LITMIR.BIZ

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revenge. What did he need beauty for, when he could make it tremble with a smiling maybe?

      He was in a fine mood when he and Todd, with Maxine in attendance, met for lunch on Monday. Paramount had carried the weekend with a brutal revenge picture that Eppstadt had taken a hand in making, firing the director off the project after two unpromising preview screenings, and hiring somebody else to shoot a rape scene and a new ending, in which the violated woman terrorized and eventually dispatched her attacker with a hedge-cutter.

      ‘Thirty-two point six million dollars in three days,’ he preened. ‘In January. That’s a hit. And you know what? There’s nobody in the picture. Just a couple no-name TV stars. It was all marketing.’

      ‘Is the picture any good?’ Todd asked.

      ‘Yeah, it’s fucking Hamlet,’ Eppstadt said, without missing a beat. ‘You’re looking weary, my friend,’ he went on. ‘You need a vacation. I’ve been taking time at this monastery –’

      ‘Monastery?’

      ‘Sounds crazy, right? But you feel the peace. You feel the tranquillity. And they take Jews. Actually, I’ve seen more Jews there than at my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah. You should try it. Take a rest.’

      ‘I don’t want to rest. I want to work. We need to set a start-date for Warrior.’

      Eppstadt’s enthusiastic expression dimmed. ‘Oh, Christ. Is that what this little lunch is all about, Maxine?’

      ‘Are you making it or not?’ Todd pressed. ‘Because there’s plenty of other people who will if you won’t.’

      ‘So maybe you should take it to one of them,’ Eppstadt said, his gaze hooded. ‘You can have it in turnaround, if that’s what you want. I’ll get business affairs on it this afternoon.’

      ‘So you’re really ready to let it go?’ Maxine said, putting on an air of indifference.

      ‘Perfectly ready, if that’s what Todd wants. I’m not going to stand in the way of you getting the picture made. You look surprised, Maxine.’

      ‘I am surprised. A package like that … it’s a huge summer movie for Paramount.’

      ‘Frankly I’m not sure this is the right time for the company to be making that kind of picture, Maxine. It’s a very hard market to read right now. And these expensive pictures. I mean, this is going to come in at well north of a hundred thirty million by the time we’ve paid for prints and advertising. I’m not sure that makes solid fiscal sense.’ He tried a smile; it was lupine. ‘Look, Todd: I want to be in business with you. Paramount wants to be in business with you. Christ, you’ve been a gold-mine for us over the years. But there’s a generation coming up – and you know the demographics as well as I do – these kids filling up the multiplexes, they don’t have any loyalty to the past.’

      Eppstadt knew what effect his words were having, and he was savouring every last drop of it.

      ‘You see, in the good old days, the studios were able to carry stars through a weak patch. You had a star on a seven-year contract. He was being paid a weekly wage. You could afford a year or two of poor performance. But you’re expensive, Todd. You’re crucifyingly expensive. And I’ve got Viacom’s shareholders to answer to. I’m not sure they’d want to see me pay you twenty million dollars for a picture that might only gross … what did your last picture do? Forty-one domestic? And change?’

      Maxine sighed, a little theatrically. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Gary.’

      ‘Look, Maxine, I’m sorry to be having to say it. Really I am. But numbers are numbers. If I don’t believe I can make a profit, what am I doing making the movie? You see where I’m coming from? That simply doesn’t make sense.’

      Maxine got up from the table. ‘Will you excuse me a minute? I’ve got to make a call.’

      Eppstadt caught the fire in Maxine’s voice.

      ‘No lawyers, Maxine. Please? We can do this in a civilized manner.’

      Maxine didn’t reply. She simply stalked off between tables, snarling at a waiter who got in her way. Eppstadt ate a couple of mouthfuls of rare tuna, then put down his fork. ‘It’s times like this I wish I still smoked.’ He sat back in his chair and looked hard at Todd. ‘Don’t let her start a pissing competition, Todd, because if I’m cornered I’m going to have to stand up and tell it like it is. And then we’ll all have a mess on our hands.’

      ‘Meaning what?’

      ‘Meaning …’ Eppstadt looked pained; as though his proctologist was at work on him under the chair. ‘You can’t keep massaging numbers so your price looks justified when we all know it isn’t.’

      ‘You were saying I’d been a gold-mine for Paramount. Just two minutes ago you said that.’

      ‘That was then. This is now. That was Keever Smotherman, this is post-Keever Smotherman. He was the last of his breed.’

      ‘So what are you saying?’

      ‘Well … let me tell you what I’m not saying,’ Eppstadt replied, his tone silky. ‘I’m not saying you don’t have a career.’

      ‘Well that’s nice to hear,’ Todd said sharply.

      ‘I want to find something we can do together. But …’

      ‘But?’

      Eppstadt seemed to be genuinely considering his reply before he spoke. Finally, he said: ‘You’ve got talent, Todd. And you’ve obviously built a loyal fan-base over the years. What you don’t have is the drawing power you had back in the old days. It’s the same with all of you really expensive boys. Cruise. Costner. Stallone.’ He took a moment, then leaned closer to Todd, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘You want the truth? You look weary. I mean, deep down weary.’ Todd said nothing. Eppstadt’s observation was like being doused in ice-cold water. ‘Sorry to be blunt. It’s not like I’m telling you something you don’t already know.’

      Todd was staring at his hand, wondering what it would feel like to make a fist and beat it against Eppstadt’s face; over and over and over.

      ‘Of course, you can have these things fixed,’ Gary went on chattily. ‘I know a couple of guys older than you who went to see Bruce Burrows and looked ten years younger when he was finished working on them.’

      Still idly contemplating his hand, Todd said: ‘Who’s Bruce Burrows?’

      ‘Well, in many people’s opinion he’s the best cosmetic surgeon in the country. He’s got an office on Wilshire. Very private. Very expensive. But you can afford it. He does it all. Collagen replacements, lifts, peels, lipo-sculpture …’

      ‘Who went to see him?’

      ‘Oh, just about everybody. There’s nothing to be ashamed of: it’s a fact of life. At a certain age it’s harder to get the lovehandles to melt. You get laugh-lines, you get frown lines, you get those little grooves around your mouth.’

      ‘I haven’t got grooves around my mouth.’

      ‘Give it time,’ Eppstadt said, a touch avuncular now.

      ‘How long does it take?’

      ‘I don’t know. I’ve never had any of it done. If I went in there, I’d never get out again.’

      ‘Too much to fix.’

      ‘I think it’s bad taste to jump on somebody else’s self-deprecation, Todd. But I forgive you. I know it hurts to hear this. The fact is, I don’t have to have my face out there fifty feet high. You do. That’s what they’re paying for.’ He pointed at Todd. ‘That face.’

      ‘If I was to get something

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