Chapter 8 Another Debt Incurred

"The theater group will not stage new plays for the time being, out of consideration for your future, our work focus will shift to seeking roles in film and television projects." Jerome's face was full of fervor, but his heart harbored different plans.

Once rehearsals got underway, money would pour out like water.

The Marietta Community Theater was a non-profit entity, primarily funded by philanthropic donations and local government cultural grants.

Take for instance the theater, the ownership of which was in the hands of City Hall.

Staging plays and shooting films were similar in that it was easy to account for expenses, and the money saved naturally ended up in the pockets of a few key individuals, led by him.

Jerome, pretending to be altruistic, emphasized with increased fervor, "For the foreseeable future, I will personally guide your acting. Trust me, no one in the city of Marietta is more professional than I am!"

Martin was listening and thinking. Facing film and television crews, a theater group had advantages over individuals, but $300 a month...

The money in his hand was earned through the pain of a broken arm.

Was it Harris who had broken his arm? He respected Harris's sacrifice.

Martin wouldn't easily part with any advantages he didn't see benefits in.

The newcomers weren't fools either. Someone asked, "Boss, why do you say the movies need to be shot in Atlanta?"

Currently, Atlanta was nothing noteworthy in the Hollywood entertainment industry chain.

Jerome replied with a confident smile, "The state government just passed a bill before New Year's, offering a twenty percent tax incentive to film and television productions investing over half a million dollars in Atlanta, with an additional ten percent off if the film carries the Georgia state emblem."

He saw through it all, "Hollywood production companies will not miss out on an opportunity to make more profit. More and more crews will come to shoot in Atlanta. The opportunity is here now. Are you ready?"

Another person asked, "I saw in a forum that actors have to go through agents to find work, and I don't have an agent."

"Forget the damn agents, forget the damn rigid rules of the actors' union, the Californian talent laws can't touch Atlanta!" Jerome countered the questioner, "Would you rather give the agent ten percent or pay $3000 to join the actors' union, plus pay a hefty annual fee?"

The person's mood was swayed by Jerome, shaking his head repeatedly, "With $3000, I'd rather buy a car."

Martin had been very quiet, avoiding speaking recklessly even when he disagreed.

After the motivational meeting ended, the theater's accountant set up a table to collect fees. Of the ten new recruits, only one left, with the remaining nine all paying their dues.

Even old-timers like Robert chose to stay with the theater. Martin, having been through this phase himself, understood their psyche, which wasn't much different from countless others struggling in the industry.

Martin had been considering how to make Jerome think of him first, after hearing about those two productions.

He waited for everyone to leave before hobbling over to the accountant's table, his face full of shame, "Mr. Mitchell, I... I'm out of money, I can't pay the membership fee."

Jerome Mitchell frowned, "Martin, don't make this hard for me."

Martin's emotions were stirred as he pulled out the contents of his pockets, revealing only $7, "I'm terribly sorry, I was doing a roofing job and fell, injuring my leg. The treatment used up all my salary, the boss refused to compensate and even fired me. Could the membership fee be postponed?"

Simple and with personal experience, he played the role effortlessly, "I'm looking for a new job and will make up for it as soon as I have the money. Right, isn't there a play next week? As soon as I get a role and the salary, I'll immediately pay it back to the theater."

His base for saying all this was the consistently good track record of Martin Davis in the theater group.

Seeing Martin's shame and helplessness, Jerome remembered his own toughest youthful days and felt a rare tinge of sympathy, "Don't disappoint me."

"Thank you!" Martin hurriedly expressed his gratitude, his gaze sweeping over the accounting form to a book underneath it, the latest issue of "Entertainment Weekly." He pointed at the magazine, "Mr. Mitchell, you know I love the latest Hollywood news but can't afford it. Could I..."

Jerome waved his hand, "Take it."

Martin took the magazine and limped out of the theater.

Even while being lenient, Jerome wouldn't engage in a losing business and noted down Martin's debt.

No one could owe him for long; if this poor devil couldn't pay, he would find a way to push him out to work and settle the debt.

In Jerome's subconscious, members who had paid their dues could move to the back row since there was no way to squeeze any more money out of them this month.

Martin had waited a long time before an old minibus arrived. He found a seat towards the back and started flipping through a magazine.

After reading for a while, the minibus suddenly shook, and the driver yelled loudly, "The bus is broken!"

Including Martin, a chorus of curses filled the air.

"This damn public transportation!" Martin had no choice but to get off the bus with everyone else.

The road was half-traveled, and the next minibus might take a long time. Atlanta didn't have taxis roaming all over, and to hail one you had to call specifically. Martin simply decided to walk.

A Dodge pickup approached from behind and stopped next to the sidewalk, with the House of Beast logo painted on it.

The right-side window rolled down, and Bruce, wearing a jacket, waved his hand, "Martin Davis, want a lift?"

Martin eyed him, "I can?"

Bruce pointed ahead, "I live in the Bakka Community, just south of Clayton, it's on the way."

Martin opened the passenger door and got in the car, "What a coincidence?"

Bruce hit the gas, "Just collected a debt for the boss." A few hundred meters down the road, he suddenly said, "Almost forgot, you owe me 5 US Dollars for the ride."

Martin slapped the car door, "Hey, man, can you be a little human!"

Bruce, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other lifting his jacket, replied, "The boss said House of Beast employees should be law-abiding and civilized."

Martin, seeing the handgun under his armpit, acknowledged Bruce as a civilized person, "I'll pay you in Clayton."

"Deal!" Bruce smiled heartily.

Martin didn't want to talk to him and picked up the magazine to browse.

Bruce quickly turned his head, just in time to see the cover, "Entertainment Weekly? I like this magazine. It's got the 'Lost in Tokyo' poster on the cover!"

Martin's mind raced, "A Scarlett Johansson fan?"

Bruce reluctantly turned back to the road, "I had a poster of that movie in my collection, but it's ruined."

Martin asked, "How did it get ruined?"

Bruce licked his dry lips, "Just got damaged by the wind, that's all."

Martin gave a thumbs up, mimicking Harris's tone, "I'm now one hundred percent sure you're civilized." He shook the magazine, "Pal, the latest 'Entertainment Weekly,' hard to find on the streets of Atlanta. Not just the cover, inside are a full set of stills from 'Lost in Tokyo.'"

Bruce reached out to take it, but Martin pulled it back, "Forget the ride fee, 10 US Dollars."

"You're a swindler!" Although he said that, Bruce kept eyeing the cover.

Martin rolled up the magazine again, "The punk from the Carter Family next door also likes this type of poster. I could sell this magazine for at least 20 US Dollars."

Bruce pulled out two 5-dollar bills and threw them to Martin, "You win."

Martin pocketed the money and handed the freely-obtained magazine to Bruce, making up a story on the fly, "Buddy, I'm an actor. When I get famous, I'll get you an autographed photo from the cast..."

Bruce didn't want to talk to him anymore; this guy simply wasn't human. He decided to use his trump card, "Think about how you're going to pay back what you owe."

"I remember." Martin planned to stay in Atlanta for the time being and had to figure out how to deal with the debt. He said, "I want to meet your boss."

"Tomorrow night, the boss will be at House of Beast." As Bruce shook the magazine in his hand, he added, "For the sake of this, I'll tell you something. If you can prove your value to the boss, you'll get preferential treatment."