Impractical Jokers

Author's note: I now have a p-word as you all know, so if you feel like reading 6 (SIX) advanced chapters at the measly price of $3, then do join. The link is in this book's bio, or you can just search 'Archonstine' followed by p-word on your browser.

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10th April 1997 (Thursday)

Ricky Stirling (POV)

"THEY REJECTED?!"

Daddy dearest just nodded somberly, as he eyed a bottle of vodka on a table adjacent to the wine cabinet.

"Okay, first of all, Hell No!" I say as I pick up the bottle, deposit it in the cabinet before locking it shut, "You promised dad. Cold Turkey, you promised. Second of all, their efforts are clearly going nowhere, and we offered 5! 5 fuckin' million green dollars! Just for the book rights! Who the hell over there is demented enough to reject that?! Seriously, tell me! I wanna know!" I ask passionately, a little pissed off at the rejection, but more than that, just shocked out of my mind, that anyone would reject the deal we offered.

5 million cash, followed by 5% box office gross of the adaptation, and a chance for them to choose an executive producer.

All for a project of theirs, that was about to enter production hell.

My dad just sighed heavily, glancing at the cabinet in a forlorn manner before answering, "There's this guy over there. Nathaniel Dixon. He was the 'Head of Productions' at Paramount for a decade, before receiving a fringe promotion to 'CCO', replacing Olga Seminoff, last December. Word has it that he invited the CEO for dinner. And then 2 weeks later, his promotion was fast-tracked. He's a rat, a sleazebag of the highest order. He was arrested 4 years ago on 3 charges of solicitation, getting off with some light community service. He refuted our offer, saying he won't talk to anyone except…"

I leaned in slightly, urging him to end my suspense, "Except…?"

My dad met my eyes, and I saw it. An expression I had rarely ever seen before on his face, befuddlement. "Except… you. He didn't say Stirling, otherwise, he could have been talking about me. He mentioned you specifically… Richmond Stirling."

…

"Why? I don't even… I don't know who the fuck he is, why would he- what?" I question in genuine confusion.

"What he wants is anybody's guess Ricky. But hey, you got a plan for the movie, so it's only right you talk with him. You're the brains behind this… operation, so- I'll schedule a meeting. He said tomorrow works. What about you?"

I nod, "It works. Just one thing… how much power do I wield here?" I ask, to his confusion.

"What?"

"When we meet tomorrow, I'll convince him, of that I'm sure. We'll talk terms. Negotiate. So once again, I ask. How much power do I wield on our behalf?"

Dad pauses for a second, before continuing, "Ricky… I don't think I understand your question well BUT, listen. You're my boy. I trust you. You represent Stirling Studios, to the same extent I do. Granted, I got more influence, but you? You and me, we're the same. Discuss whatever terms you want with him on our behalf, and as long as they're reasonable enough… We green light it."

I sit back again, as I nod absent-mindedly.

Dad takes his leave, citing some work issue or something, but my mind is occupied by matters previously discussed.

Matter such as, who in the bloody hell is this Dixon douche, and why does he want to meet me of all people? It's not like he knows that Stirling Studios reached out for the film rights on my behalf, so my involvement was definitely not revealed to anyone, other than daddy dearest, Javier, and Higgs.

So is he just a fan of my book or anything? Or… oh. Yeah I guess it could be that.

Huh.

Never realized my body of work had already started making an impact on other people's lives, however indirectly.

Neat.

…

…

11th April 1997 (Friday)

Ricky Stirling (POV)

5555 Melrose Avenue, Hollywood, Los Angeles… the location where one of the largest and oldest film studios of the world is headquartered.

Paramount Pictures.

One of the oldest production studios in the world, steeped in historical significance and a cultural landmark of America as a whole… part of the original 'Big Six', along with Universal, and a number of other studios that went defunct long ago.

And here I am, in my dad's Bentley, being driven by dear old Benjamin straight to the office of Paramount's newly inducted Chief Creative Officer.

I pass a series of sets and sound stages on my way, each having a unique hustle and bustle of their own, no doubt due to multiple films and tv shows undergoing production at the same time.

Damn… and here I thought Stirling Studios was the pinnacle.

I guess seeing one of the current 'Big Five' really puts things into perspective… I have a long long way to go, and I'm barely getting started.

The car comes to a screeching halt, as Benji lowers the divider, "Sir, we're here."

I exit the car, before turning back to Benji, "Park the car, I've a feeling this will take some time."

Benji, being the diligent driver that he is, nodded before driving off to the parking lot, while I walked towards the modern building, an anomaly in this production complex considering the historic elements in other architectural structures here.

I walk up to the receptionist, "Ma'am?"

"Yes Mr…?"

"Stirling. Ricky Stirling. I have an appointment with Mr. Dixon in… 6 minutes."

She proceeded to type away at the computer and check a register before turning back to me, "I have a meeting scheduled with a 'Richmond Stirling'-"

"That's me." I interrupted promptly, "Please, call me Ricky." I flash a charming smile, accompanied with slight eye-contact, and a barely visible blush.

Yeah… I'm flirting with her. Why, you might ask?

Well… why the hell not?

It'll certainly make my time easier.

The receptionist smiled embarrassingly, her cheeks flushed as she said, "Mr. Dixon is currently in a meeting. He'll be done soon enough, you're welcome to wait till then." She pointed towards the sofa before hesitating slightly, "... Would you care for a coffee?" She asked coyly.

"Oh, I would love one! Thank you for offering Miss…?"

"Brown. Eleanor Brown." She answered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears.

Oh… this is gonna be fun.

…

…

"Mr. Dixon! Nice to meet you! Truly a pleasure on my part I must say." I voiced, shaking his hand vigorously.

"Oh please! Pleasure's all mine! And you, must be young Richmond!" He reciprocated, his eyes displaying his intrigue at having finally met me in person. I was certain he knew what I looked like, most likely on account of having watched Paranormal Activity, or one of my televised media appearances... could be anything really.

"That, I am. As for young... I assure you, I can more than make up for my shortcomings in experience, with competence." I raise an eyebrow, jokingly challenging him.

He took it in jest, just the way it was intended to be as he retorted in kind, "Oh, I don't doubt that at all Richmond! Why in fact," He paused as he opened a drawer, and took out a copy of Jurassic Park, "I'm your biggest fan, and of that, I can assure you!" He raised his eyebrows, before chuckling lightly.

"Ah, Jurassic Park... one of my more 'exciting' books I believe. So do you just keep a copy lying around or...?"

"Oh no! Not at all Richmond! My office is already cluttered enough as it is! Plus, this is one of my most prized possessions... a birthday gift from my niece, who might I add, is also one of your biggest fans. So when I told her you were driving here to meet me, she insisted I get mine, as well as her copies signed... You wouldn't mind that would you?"

I scoffed good naturedly, "Not in the least Mr. Dixon! Not in the least. And please Sir... call me Ricky."

"Only if you call me Nathan." He shot back instantly.

"Nathan then... now I'm sure as the CCO, your responsibilities are never-ending, and I have no intentions of taking up more of your time than necessary. So let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?"

"Sure! Sure... it's just, uh...?"

"Yes?"

"This is gonna take some time Ricky, and I'm prone to forgetfulness some times... Would you mind signing the books right now? Before we begin? Cause I can't disappoint my niece, not aga-"

I interrupt him, if only to speed this up a little, "Not at all Nathan, anything for my fans. Please by all means, bring 'em out." I finish, taking a seat as his face lights up with exuberance.

And I sense not a hint of deceit, or duplicity. A sleazebag he might be... but he really loves his niece I suppose.

Well, I guess everyone's got special people who they love... even sexist, homophobic, morally reprehensible douchebags... Be better Nathan. Be better.

After signing the books, which included the 2 Dune novels I've released till now, Jurassic Park, and 5 volumes of Sandman, we finally got down to business.

"Now, I have read the novel. It's a little over the top, and Abagnale has certainly not held himself back in glorifying his actions... but it works. And Paramount has been trying to adapt the novel for the big screen, for months now. That's not exactly a secret Ricky, hell the Hollywood Reporter even ran an article on our efforts. So the question is... what makes you think I want to sell the rights?"

I pause for a second before answering, "... Really? You're saying you DON'T, wanna wash this mess off your hands? Franco Boon passed on helming this. So did 3 other directors, before you finally got someone to agree. And she ended up moving on to better opportunities within weeks. You don't have a coherent script yet, and casting grinded to a halt after the tragic passing of the one in charge, may God rest his soul... Admit it, you've got a production hell on your hands... and we're offering $5 million, along with a share of box office. This is not an opportunity you're missing out on Nathan... it's a stoploss, and whether you like it or not, you need it." I ended my monologue, making highlighting the situation clearly.

He shook his head vigorously, "No, no. You're trying to make me seem desperate Ricky... I'm not. Desperate, that is. Even now, I've got a room full of writers, toiling away to produce a superb script by all accounts, and a coterie of investors-"

He abruptly stopped, as he became more and more confounded at what he was witnessing, and slightly outraged as well.

Why?

Because midway through his feeble attempt at reassuring himself of his supposed plans bearing fruit... I had broken into peals of laughter, cackling away at his audacity for uttering such bare-faced lies with a straight face to 'me' of all people.

I continued laughing for a good few seconds, before finally bothering to compose myself, "I-I'm sorry Nathan, I jus-" I tried explaining myself amid giggles, as his confoundment gave way to vindictive rage, and... oh is that a hint of resignment I see?

"No-no, please. Go on. Please, finish laughing your ass off, before you decide to take this seriously you jumped up little shit-"

"Ah- I. I am terribly sorry Nathan, I am taking this seriously, believe me. It's just- before we continue further, let's make a pact Nathan. A handshake deal of sorts, like gentlemen."

"Wha-? The hell you on about boy?! What pact?"

"From this very second... we stop lying to each other's faces. Which means I stop concealing my ambitions regarding this project, and you stop pretending like you have a half-way decent plan for this adaptation. Deal?"

And as expected, his eyes widen to impressive proportions as he stood up, outraged at the mere suggestion of him lying, "How dare you- You little. I don't care if you wrote a good book or two kid, not anymore. And that insinuation of yours-"

"Olga Seminoff." I interrupt him for the 4th damn time... no wonder he was getting pissed off.

Key word being, 'was'.

"... What?" He asked as every drop of righteous vindictiveness drained out of his face, giving way to caution.

I smirked darkly, before beginning my tirade, "You were the Head of Productions here 6 months ago. But then came Halloween, the day I debuted as a film-maker, with the immensely successful Paranormal Activity. It performed beyond every single analyst's wildest expectations, becoming a case study for profitability within a month of its wide release. No one anticipated what ensued that month. That includes Paramount, who were banking on 'Crimson Veil' to make a tidy showing at the box office, even with its inflated budget accounting for last minute reshoots. Now here is the curious bit... you were an executive producer since '95, and then you dropped out mysteriously on 1st September... the same day I announced the release date of my movie... and Olga Seminoff your superior, became the sole Producer. We all know what happened... the movie did good the first weeks, and then tanked heavily, grossing barely $160 million. Now, you all broke even, but bitterness nevertheless ensued, as the author cut ties with your studio upon seeing the abysmal returns, and all plans of a budding franchise died a fiery death." I narrated at a serene pace, an all-knowing smile visible on my face, as Nathan's, grew paler and paler with each passing second.

"Mr. Graeme was understandably upset... and then he demoted Olga, shunted her off to Public Relations, and you-" I pointed at him, "got the top spot. Now, an interesting coincidence here... 2 weeks before your promotion, you and the CEO indulged in a lavish dinner at Truffaut's Bistro, followed by an appearance at a local strip club... I don't care about any of that. What I do care about is that 'you'," I pointed at him once again, "owe 'me'... one." I finished with a self-satisfied grin.

"And now... here we are. Learn to look past my age Nathan, and you might just see something more." I pause for a second before continuing, "Now about that pact..."