“Have your agent send copies of that to me.”
Jed’s pulse kicked into high gear, and he tried to douse his excitement. Still, he had to work to keep his voice even. “Are you offering me Laramie?”
She looked up at him, her eyes carefully bland, her face clear of expression. “I’m sorry, I should have been more clear. I should have said,
if we cast you
, have your agent send copies to me. There are quite a few terms and conditions you’ve got to agree to before we start talking about signing a contract.”
He nodded, each beat of his heart sending blood coursing all the way down to his fingers and toes. He got it. He
got
it. “You might as well get the contract out, because I’ve already discussed terms of payment with Vic—”
“These conditions don’t have anything to do with payment.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Before you sign a contract, I want assurances that you won’t jeopardize this project in any way. I want a guarantee that you’ll remain alcohol and drug free during the entire course of preproduction, production, and even during postproduction, when we’d be sending you out on the talk-show circuit.”
Jed nodded. “I’ll give you my word. I’m clean now, and I have every intention of staying clean. I’ll go to AA meetings three times a week if I have to—”
“You’ll have to,” she interrupted. “And, I’m sorry, but as nice as it would be to guarantee a verbal agreement with a handshake, I’m afraid that won’t satisfy our financial backers.” She opened the file folder again. “So I’ve taken the liberty of having my lawyer draw up a document—an addendum to the standard Screen Actor’s Guild contract—outlining the terms and conditions of your employment.”
Jed took the document she held out to him. Damn, it was heavy. There had to be a dozen pieces of legal-sized paper stapled together. The triumphant tom-tom of his pulse skipped a beat.
“You’ll want to read that carefully, of course,” Kate told him briskly.
“What is this?”
Her blue eyes were expressionless. “Our guarantee that you stay clean, as you so aptly put it. As I said, this document outlines the terms and conditions—”
He still didn’t understand. “Such as?”
She opened the file again and took out a second copy of the same agreement, running her finger down the page past all the opening legal mumbo jumbo defining Jericho Beaumont as the party hereafter to be called “the Actor.” “The first point, I believe, deals with … yes, here it is. Daily urine testing for drugs.”
The accelerated dance rhythm of his pulse jerked nearly to a stop, and the euphoria was replaced by nausea.
Jed stared at the packet of paper he held in his hands. Urine tests. This document required him to submit to drug tests—daily. And that was only the first condition. He quickly flipped to the back of the document. Seven. There were six additional conditions he would have to agree to, if he wanted this job. Seven humiliations—of which daily urine testing was only the first.
“The second enables us to conduct unannounced Breathalyzer tests for alcohol. Third, you’ll be required toattend AA meetings at least twice a week during the course of the shoot. Fourth, you’ll agree to supervision—24/7. O’Laughlin Productions will select your supervisor—”
24/7—twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. This document, these demands were so outrageous, Jed didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “Don’t you mean baby-sitter? Or maybe jail warden?”
Kate pretended not to hear. “… and round-the-clock supervision will begin from the moment you step onto the set until the date you’re released from production. During preproduction and postproduction you’ll be on your own, but if you screw up and embarrass us during postproduction publicity events, you’ll lose your right to percentages, providing there are any. If you screw up during the weeks before the shoot begins,
Jed’s pulse kicked into high gear, and he tried to douse his excitement. Still, he had to work to keep his voice even. “Are you offering me Laramie?”
She looked up at him, her eyes carefully bland, her face clear of expression. “I’m sorry, I should have been more clear. I should have said,
if we cast you
, have your agent send copies to me. There are quite a few terms and conditions you’ve got to agree to before we start talking about signing a contract.”
He nodded, each beat of his heart sending blood coursing all the way down to his fingers and toes. He got it. He
got
it. “You might as well get the contract out, because I’ve already discussed terms of payment with Vic—”
“These conditions don’t have anything to do with payment.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Before you sign a contract, I want assurances that you won’t jeopardize this project in any way. I want a guarantee that you’ll remain alcohol and drug free during the entire course of preproduction, production, and even during postproduction, when we’d be sending you out on the talk-show circuit.”
Jed nodded. “I’ll give you my word. I’m clean now, and I have every intention of staying clean. I’ll go to AA meetings three times a week if I have to—”
“You’ll have to,” she interrupted. “And, I’m sorry, but as nice as it would be to guarantee a verbal agreement with a handshake, I’m afraid that won’t satisfy our financial backers.” She opened the file folder again. “So I’ve taken the liberty of having my lawyer draw up a document—an addendum to the standard Screen Actor’s Guild contract—outlining the terms and conditions of your employment.”
Jed took the document she held out to him. Damn, it was heavy. There had to be a dozen pieces of legal-sized paper stapled together. The triumphant tom-tom of his pulse skipped a beat.
“You’ll want to read that carefully, of course,” Kate told him briskly.
“What is this?”
Her blue eyes were expressionless. “Our guarantee that you stay clean, as you so aptly put it. As I said, this document outlines the terms and conditions—”
He still didn’t understand. “Such as?”
She opened the file again and took out a second copy of the same agreement, running her finger down the page past all the opening legal mumbo jumbo defining Jericho Beaumont as the party hereafter to be called “the Actor.” “The first point, I believe, deals with … yes, here it is. Daily urine testing for drugs.”
The accelerated dance rhythm of his pulse jerked nearly to a stop, and the euphoria was replaced by nausea.
Jed stared at the packet of paper he held in his hands. Urine tests. This document required him to submit to drug tests—daily. And that was only the first condition. He quickly flipped to the back of the document. Seven. There were six additional conditions he would have to agree to, if he wanted this job. Seven humiliations—of which daily urine testing was only the first.
“The second enables us to conduct unannounced Breathalyzer tests for alcohol. Third, you’ll be required toattend AA meetings at least twice a week during the course of the shoot. Fourth, you’ll agree to supervision—24/7. O’Laughlin Productions will select your supervisor—”
24/7—twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. This document, these demands were so outrageous, Jed didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “Don’t you mean baby-sitter? Or maybe jail warden?”
Kate pretended not to hear. “… and round-the-clock supervision will begin from the moment you step onto the set until the date you’re released from production. During preproduction and postproduction you’ll be on your own, but if you screw up and embarrass us during postproduction publicity events, you’ll lose your right to percentages, providing there are any. If you screw up during the weeks before the shoot begins,
Similar Books
