Unbalanced

PART I

CHAPTER 1: SARAH’S CHOICE

As she arrived at the rooftop pool party for film industry honchos, Sarah wondered why other producers seemed to be so successful in finding funds and getting their projects greenlit. Didn’t she finally find an agent she could pitch scripts for?  Didn’t she go out religiously every day making phone calls, dropping off scripts, following-up by email or phone calls again and again.  So why after months and months did nothing seem to work.  Well, she’d just have to try harder, find the right opportunity, and keep up that front of being successful.  Yes, that was what was especially important – letting others see how successful she was, even if she didn’t feel that way right now.

So once again, Sarah steeled herself.  Show time!  She had to be on for the next event.  And so she headed into the rooftop pool party like an actress giving still another heartfelt performance.  Today, about 150 people in cocktail dresses and suits were chatting around the buffet, and she headed towards them, winding through the crowd, shaking hands and giving out business cards.  She held her cards in her hand like a dealer at a poker table, ready to dole out her own cards and capture the cards of others, as she gave her industry power talk, showing she was in the know about the latest deals reported in the trades.

Hello.  I’m Sarah Whitworth.  I’m a producer... she began again and again. Hi, I’m so glad to meet you here...Now  I’m working on this $30 million film project, and I’d like to talk to you about being in it...Congratulations on that three picture deal I just read about today. We’ll have a lot to talk about.  Here’s my card.  Can I have yours, and I’ll call you next week?...Of course, I’m getting a letter of intent from several A-List actors for my $50 million project.  But I can’t name any names yet...But, I’ll be sure to let you know when I announce this next week.

At last, at the buffet table, she grabbed a plate of chicken salad and pushed through the crowd to a table.  At first, she hungrily wolfed down her salad, not paying attention to the 20 something man and woman dressed casually like college students, who were sitting across from her talking.  Then, finishing her salad, it was time to be on stage again, and she turned to them, smiling broadly.

"Hi.  I’m Sarah Whitworth.  I’m a producer.  What do you both do?

I’m a writer.  My agent invited me, said the man.

And I’m a writer, too, the woman said.

Ah, yes, that’s where it all starts – with a script, Sarah began effusively, looking for that bond of connection.  I used to be a writer myself before finding my agent and becoming a producer.  She smiled, warming up to her story. And I had such great sources of inspiration.  I had an alcoholic father in the business and when I was just a kid, my mother left him.  So that was always a great source of drama.

The two writers looked a little startled, surprised by the sudden personal revelations.  But Sarah was already wound up and pressed on. 

Yes, I’ve lived it all.  But then I realized it’s so hard being a writer in this town.  There are so many scripts chasing so few producers – 100,000 or more each year, they say. So that’s why I decided to become a producer.  That’s where the money and power is.

Sarah grabbed her plate and stood up with a flourish, like an actress finishing her lines and ready to leave the stage. 

Well, gotta go.  I have a lot more people to meet at this party.

She took a few steps, paused, and pulled out her business cards.

Oh, I nearly forgot.  Here’s my card.  I’m working on a $50 million feature now.  Call me if you think you have a really good script.

Sarah shoved her card at the two surprised-looking writers. Then, she headed back to the buffet table, dropped off her plate and merged back into the crowd.  She had dozens more business cards to get and hand out, and maybe, just maybe, someone in the crowd might be interested in talking to her about the script she was pitching for her agent, Mervin.  She grimaced, just thinking of him, remembering the yelling fight they had had on the phone that morning, when he told her she wasn’t working smart enough. 

So what did that mean anyway, she considered. So much of the business was about just showing up again and again until people saw you enough and figured, yes, she must know what she is doing, she must be connected.  So she’d just have to press on, and even if Mervin was such a jerk to deal with, he had gotten her the invitation to the party. So just go back to working the crowd and not think about Mervin.

Again, Sarah put on her pleased to meet you face, a moved on to the next group and then the next.

Hello.  I’m so glad to meet you....I’m Sarah Whitworth.  I’m a producer...Would your company be interested in a script about the revolution in Cuba?...No, well what about a woman who discovers her husband is a serial killer who killed their teenage child?....Sure, I’ll get back to you...No, I don’t normally like to do business at a party.  But now that I’ve spoken to  you, I thought this might be the perfect script for your company...Yes...No...Sure...We’re getting some great attachments...So when would you like me to stop off to drop off the script. 

As she returned to her rented Mercedes parked a few blocks away, she kept hoping that this party would finally be the charm.  They just have to see you enough and see you’re successful, she thought. Then, you’ll finally break through.

* * * * * * * *

The next morning, in her home office, her desk piled with files and scripts, Sarah noticed the tattered card from the success workshop she attended with Marilyn Cartwright. The bright red tag line jumped out like a neon sign: Power Up Your Life to Achieve Success.  Then, she remembered.  At the end of the workshop, Marilyn had announced: One of my goals is to get one of my scripts produced. So afterwards, Sarah had pushed through a dozen people pressed around Marilyn telling her how much they loved her workshop.  As Marilyn passed out her cards, Sarah had grabbed one, too.

Now as Sarah gazed at the card, she thought about how much she needed some empowerment herself.  How easy the speakers made it sound at the many workshops she attended.  Think Your Way to Abundance, Chant for Success, Become the Star You Are.  She had gone to so many workshops. So why didn’t it work the way the workshop leaders said if you knew what you wanted and worked so hard to get it?  Hadn’t she tried so hard to work her way up the film industry ladder? A few supporting actress roles to start when she arrived in LA fifteen years ago.  Some gofer jobs for a dozen productions. A few studio jobs as a temp typist.  Then, just as she felt primed to move to the next level as a production assistant, that damn studio head had come on to her and she slapped him and walked out.  Too bad, because the word must have gotten around, so she couldn’t get another studio job.  Was it a black list or something else?  So why did the guys in Hollywood have to be such pigs if you were a pretty face?

That’s when she decided she needed a break from the business, and Frank came along, a computer geek who did software development, like a savior who offered her a way out.  So marriage too him was like a ticket out for awhile.  But then, a year ago, at a coffee shop, she had run into an Assistant Director from one of her production jobs, who referred her to his agent, Mervin, who told her Just pitch some scripts for my writers. And so it had started again. 

But, after a year, nothing, and she felt like it had been a year of spinning her wheels to nowhere. Calling dozens of producers. Dropping off scripts for readers.  Sending introductory  e-mail letters.  Going to meet and greet parties. Giving scripts to receptionists, sitting like stern gatekeepers at the entrance to the kingdom, and hoping they would pass her scripts on to someone important.

But for what all of this effort?  Not one script produced.  Not a penny of income.  Just growing bills for gas, phone calls, parties, and pitches, and just a few weeks ago her computer programmer husband lost his job in a round of layoffs, and now she had an almost maxed out credit card. 

She glanced at the open mortgage bill on the desk.  Due in seven days.  Could she still pay the mortgage and keep the house and rental Mercedes to look the part of a successful producer?

She glanced back at Marilyn’s card with the Power Up Your Life announcement and she felt the tension in her back and shoulders ease slightly.  Now, maybe there was new hope, since maybe Marilyn’s wish for a script deal might be a way out for her, too.

She punched in a few numbers on the phone, when she felt a tug on her arm.

Mommy, mommy, I don’t want to go to school today.

Sarah looked up to see her 5-year old daughter Wendy standing beside her, clutching her rag doll squirrel.

But Daddy’s going to take you, Sarah replied.

Wendy stomped her foot.  No.  I don’t want to go.

Sarah heard the whoosh of the shower down the hall.

Well, you have to go.  Daddy’s almost ready. 

Angrily, Wendy threw the squirrel at Sarah’s chest.  But Sarah quickly punted it away with her arm, and it fell onto a pile of scripts on the floor.

No, no! Wendy screamed.  The teacher doesn’t like me.  The boys make fun of me.

Sarah reached out to Wendy. That’s silly. I’m sure your teacher likes you, and just ignore the boys if they tease you.  You have to go to school.

Wendy squirmed away.  No.  Don’t want to.

She turned, ready to bolt down the hall, when Sarah’s husband Frank came into the room, wearing a towel around his waist, his hair dripping wet.

Well, Daddy’s here, Sarah continued.  He’s going to take you to school.  And Mommy has some important phone calls to make.

Sarah turned back to the phone, as Frank pulled Wendy away, telling her: Yes, you’ve got to go to school, and she shut the office door behind her.

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, glad Frank was home to help with Wendy, one of the perks of his not having a steady job any more.

And I’ll pick up Jimmy from school later this afternoon, she heard Frank call out, as the front door shut behind him. 

Thanks so much sweetie, she called after him.

Then, full of renewed hope, she dialed Marilyn’s number.  But she heard only the answering machine’s cheery reply: Have a wonderful, day!  I’m sorry I missed your important call. So please leave your message at the beep.

Damn, Sarah thought, and for a moment, she paused ready to toss the card and hang up.  But then, thinking the worst she could do was say no or make no response, she put on her cheery, everything’s great, face, and left her message, hoping it would be enticing enough so Marilyn would want to call back.  

Hi.  This is Sarah Whitworth.  I was excited to be in your workshop, and I have some good news for you.  I can help you get your scripts produced, since I’m an LA producer.  Just call me.  My phone number is...

A few minutes later, as Sarah was eating yogurt in the kitchen, glad for the now quiet house, she pulled a Hollywood Reporter from a pile of magazines and read it eagerly, feeling closer to the world she longed to be part of.

Tom, Katie, Angela, Brad.  The celebrity names jumped out at her, like family members or friends. Then, as she read about Anthony Pictures’ first look picture deal with Warner’s, she imagined how great it might be if she could put together a deal package for Anthony Pictures if Marilyn’s success in her workshops translated into writing a great script, too – maybe the answer to her prayers.

But after an hour, Marilyn still hadn’t called back.  Frustrated, Sarah dropped her empty yogurt cup into the sink and went into the rec room to practice her daily yoga and meditation.  She felt better as she squatted and chanted.  Everything not working in her life seemed to magically slip away, and she felt she could do and be anything.  Just persistence, persistence ,she reminded herself, and soon everything will be A-okay.

Breathing in and out deeply, she imagined herself in a rocket ship, going up, up, into the heavens of success, as Marilyn had taught in her workshop.  Up, up, and suddenly the clouds parted, and she saw herself sitting on a golden throne besides the director’s chair on the set of the picture she was producing.  And she had made it happen by pulling together the cast and production team. Lights. Camera.  Action.  The director was directing the action, but she was in charge.

She basked in the glow of the set’s warm lights, savoring the taste of having finally made it, and hoping the phone beside her would ring.

CHAPTER 2: MARILYN’S DECISION

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As Marilyn walked through the garage with a bag of groceries, glad to be home after leading another Propel Yourself to Success workshop, she didn’t want to propel herself anywhere – just collapse and chill out.

She plopped the groceries on the kitchen counter, put them away, and opened an energy drink.  Then, eager to relax, she stretched out on the living room couch.  Closing her eyes, she felt the warm darkness embrace her as the tension drained away, while her mind raced, imagining alternate paths to success.

If only she didn’t have to keep doing these lectures and workshops.  After four years, she felt burned out, like her talks had become tapes replaying in her head.  Yet how could she step back, when the success of her programs paid for everything else?  

The series of workshops she led in look-alike hotel rooms flashed by like freight train cattle cars.  New York.  Boston.  Chicago.  Miami.  Dallas.  LA.  And finally, San Francisco.  As she zoomed by in her imagination, she saw herself standing in front of hundreds of people who listened raptly to her talk about how You too can succeed beyond your wildest dreams and then she asked them to visualize great things happening to them.

As she lay back, sipping her energy drink in the comforting darkness, she saw the saw the thousands of dollars she earned each from the success she taught others to strive for tower around her like the walls of a trap. But how could she walk away from all that success she taught others to want? And if she did, how could she make enough to support herself?

Her own words from her workshop seemed to mock her.   Visualize your dream...Decide what you want and you can have it...Create your own rewards and reward yourself well...Aim for the stars if you want the heavens to open for you...To climb the ladder of success, put your foot on the first rung and climb step after step.... Let the law of attraction guide you, so you put out what you want to get back...And remember the law of multiplication – you’ll get back what you put out many times over.

So what was she putting out now that she wanted out, but was afraid to get off or stop the train that had taken her to the top?

She sighed remembering how years before she had more time for fun, like going to art exhibit or folk concerts, or just hanging out at coffee shops over lingering cups of coffee with friends.  But now it seemed just about her only get away was writing scripts that helped her imagine other worlds, which she wished she could enter herself for real.

Marilyn leaned back with a tired sigh, when she noticed the answering machine blinking across the room.  At once, everyday reality thudded back, as she got up to check her messages. Robot-like, she began writing them down on a pad by her phone: I’m calling about your next workshops...Can you call me about doing a book signing?... Would you like to do a workshop cruise with several other speakers...

Then, one message that vibrated with excitement caused her to pay attention:  Hi...This is Sarah Whitworth.  I was so excited to be in your workshop, and I have some really good news. I can help you get your scripts produced.

Marilyn hit pause to listen closely, excited that the message seemed to be the answer to her own message: "Put out what you want and it will come to you." But then, she felt doubt creep in, like weeds crushing a flower, as she wondered: "Is this for real? Is this too good to be true?"

Still, the message was tantalizing, so Marilyn finally picked up the phone and called. A moment later Sarah answered and Marilyn got quickly to the point.

This is Marilyn Cartwright returning your call. So how can you help me?

At once, Sarah was like a bubbling cauldron, brimming with enthusiasm.  In many ways.  I can get your scripts to producers and directors. I’ll introduce you to my agent...You just have to be in LA, Sarah concluded. And I can help open doors for you and show you around.  You were so inspirational at your workshop.  And if you want to do something new, I think you’re like a gold mine waiting to be tapped.

For a moment, Marilyn hesitated, wondering.  Even if Sarah’s offer was real, how could she drop everything to go to LA?  She had workshops scheduled for several weeks. And what about the next chapters of the success book she had to write for her publisher?

Sensing her hesitation, Sarah plunged on, Look, I can meet you at your place.  I’ll fly up from LA to meet you.

So Marilyn agreed, Sure. That’s a good idea, and hung up feeling that something had changed in her life.  And for the first time in months, she felt a renewed charge of hope at the possibility of doing something new and different than selling success.   

CHAPTER 3: MERVIN’S ADVICE

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Mervin Harrison headed home after seeing his stockbroker, feeling unusually cranky.  Besides battling the dense 405 traffic to the valley from his Beverly Hills office, his stockbroker’s words were chilling. 

You better sell, his stockbroker had warned.  Biotech’s been taking a beating because of the controversy about stem cells and clonings, and now the market’s tanking.  So you better get out now.

Damn recession, Mervin thought, worried about the many people he had urged to buy.  And if the market kept dropping due to the housing and market melt-down, they would be even more pissed off. 

Repeatedly, Mervin honked his horn and stuck out a finger when a driver honked him back.  But the traffic didn’t move any faster, and Mervin just wanted to get home and get a nice cool wine bottle from his wine cellar to help him forget the whole disastrous day.  It played across his mind like a bad horror film.  First one writer client’s script was turned down by Big Pictures, which didn’t want another love comedy, since the script was too close to a deal they had just signed with two big stars.  So that was the end of one expected fat commission. And then another writer blew up and blamed him for a lost deal, claiming a bigger agent with more clout could have gotten him a deal with another producer, instead of saying his script was dead in the water for awhile.

God, why couldn’t these writers understand the daunting odds of over 100,000 scripts circulating each year, when only a few hundred big films were produced in a year.  And now the timing was even worse with the tanking economy, but tell that to the angry writer.

Damn!  Mervin honked the horn again, then slammed on the brakes when the driver in front slowed and glared back  But finally, after another hour of stop and go traffic, he pulled into the driveway at his sprawling red brick ranch house.  Relieved, he eagerly sprinted to the front door.  As he dropped his briefcase stuffed with scripts on the kitchen counter, he heard the phone ringing.

Oh, Sarah.  Hello, he said, his relief turning to annoyance, as he took the phone to the armchair recliner in the living room.  What’s up? he asked, trying to sound sympathetic, though now the last thing he wanted was to talk to any clients, especially Sarah.

Really good news, Sarah burbled on.  I found another great client.  It’s an inspirational speaker, who does workshops and has written several books.  And she has several scripts she wants to sell.

Mervin’s skeptical antennae went up like a bullshit detector.  After twenty years in the business, he had learned to be cautious with any new writer.  Inevitably, he thought, these newbies believe their work is great, and it was usually a colossal waste of time to read it and then bring down  the writer the brutal truth that it was really shit. But at least he could give it the skim test – reading the first 20 pages and last page of the script in minutes like the studio honchos.  Then, if a script passed the skim test, he might read more, especially if the writer was willing to pitch his own script and bring him leads.  Otherwise, a new script for an unproduced writer would probably become one more dusty script in his growing piles of unread scripts on his floor and shelves that sprawled across his floor like mounds at an archaeological dig, which mostly lay untouched, since he spent most of his time writing up contracts for the deals his writers brought him.

Sure, it was much easier for writers with produced scripts that had been made and made money.  Then, they could get a big agent in a big agency to hustle for them.  But for his one-man band, the writers had to drum up their own deals.  And now Sarah was proposing yet another new writer, and worse, one who lived outside LA, so she was out of the industry loop.

Mervin snarled skeptically into the phone as he walked to his wine cellar: So what’s so good about this writer?  Did you read her scripts?

No.  Not yet.  But she’s a great inspirational speaker.  There were hundreds of people at her workshop.  And she’s published several books, so she must be good.

Mervin pulled a 2003 Merlot from the wine rack, while holding the phone tight to his ear.

Well, no matter what she’s done, read her scripts first. Besides, I thought you were pitching the scripts I gave you for my writers.  I even gave you the names of producers to contact.

But this is a big opportunity.  A writer with a national reputation.

Mervin drilled into the cork with a corkscrew.

So what?  Shouldn’t you stay focused on what you’re already doing?  You get so scattered sometimes.  You hop from one thing to another.

Sarah pressed on.  Well, I’ve arranged to see her.  I just feel in my gut this could be the breakthrough I’ve been waiting for. So I’m planning to fly to Berkeley next week.

Mervin gave a tug and the cork popped out. 

Fly there!  But have you thought about your cost?  Your husband doesn’t even have a job, for god sakes!  And you haven’t had a job for months. This seems like one more harebrained scheme. 

Mervin spat out the words with exasperation, his patience ready to snap, like the cork he had pulled out of the bottle. 

Well, I’ve still got my credit cards, Sarah snapped back.  I have enough for a few more weeks, and I’m going to meet her to show her what I can do to represent her, ‘cause this could be my big breakthrough after doing this for so long.  It’s been fifteen years.

Exactly.  And that’s why I’m giving you your big opportunity to pitch scripts from good writers I already represent.

I know.  And I appreciate that, said Sarah calming down.  But this is someone I’ve discovered.  So what’s wrong with my taking her on, because I love being a producer and meeting all these people to put deals together.

Except you haven’t put any deals together yet, Mervin replied.  I’m just trying to bring you back to reality.

But you’re being negative and putting me down again, Sarah whined. You’re always yelling at me, telling me what I’m doing is stupid.

I’m just being realistic, because I know how hard this town is on people.  You’ve got to pay your dues.  You can’t start out at the top.

But I’m just trying...I’ve been trying so hard....

Mervin finished pouring the wine in his glass and took it back to his recliner.  He sensed

Sarah was close to tears, so he pulled back.

Okay.  Okay.  Whatever you want.  I was just trying to help, especially since your financial situation is so difficult.  But if you’re sure you want to do this, set up a meeting so I can meet her and help you decide if her scripts are any good.  Then, if they are, I can represent you both.

Okay.  Thank you, Sarah said, calming down.  And you’ll see.  This will all be good.  I just know it.

I certainly hope so, Mervin said quietly.  And I wish you the best.

As Sarah clicked off, Mervin leaned back on the recliner, savoring the sweet pungent wine, as he reflected on what might happen. 

Would the new scripts really be any good?  Or maybe Sarah could use another lesson on what not to do.  She was so headstrong and sometimes seemed so desperate—just the impression you don’t want to convey in a town where appearances and perceptions matter so much.  Still, on the plus side, Sarah could be so brassy, always ready to pick up a phone and call anyone, and if you do that enough, people might start to pay attention, if she didn’t push them away before then. Besides, maybe this writer might have written something good or even great.  Who knew in this crazy town what the producers or studios would like?

Mervin swirled his wine around and began sipping it.  So why not at least humor Sarah with a meeting for lunch? What was the risk of doing that?

CHAPTER 4: THE MEETING

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Sarah got up at 7 a.m. to meet Marilyn.  As she practiced her Pilates and meditated in the rec room, she was glad Frank and kids were still sleeping, so they wouldn’t disturb her concentration.  For today, she felt it especially important she be on top of her game, since the meeting was all about her future.

Up down.  Legs in, out; arms up, down. Now breathe, breathe. 

After working up a sweat, she sat with her legs crisscrossed like a pretzel, and visualized a glowing white heart in front of her.  Inside, she was sitting across from Marilyn in her living room, and she spoke with confidence, convincing Marilyn to let her represent her.  Then, focusing more intensely, Sarah projected even more energy into the heart image, while chanting: Make it happen.  It is happening now.

In the background, she heard Frank and kids stir.  She heard doors open and close, water run in the bathroom.  She tried to shut out the noise to stay focused, though stray thoughts kept interrupting.  Though she pushed them away, one kept coming back like a ghost haunting her—an image of their house shaking on shifting sands, as their mortgage bill due in two weeks fluttered in the wind. But how could they pay it? 

Shaking her head, she urged herself:  Don’t think about that.  Don’t think about that.  Then, she looked more intently at the glowing vibrating heart before her.  Think of that instead.  But the house image struggled to come back as she turned away from it once more.

Suddenly, she heard scrambling feet in the kids’ bedrooms as they dressed.  Thank God, Frank is home to take them to school she thought, though I still have to be back to pick them up at 3.  Then, reminding herself: "No. Don’t think of that. Just focus on the throbbing heart to see and get what you want," she returned her gaze to the heart.

Moments later, as she heard Frank’s car start up and back down the driveway, she was glad she could focus now without any distractions, and she repeated the words I am...I am over to affirm what she wanted, like a mantra, as she bathed in the pulsing white heart light. 

Finally, brimming with confidence, she headed to her rented Mercedes to go to the airport, thinking: Yes, I’m making it happen now.

* * * * * * *

Meanwhile, in Berkeley, Marilyn straightened up the house for her 10 a.m. meeting with Sarah.  As she sorted piles of papers into different piles for filing, she thought of each file as a reminder of how she was too overcommitted, leading and promoting too many different programs, and how she wished she didn’t have to work so hard.  She paused for a moment, imagining the way things were when she could spend hours at art galleries and take off on weekend hikes in the Mendocino woodlands.  But then her work would call to her, and she would push the fun things away.  However, now, with Sarah’s coming, maybe things might change. 

She glanced up at the wall clock, and noticed its hand indicated it was 10:15

So where was Sarah?

Well, maybe just traffic, she considered, as she stopped sorting papers and sat down on the living room couch to wait.   As she did, glancing at the clock from time to time, she jotted down some questions to ask about the film industry.

10:30...Maybe the plane was delayed.

She called Sarah’s cell phone, but no answer.   

10:45...Could something have happened to Sarah?

At 11, just as she was about to give up writing and do something else, the doorbell rang.  A breathless Sarah stood outside with a large carry-all satchel, as the SuperShuttle driver, who had dropped her off, revved up his motor to leave.

Ohhhh, I’m soooo sorry, Sarah gushed.  I rushed out the door so quickly to make the plane, that I left my cell phone and your number at home.  So I couldn’t call when the plane was late.  But I remembered your address and here I am!

Sarah thrust out her arms and gave Marilyn a quick hug.  Though Marilyn usually shook hands or said a quick hello, she figured this was the Hollywood way, so she simply smiled and relaxed like a rag doll to be sociable.

At least you made it, Marilyn said, motioning for Sarah to come in.

Do you want to go for lunch somewhere near here?  My treat, Sarah said.

But Marilyn glanced at her watch and shook her head. Thanks for the offer.  But you have to make the 2 p.m. flight to get back to LA at 3:00.  And you need to be at the airport an hour before that.

Oh, yeah. You’re right, Sarah said, wilting like an unwatered plant, and Marilyn directed her to the kitchen phone to call the SuperShuttle. 

At last, the pick up arranged, Sarah joined Marilyn in the living room, where she unstrapped her satchel and poured out piles of flyers, photos, and business cards on the coffee table.  Then, pointing to one of the flyers, like she was exhibiting a prized possession, she announced:

Now this is Eddie.  He’s a SAG actor.  He’s been in some soaps, and now he’s hoping to break into features.

She pulled out the next card.  This is Jimmy. He’s a sales rep.

When Marilyn looked at her blankly, Sarah explained.  Reps pitch your project for a particular territory.  Then, you get a commitment to distribute, and you can take those commitments to a bank.

With even more panache, Sarah pulled out a flyer showing a dimly lit street and an orange moon rising.  Now this is for Brian Grazer’s latest picture.  He’s a big studio honcho, and he lives a few blocks from me.  I sometimes see him around, so I can get to him.  I just have to go to his house and give him a script.

After showing off a few more cards and flyers, Sarah suddenly lowered her voice and spoke in hushed tones, as if about to unveil a secret.

"But enough about all that.  You see, as soon as I met you, I felt this special bond.  I felt like the universe heard me when I