Disclaimer: I am not an idiot writer. My writing may not be good but I know where to place quotations, commas and periods. I have been writing my book in Word and Text Wrangler and when I cut and paste them to the Myspace Blog, I lose all my periods and quotes lately. I dont know how to fix it, so bear with me. I am actually putting them in.
Jons lower leg was smashed. He had rods placed in both his top and bottom of his shin. He would be laid out for a while. I obviously wouldnt push for a meeting with the Hot Investor anytime soon. I felt so horrible about what had happened to him, I nearly forgot about his positive lead. I had been bard from the real world or on house arrest if you like, waiting on the baby to come. I didnt want to be anywhere when Mandis water broke so I chose to work from home base. I made call after call looking for a lead in the never ending unsolved mystery of finding money to shoot my movie. I had three people on the back burner. They were all friends and friends and business never work. I would almost feel alienated if they said no. I would also feel like I was taking advantage of them if they said, yeah. Its a double edged sword so friends are the last people you want to rent an office with, which leads me to the next ridiculous situation I found myself in. Cutter and I had been friends since middle school. Over the years we had witnessed and experienced a lot together. (That may be an understatement.) We dabbled in drugs, shared women, acted recklessly, but above all, dreamt big. He was the salesman. I was the visionary. Unfortunately, for visionaries, your marketability and salesmanship doesnt always go hand in hand. Unfortunately, for Cutter he made all his sales and transactions early in life leaving many bridges and their remains collecting algae at the bottom of the proverbial river. For about three years about three years ago, I had learned the art of selling myself. I could walk into a room, grab everybodys attention and keep it. I made three movies in that short amount of time, managed to get published in a magazine, got into an argument with Edward Norton over a couple of Driver Licenses and landed a meeting with Michael Deluca, (then the CEO of New Line Cinema.) Before that, Id be lucky to sell an appetizer to one of my tables at the Olive Garden, (where I worked at the time.) The after of that prosperous time Well, I just sold myself short.
Cutter was a born salesman. He could sell you desert property on Grandfather Mountain in his hay day. He could walk into a room; have the whole place sold on his idea at the time in five minutes. My fiancé still to this day does not like me going out for a night on the town with him, because she knows, hes probably the only guy in the world that I can not say no to. In these years of Cutters brilliant pitches, scams, and moneymaking ideas, he had actually managed to get people to invest in them three out of five times. He had also managed to talk friends into buying him cars, boats, motorcycles, and anything else he felt he needed. They would do this with the intent that Cutter would reimburse them. Here was the rub Four out of Five times they were not, but because he was Cutter, it was water under the bridge. Take the salesman out of him and Cutter was one of the most lovable guys you will ever meet. I have found myself hating his guts at times only to crack a smile on the mere sight of him walking in the room. He has an electric personality and if I didnt have him in my life, it would be 25% more boring than it already is.
Our friendship came to the crossroads only twice in our life. The first was the night he overdosed on heroin in the bathroom at our house. He had borrowed my guitar tuner and only in Cutter Fashion he had lost it. I was furious and stormed down the hall and busted the bathroom door open. Our other roommates and him had gone out to the bar and had been on their off time, abusing pain killers via their nostrils, so when I entered and saw his red face with one eye going one way and the other looking at his feet, I thought it was just another day at the office. I began screaming at him for a moment, in which he did not respond. (He never had, why would it be any different this time?) I bolted down the hall and my quiet stoner roommate met me trying to calm me down. I know it was just a tuner, but this kind of shit had been going on for years and I had just started playing guitar, so this was a very prized possession of mine. By the time he calmed me down, our other roommate was screaming from down the hall. I returned to the bathroom to find Cutter on the floor blue and nearly dead. A 911 call and some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and he was breathing again. He was diabetic so I figured, (being completely unaware that he had just injected heroin into his vein,) that the alcohol had sky rocketed his blood/sugar level. I was told after the ambulance picked him up what had really happened. After the smoke cleared, we had managed to get him to the hospital and he had been given another chance at life. I had expected to lose him as a friend once he returned from the hospital. With situations such as that one, everybody tells you that the best thing you can do on the way to recovery is start over. Start over by acquiring new surroundings, new friends, and a new lifestyle. I was compliant if that would be his choice, because at the time we were living a rock star lifestyle. The difference was, that I was in complete control and loved the famous image we were placing on ourselves within our town. I wasnt ready to give that up yet. To everybodys surprise, Cutter returned to the house and carried on his usual way. He figured if he could not do it this way, what kind of will does he have. Our friendship was tighter than ever.
The next crossroad was five months after the burnt spoon incident. After I left for LA, him and the other roommates decided they were not going to pay any more bills at the house. I felt with my name on the lease and a couple of the bills, (and my credit already being shot,) I would have to come back if just for a little while and take care of it. I returned with two grand in my pocket and had to blow it all to get us caught up. I guess I was naïve at the time to think I would be compensated. As I prepared for my final trip back to the West Coast, I came back to the house to find him packing up his belongings. He had been saving his money to get a new place, which was obviously fine, but I guess it was at my expense. In fact, all of the roommates had ditched leaving me to fix the place up and sink the get the hell outta dodge funds on back bills and fixing the place up, so again I was trapped at home for a little longer. That day, I said to myself, Fuck this guy, and made it abundantly clear I meant what I said by walking by him as he tried to load a couch onto a truck by himself. I didnt budge an inch and he knew I was pissed, so he didnt ask for my help. Needless to say, we didnt talk for a while. I had every right to be mad and I still defend that to this very day, but.
I had always preached that no friendship should ever be lost over money or a woman, (unless that woman was your wife of course,) so the hatchet was buried quickly and we were close friends again. We had talked for ages about making a porn, but could never be in the same town long enough to work on it. We stayed close. So close in fact, I had the proud honor of introducing him to his future wife.
Him and his wife would venture down to Florida to see us. I would stay at their house when I would pass through. We had even considered moving into the same neighborhood, but as life leads you down unexpected roads, we ended up about thirty minutes from them. I had always wanted to start a business of some kind with Cutter, but had found myself put on the back burner due to his busy, busy job. He basically helmed a small luxury car dealership in Lake Norman, NC. The idea of making a porn had been thrown around so much by then, usually in a drunken stupor, I hardly fathomed he would want to participate. One day, though, something happened Cutter and I found ourselves at the thirty-year-old crossroad where you either get something going or you work for the man the rest of your life. My business was beginning to take off. Unfortunately, it was about five years too late, so I too was pondering which turn to make. We had become family men over night when Mandi and Garrick placed a bun in the oven. It wasnt long after that Mindy, his wife, had been impregnated with a Satan spawn as well. It was a scary thought but really made Cutter realize that there was a lot more if we got out there. We had a heart to heart and it became official: We were making a porn. I, for the first time actually believed Cutter was one hundred percent about this project. I told him, Hell, the movie is made and sold already. Everything has been put into place with the exception of the money to shoot it. You, know a lot of rich people who would be willing to invest a couple of bucks. Its that simple. Find me money. Ill shoot the movie. We split it fifty-fifty. That was his job. Nothing more. He sold Mercedes, Hummers and Porsches to rich people that lived in humongous houses on the lake. He knew everybody and everybody liked him. This should be a quick process, right?
By the beginning of April I knew there were going to be no leads. I should have known in March, when I called him and he said answering the phone, You found an investor, yet!
. Uh, no. Wasnt that your job, I thought to my self.
Chalk it up to another one of Cutters big sells with no chance of a close. I mean I still love him to death and I will be there for him for the rest of his and my life. This wouldnt hurt our friendship, but I think he got to the point where he had talked so much and not produced that he would be lucky to be able to borrow sixty cent for the drink machine. The straw that broke the camels back was on April Fools Day, (how fitting,) when he called me from his beach vacation. We had not talked about the porn in sometime, but then again, we both had been real busy elsewhere I guess.
What are you doing there, rubba neck, he yelled into the receiver. That was his greeting most of the time with me. Occasionally it was cheese, but that was a whole different story.
Whats up, I replied. How original. He was drunk and I was really going to try and not get annoyed. He explained that he was down on Wrightsville Beach, NC having a great time. Then he hit me with it. I could tell in the anxiety of his breathing he had a harebrain scheme brewing.
I know where were going to shoot the movie, he exclaimed.
I had to be a smart ass.
What movie?
The Porn.
Oh yeah, where, I asked. I guess he never caught on to my sarcasm. Here it came
On International Waters he rattled. He pronounced it in the tone of voice you would hear narrating Forensic Files on Court TV.
I paused for what seemed like eternity. All I could get out was:
What the fuck are you talking about?
I have this dude down here. Man, hes cool as shit. He owns these huge boats with cabins. We could get the chicks, the camera equipment and head out to sea, he spewed in excitement.
Again I asked, What the fuck are you talking about?
He was baffled. The phone sat silent. I decided to quit the bullshit.
What the fuck would we want to shoot a porn on a boat for? We cant get one made on land. I highly doubt the open sea would increase our chances, here, I shouted. We havent raised a dime for the movie and were talking about stretching our sea legs and shooting on a yacht? Are you stoned?
I think I had busted his bubble.
What sense does that make, I asked in a try not to be so harsh kind of way.
Nobodys doing that. I thought it would be a cool gimmick, he replied.
Fifty or more movies have been done on yachts, boats, pontoons, Cutter. Hell, Digital Playground just did one and they had pirate ships.
All was quiet again.
A house would cost us six hundred dollars, tops. A brigade of yachts??? The gas alone would sink us, I retaliated.
Calm down, man, I got that covered. The yachts are free. They said they would be more than willing to help us out, he explained.
Sure they would. Who the fuck are these guys?
He commenced to tell me they just met through a friend of a friend. This all probably being that ole one too many beers talk.
This guy is going to let us use his boats. Cart us out to International Waters and let us shoot our porn. And these boats have everything we need. They have cabins, bathrooms, and most importantly electric outlets.
At least he had done his research on my needs for production. Then he hit me again
The captain said it would be no problem. We would just have to arrange a blow job from one of the girls for him.
Of course.
(What is it with the blowjob thing?)
I completely ignored the blowjob comment. I normally took offense when people solicit that shit in these kind of business meetings, but under the circumstances, I will kept my mouth shut.)
Cutter, man, we have to raise the money before we can plan where to shoot it. Wasnt that your job? Find me money? Where is all that talk of plenty of people with plenty of money? You tell that guy if he ships us off to International Waters, lets us shoot our movie with no interference, AND floats us the money to do it, tell him Ill suck his dick. Otherwise wipe that plan out of your mind.
I waited for a reply. I thought I had rendered him speechless until I heard him talking in the background to somebody else... Had he? Fuck!!!! He had missed my whole speech, talking to the first mate or something. He wasnt talking business. He was talking about which bar they were going to.
He got back on the receiver.
Let me call you back.
Before I could say, dont bother, the connection was gone.
I could not help but think, that was the last time wed discuss future plans together. All that talk about growing up and providing for our family was horseshit. It was one too many beers talk. The realization kicked in. With my little girl a week away, my time was getting thinner and I was not ready to tackle the tie and coat salesman thing. I couldnt help but think, oh God, Im in trouble. As I heard in the other room the beeps of the final seconds of my television show, 24 going off, (that I missed half of for that stupid conversation,) I couldnt help but think I had just become Jack Bauer in a sense. One man, a thousand enemies ahead in front of me, and the time was ticking
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