his face. His smile was all teeth even when surrounded by that God awful beard that looked like he gave cunnilingus to a shower drain. Yeah, this guy was serious.
Walking out of his office would have been the smart move. The view he had across Beverly Hills was nice, but not that nice. Still, I pulled the papers on to my lap and chose to flick through. I wanted to see what games this guy was playing.
“Clever kid!” He cajoled. “Never sign anything without reading it. Let me know if you have any questions.”
“I do have one. Who are you?”
“Can’t believe I forgot to mention that!” He was plastic enough to choke a turtle. “I’m Adam, kid. Adam Venit.”
Ah. I knew who this was. He started talking about himself, about who he was and his role at Endeavor. I took lessons from the receptionist and paid more attention to the papers while he prattled. He was cut from the same cloth Weinstein was. Allegedly, at least. I was inclined to believe Terry Crews, though.
Slimy motherfucker. I continued to read. This wasn’t a contract, it was a deal with the devil.
On the surface, it was what I was expecting to sign, but there were glaring discrepancies. Higher agency fees, transfer of agent to Venit from Anita, the agency received all my image rights, there was even a conservatorship clause, shit just went on. I wasn’t being poached, I was being farmed for slaughter.
I carelessly tossed the toilet paper worthy docket back on his desk. “I’m not signing this.” I stood up, turned around, and made my way out the door.
“W-what? Wait!” He chased after me. “We can negotiate the terms!”
Neither of us was running like it was an action scene, obviously. But I marched down the hallway and he power walked at my tail. Worst race ever. “No, thanks.” There wasn’t any point talking to him. That deal was so raw, Gordon Ramsay would rant about it.
“Bas! There you are.” Normally, I’d be quite pleased to hear Anita’s voice, but I was seething.
My heart was shouting at me to blow past everyone and walk out the gate. But my stupid adult brain won out. “Where were you?” I stopped a foot away from her.
Anita caught on quick. Adam behind me, and my face, that looked like I’d been sucking lemons, clued her in. She strode forward and put herself between me and the other man protectively. “Anything I can do for you, Mr Venit?” Her tone was respectful but terse. We all knew he’d just tried a blindside and failed.
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He chose to cut his losses and backed off. “Just showing our newest star around the digs. Glad we found you. He’s all yours.” He faked a phone call. “Hello? Hey Ben, how’s the movie going?” He put his hand over the mic, “we’ll catch up, Bas. I’ve gotta run.” Yeah, I’ll bet.
I was dumbfounded, it being my first time dealing with something so skeevy and brazen. Anita rapidly turned to me and began patting me down. “I thought I told you to wait for me in the lobby.”
“I wasn’t expecting to be kidnapped.”
“You gotta prepare for the worst in this town, Bas. Parents sell their own kids for pocket change here. You’re not more special. She straightened out, held my hand in hers, and we strolled over to our actual meeting place. “... What’d he try to show you?”
“A future of indentured servitude.” I eased her worry. “I didn’t sign anything. He didn’t flash me either, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good…. That’s good. Well done for standing up for yourself. Sometimes, this town. The people. They make your spine curl.” Anita shuddered.
You know me.” I shrugged. “Only the people I love get to mess with me.” I started swinging our joined grip. “If he ever tries something with you, kick him in the nuts and run away. You can hide out at my place.” I wasn’t totally joking, either.
She finally let the tension flow off her shoulders. “Don’t you worry. If anyone tries to shove their dick in my face, I’ll bite it off!” She smiled at me. “But thanks. I promise I will.”
The day ended with my actual contract being signed.
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LA, California. June 2001.
Anita and I walked into the offices of Dunshire Equity to meet my business manager.
Ben Wyatt, CPA, ushered us in so we could begin.
My money for the second film had all finished being transferred to my accounts today, and we were having a strategy meeting.
Ben smiled beaming and punched my shoulder. “Welcome to the millionaire boy’s club, kid!” He should be happy, a good chunk of that was his. “You should’ve pushed for more, Bas! I’ve heard the box office numbers are predicted to shatter all sorts of records.”
Anita scoffed while taking her seat. “Impossible. The contract is airtight. But the next three films are going to require a new one, and you’d best be sure I’m going to squeeze them dry.”
I had plans for that, actually. Plans that would probably piss off both the people in the room with me. I’ll leave that conversation till later.
Ben rubbed his hands eagerly, flipped open his laptop and showed me the monitor. It was a financial statement from this morning. “As you can see, 2.55 mill has been transferred to your account after the Coogan security deduction of 450k. I’ve put an additional 17% away into your tax account. And 10% each to my firm as well as Anita’s has been made payable on the New Year. Leaving you with precisely 1.44 mill to play with on top of the pre-existing 190k in the account.” He detailed.
Anita did a quick calculation in her head, then angrily rounded on me. “When exactly did you spend fifty thousand dollars? Your rent and au pair are being footed by WB. Your spending should be almost non existent!”
Ben helpfully pulled open a spreadsheet to show my expenses, saving me from explaining. “Around 20k was paid to a travel corporation for a 3 week cross Europe luxury tour. Another 18k was transferred to a Mr Oh Dae Su in California. And the final 12k or so was for daily expenses, text books, exams and extracurriculars.”
“You never went to Europe!”
“Obviously. That was my anniversary present for Mrs Stephens.”
She couldn’t gainsay that, so she moved to the next item. “Then who the hell is Oh Dae Su?”
“My taekwondo master. He wanted to renovate the gym, so I gave him the money for it.”
“Gave!? I thought you said it was a loan!” Ben pounced on me, too.
“The man makes sure I eat at least one meal a week with his family, and has been doing so without any prompting for nearly half a year. As far as I’m concerned, he can keep it.”
Anita sunk her face into her hands. “How can you be so bad with money?”
“That’s why I hired Ben!” who was doing an impression of a gasping fish.
“Fine, then I’m giving a 50k allowance for the next year, and sticking every other penny you have into a mutual fund!”
I shrugged, “Ok, but before you throw my wallet in jail, just do me a favour. I want equity in two companies, ‘Netflix’ and ‘Fast Retailing Co Ltd.’ That second one’s only listed in Japan, so you’ll have to figure that part out.”
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November, 2001.
The doorbell to my discrete little 2LDK rang.
“That’ll be your agent, Ms Specter, here to fetch you, Mr Rhys.” That was my au pair, a stern, overly proper, English lady in her mid-fifties. The studio incorrectly assumed that’d make me feel more at home - I still don’t understand why she had to look like Mrs Trunchbull from Matilda. Was a little eye-candy too much to ask for?
“You can let her in. Thanks, Cadbury.” That wasn’t her real name, but I was a young boy living with what was effectively a butler. I had only one of two choices.
Anita strutted in dressed for the ice age. Coats, gloves, muffler… we were in the middle of California.
“Are you packed? The car’s waiting for us.”
Cadbury teleported in with all our luggage. “We are indeed. Dinner jackets included.”
“I call dibs on the window seat.”
Today was the 4th of November, 2001. The day before the London premier of the movie. Couldn’t exactly miss the red carpet event with my face splashed all over the posters, now could I? So we were flying down for the weekend.
Accounting for the length of the flight as well as the time zone difference, we arrived with barely three hours to spare. It was a quick stop at the hotel to change into my celebrity clothes - all black from shirt to shoes except for a tan suede blazer - then a march right to the red carpet.
The main cast of kids were all invited. Emma was all dolled up, as was Dan. Felton was running late. Rupert, true to form, came entirely unprepared, brown cargo trousers and a fleece do not appropriate apparel make.
“We’re walking the red carpet, Grint. Not a hiking trail! What are you wearing?”
He shrugged his shoulders, “Don’t tell me, ask my mum.”
This wouldn’t do. “Cadbury, would you mind helping him into some of my emergency clothes?” My au pair nodded and pulled the boy to the side. I’d brought an extra set of clothes for myself, just in case I spilled something or soiled myself somehow.
Emma approached me. “Who was that?”
“A robot pretending to be my nanny. Are you guys excited?”
“I’m fairly nervous, to be honest.” Dan shyly voiced. “I’m not really sure what we’re meant to do.”
“I know what you mean. There’s so many celebrities here! I feel so out of place.” Emma worried herself.
“Just smile and wave, you’ll be alright.” I reassured them. “Besides, give it a week. We’ll be more famous than anybody else here.”
The closest comparison I could give to the red carpet is being in a loud nightclub. There’s strobing lights, too much noise, and annoying people trying to talk to you. And much like a nightclub, it was necessary to pretend you were happy to be there.
I spotted Felton. Given the grimace on his face, he clearly wasn’t comfortable with whatever pushy reporter he’d gotten stuck with. Rescue time. I snuck up behind him. I noticed the camera aligned with me but paid it no mind. “Malfoy!”
He turned around surprised, shifting to glad before donning the Malfoy sneer. “Pottah!”
Ignoring the reporter’s calls, I behaved like an over excited child stealing his friend away.
It wasn’t long before we’d found our seats in the theatre.
The iconic John Williams score twinkled in.
My life changed forever.
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