"The theater will temporarily cease rehearsing new productions. For your future's sake, our focus will shift towards securing roles in film projects," Jerome proclaimed with grandiosity, though his mind harbored a different agenda.
Once rehearsals commence, expenses flow like a river.
The Marietta Community Theater, being a non-profit entity, primarily relies on donations from charitable organizations and cultural grants from the local government.
For instance, the theater's ownership resides with the city hall.
Both theatrical productions and film shoots are relatively straightforward to account for, with any savings inevitably flowing into the pockets of those in charge, including Jerome.
Jerome, maintaining an appearance of dedication, emphasized, "In the coming period, I will personally oversee your performances. Trust me, in Marietta, no one is more professional than I am!"
Martin listened thoughtfully, contemplating that while the theater has advantages over individuals when dealing with film crews, the monthly fee of $300…
The money in his possession had been earned at the cost of a severed limb.
Was it Harris who lost his arm? Martin respected Harris’s sacrifice.
Martin would not easily part with what he had not seen tangible benefits from.
The newcomers were not naive; one asked, "Director, why is the film you mentioned coming to Atlanta for filming?"
Currently, Atlanta holds a minor role in the Hollywood film industry.
Jerome smiled confidently, "The state government recently passed a bill before the New Year. Any film shot in Atlanta with an investment exceeding $500,000 will receive a 20% tax break. If the film displays the Georgia state emblem, an additional 10% discount applies."
He saw through the situation, "Hollywood’s film production companies will not miss the opportunity to reap greater profits. More film crews will come to Atlanta for filming. The opportunity is here—are you prepared?"
Another person inquired, "I read on a forum that actors must go through agents to find work. I don’t have an agent."
"Forget the damned agents and the restrictions of the actors' guild. The California talent law does not apply to Atlanta!" Jerome countered. "Would you prefer to have an agent take a 10% cut, or pay $3,000 to join the actors' guild and then a substantial annual fee?"
The person, stirred by Jerome's response, shook his head vehemently, "I’d rather buy a car with $3,000."
Martin remained silent, even if he disagreed; he was cautious not to speak out rashly.
After the motivational meeting, the theater's accountant set up a table to collect fees. Of the ten new recruits, only one left; the remaining nine all paid their dues.
Even Robert, a veteran, chose to stay with the theater. Martin, familiar with such stages, understood their mindset—there was little difference from countless others struggling for a break.
Martin, having heard about the two film crews, pondered how to make Jerome think of him first.
After waiting for everyone to leave, Martin hobbled to the accountant’s desk, his face a mask of shame. "Mr. Mitchell, I... I don’t have the money for the fee."
Jerome Mitchell frowned, "Martin, don’t make me put you in a difficult position."
Martin, his emotions stirred, pulled out the contents of his pockets—only $7. "I’m truly sorry. I did some roofing work, fell, and injured my leg. Medical bills exhausted my salary, and my employer refused compensation and fired me. Can the fee be deferred?"
With practiced ease, he continued, "I’m looking for new work, and I will pay as soon as I have the funds. And yes, there’s a play next week, right? As soon as I receive my role's payment, I’ll settle the fee with the theater."
Martin’s consistently good performance with the theater in his previous life served as the basis for his request.
Jerome, seeing Martin’s embarrassment and helplessness, recalled his own difficult early days and felt a twinge of compassion. "Don’t disappoint me."
"Thank you!" Martin quickly expressed his gratitude. His eyes swept over the book lying beneath the accountant’s paperwork—this week’s issue of Entertainment Weekly. He pointed at the magazine, "Mr. Mitchell, I’m a huge fan of Hollywood news, but I can’t afford to buy it. Could I...?"
Jerome waved him off, "Take it."
Martin took the magazine, limping out of the theater.
Jerome’s sympathy would not result in a loss. He noted Martin's debt.
No one could remain in Jerome’s debt indefinitely. If Martin couldn’t repay it, Jerome would find a way to make him work off the debt.
In Jerome’s subconscious, those who had paid their fees could be pushed to the back, as there was no more juice to squeeze from them this month.
Martin waited a long time for the rickety bus, found a seat in the back, and perused the magazine.
As he was engrossed in the magazine, the bus jolted suddenly, and the driver shouted, "The bus is broken!"
There was a chorus of curses, including from Martin.
"This damned public transportation!" Martin could only join the others in disembarking.
Halfway along the route, with the next bus potentially a long wait, and with no taxis readily available in Atlanta, Martin opted to walk.
A Dodge pickup truck rolled up from behind and stopped beside the sidewalk, emblazoned with the Beast House logo.
The right window rolled down, and Bruce, in a jacket, waved, "Martin Davis, need a ride?"
Martin looked at him, "Is it okay?"
Bruce pointed ahead, "I live in the Baca neighborhood south of Clayton—it's on the way."
Martin slid into the passenger seat, "What a coincidence!"
Bruce accelerated, "Just collected a payment for the boss." After a few hundred meters, he suddenly added, "Almost forgot, you owe me $5 for the fare."
Martin slammed the door, "Hey, buddy, be decent!"
Bruce, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting his jacket, responded, "The boss says employees of the Beast House must be law-abiding citizens."
Seeing Bruce’s gun under his jacket, Martin agreed Bruce was a respectable individual. "Pay me when we reach Clayton."
"Deal!" Bruce grinned broadly.
Martin didn’t wish to converse further and picked up the magazine.
Bruce glanced quickly at the cover, "Entertainment Weekly? I love this magazine! The cover has a poster for Lost in Translation!"
Martin’s mind raced, "A fan of Scarlett Johansson?"
Bruce looked back wistfully, "I used to collect posters of that film, but it was damaged."
Martin asked, "How did it get damaged?"
Bruce licked his dry lips, "The poster was accidentally ruined by the wind."
Martin gave him a thumbs up, imitating Harris's tone, "I’m now 100% sure you’re a decent person." He waved the magazine, "Buddy, this is the latest Entertainment Weekly. It’s hard to find in Atlanta, not just the cover but also a complete set of stills from Lost in Translation."
Bruce reached for it, but Martin pulled it back. "Fare is waived, $10."
"You’re a shrewd trader!" Bruce said, though he kept eyeing the cover.
Martin rolled up the magazine again. "My neighbor Carter also loves this poster. I could easily sell this magazine for at least $20."
Bruce handed over two $5 bills, "You win."
Martin accepted the money, handed Bruce the free magazine, and casually said, "I’m an actor. When I make it big, I’ll get you some signed photos from the set..."
Bruce, unwilling to continue the conversation, decided to make his move. "Think about how you’ll repay the debt."
"I remember," Martin said, planning to stay in Atlanta temporarily. He needed to figure out how to handle this debt. "I’d like to meet your boss."
"Tomorrow night, the boss will be at the Beast House." Bruce waved the magazine. "Considering this, I’ll give you a tip—if you can prove your worth to the boss, you’ll receive favorable treatment."
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