Troy
The overly expensive movie star and I shake hands. Finally, a path through the BS. I pat him on the back. “Call if you have any more concerns, and good luck with the rest of the shoot.”
I walk off the film set, happy the discussion had solved the problems. The movie is way behind schedule, and I need to ensure all will be smooth onwards.
The overruns have been costing me, personally, at around a hundred thousand a day. They will now stop.
Stop because the spoilt young son of a bitch will not arrive late, not party on location, not stay up half the nights, and he would learn his fucking lines.
It was a pathetic thing to have to do, but he is about to do another movie with my movie studio.
I finance media projects and movies, but to do so, I must contain risk. That means I must ensure the producers and directors finish the darned things on time, and that the movies have the potential to be hot.
White hot and watched by millions.
Running a media and entertainment empire is complex, but it’s what I do. And it’s the only thing in the world I can do. Well, that and cook a few exotic dishes, and fuck.
I am good with women’s bodies, and I know them back to front. Every darned inch. Inside and out.
I can fuck well, it’s my art. The only thing is, that it’s private. Extremely private!
One of the reasons I’m successful in a business that is so cutthroat and risky is because I contain the cost of the product. That being the movies.
Movies are not cheap, and I push hard on the marketing. Butts in cinemas is everything. Besides the butts in my bed, that is.
I learned how to create movies from my father, and I learned young. I took his company over while in my twenties.
I’ve worked like a son of a bitch, and my family are well known in media and entertainment.
My young brother, Ryan, is a big star, and my other brother, Chris, is a top agent to stars, directors and producers.
Our mother is an aging actress, and we all reside in NYC. I’m out of Manhattan now, and I live in a mansion on the beach in the Hamptons. I need the space, and I need the peace.
Deciding on the investment of billions per year is a puzzle within a puzzle.
As I rub my jaw, I feel the need to hit the gym. I haven’t gone for two days, and I need to burn off energy. Also, my sexual frustration, again.
Too many days without full physical exertion makes me feel uneasy, and here and now, it’s likely because I’m having no sex.
I like to stay in shape, and I need to stay in shape. The constant flights to movie markets and sets are heavy.
The ever changing time zones don’t help.
I’ve found over time that if I’m super-fit and eat healthy, I can bend around jet lag. I can basically avoid what screws most people up.
The jet lag thought reminds me I have to fly soon. Fly to the South of France, and the coastal city of Cannes.
The world’s biggest movie market is where people meet to buy and sell movies. Most of the latest films will screen there, and it’s important I attend. Like many, I’ll discuss our upcoming movies and what we have to offer. Then, I will likely fly to Zurich.
Swiss banks are some of the best in the world, and it’s a place I often secure film finance.
Banks partly fund my movies, and it helps me spread my risk. Every billion I have is usually on the line.
On the line with around six movies we have in production at any one time, and the rest in movies and media projects coming up.
I think about the coming week in Cannes. The deals, the movies we will show, the red-carpet events, and the meetings. “Fuck,” I mumble.
I remember the egos. The distractingly hot women and way too many people chasing movie finance. It’s hard to be anonymous there, and that part I dislike.
Through our family media and movie company, RGS, or Remington Global Studios, I generate more money in movie sales than most film companies on the planet.
That means every producer and his dog pitches me movie ideas or tries to get me scripts. Avoiding them is one thing I do, and one thing I have to do. Cannes is also notoriously complex for women.
Especially models and especially gold diggers. It is beyond distracting.
I cannot afford to waste time, time is the most important resource in the world to me.
I don’t have problems making money, and I’m worth ten billion as far as the public are aware.
The public thinks it’s ten. My team thinks it’s fifteen. But my private banker and I know it’s more like twenty. The company itself is worth closer to twenty-five, not that it really matters. It’s just numbers, and at the end of the day, numbers are an illusion.
I sit and look out the window as we lift off and peel away from LA. I think about the coming movie market and my strategy. The who is who of movie finance will be there, and global executive producers, producers, directors, and stars are now jetting in.
“Has my yacht arrived yet?” I ask a VP who sits down at the back.
He checks his watch. “It sailed from London, and it will arrive within the hour.”
I nod. One less thing to consider and one less thing to clog my mind with. It has become standard for movie studios like ours to throw lavish parties at movie markets. I own a large superyacht that my brothers and I use.
Inviting top stars, directors, and producers to parties is part of the game, even if I dislike socializing. In saying that, I must turn it on, and we have two large parties planned on my yacht. Two too many.
As I start reading the next script, the VP hovers. I don’t like it. The conversation was over. Is over.
“Troy, there’s another party I think you should attend.”
“No,” I say.
“Please, hear me out,” he says before I look up.
“There’s a new large investor on the map. He’s investing in a lot of movies, and he’s producing nine a year. He’s starting to cut into our business.”
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