"Two Filet-O-Fish sandwiches, please."
Catholics skip meat on Fridays, so McDonald's invented the fried cod sandwich to keep the registers ringing.
Ronald wasn't Catholic, but his Big Mac coupons had run out, and the fish was the cheapest thing on the menu.
Back at his apartment, he boiled a kettle, dropped in a teabag, and brewed a large mug of black tea. He ate the dinner in haste, washing down the grease with the hot tea.
Then, Ronald sat at his small kitchen table and stared into space.
He had applied to two public universities in New York: SUNY Albany and the newly consolidated College of Staten Island (CUNY).
With the economy slumping and inflation soaring in 1978, even a college degree was no guarantee of a decent job.
He had picked cheap public schools because Aunt Karen's New York residency qualified him for a steep tuition break.
He had chosen Accounting as his major. It was practical.
Every business needed an accountant. Even if the economy crashed into another Great Depression, he could still sort invoices and keep books for a grocery store. He wouldn't starve.
But looking at the acceptance letters, he felt a hollow ache.
In America, the class divide begins at the admissions office. The elite went to the Ivy League...Harvard, Yale, Columbia. Ronald had the SAT scores and the grades, but he didn't have the money or the pedigree. Private tuition was astronomical, and without scholarships, it was a pipe dream.
If he went to the College of Staten Island, he'd spend his life looking up at the Ivy Leaguers.
He had joined the film crew for one day, planning only to earn extra cash to pay for textbooks. But he had ended up directing.
That conversation with Gale about dreams and the rush of commanding a thirty-person crew had ignited a wildfire inside him.
Only the gifted strike it rich in movies, he thought. And surely, having memories of future films makes me gifted?
But then reality set in.
Filmmaking is the most expensive art form in human history.
A novelist needs a dollar for a pencil and a pad. A painter needs fifty bucks for canvas and brushes.
A feature film shown in theaters costs at least two hundred thousand dollars, and that's for a cheap one.
Even Jim's ten-minute sci-fi short, Xenogenesis, which would never see the inside of a cinema, cost twenty-four grand.
A normal studio movie? You needed three million just to start.
Sure, he could mail a script to a studio, wow a producer, land the directing job, shoot a hit, marry the starlet, and ride into the sunset.
Yeah, right.
From his months reading scripts at New World Pictures, he knew the truth. Plenty of films shooting this year had been written five years ago. Some scripts gathered dust in studio vaults for a decade before seeing the light of day.
A kid with no hits, no contacts, and no agent? His script would never even make it past the reader's desk.
What about the New World path? Slowly win Roger Corman's favor, then rise like Allen Arkush and Joe Dante?
That road looked brutal, too.
The old Studio System was dead. Twenty years ago, you could get a job in the mailroom at MGM and work your way up. Today's Hollywood was a free market jungle: find your own money, cast your own actors, secure your own distribution.
And even if you followed the Corman path, you had to accept Union minimums, two hundred a week while shooting, half that when idle. After five or six years of editing trailers, you might get to scrape together a micro-budget feature.
And there was another problem.
The "New Hollywood" directors—the gods of the 1970s—were all educated men.
George Lucas (Star Wars) went to USC. Francis Ford Coppola (The Godfather) went to UCLA. Martin Scorsese (Taxi Driver) went to NYU.
How could a high-school graduate like Ronald compete with these film school elites?
Then again, just getting into the building hadn't been easy. Countless pretty faces and talented writers were banging on the doors of Hollywood right now, unable to get a meeting. He had stumbled into New World and directed a scene on his first real day. That was pure luck.
If he went to CUNY and spent four years studying accounting, the odds were 100% that he would become an accountant.
The dream of making movies would fade into a youthful memory, just like Kris and Marla dancing in the sunset.
Ronald cradled his cup, sipping the cooling tea. The memory of the "Magic Hour" rushed back. The adrenaline. The control.
He smiled wryly. He was already an addict. Once you taste the power of creation, accounting feels like a death sentence.
College might lead to a steady paycheck, but filmmaking... that was immortality.
College or movies?
If only I could do both.
Riiiing... Riiiing...
The rotary phone on the wall burst to life, shattering his thoughts.
"Hello, this is Ronald."
"Uh, hi. I'm looking for Mr. Lee, the portrait photographer?" A pleasant, slightly husky female voice came through the receiver.
"Speaking. You can call me Ronald. Who is this?"
"Okay, Ronald. A friend recommended you. I've tried calling several times this week, but there was no answer. I figured tonight was my last shot."
"Sorry about that. Since Thanksgiving, I've been working on a film crew. I've hardly been home."
"Do you still shoot headshots?"
"I do. But I'm on set next week through the 22nd."
"So you're booked until Christmas?" The voice sounded disappointed.
"I'm free on the 23rd, and the morning of the 24th. Everyone in this town shuts down by Christmas Eve afternoon."
"Great. I really need a set of headshots. Let's do the 23rd."
"Can I get your name?"
"Demi Guynes."
"Okay, Miss Guynes. Are we updating old shots or is this your first time?"
"First time."
"Color or black-and-white?" Ronald pulled open a drawer, grabbed his booking ledger, and started writing.
"I don't know....what do you think?"
"It depends. Are you auditioning for TV or film? If it's just for casting files, I'd suggest color. It stands out more."
"Color it is."
"Studio or location? For your first set, a studio look is safer. Most movies are still shot on soundstages. We can add outdoor location shots later once you have a portfolio."
"I'll trust you...you sound professional."
"Thanks. We can shoot at my place in Venice Beach..."
"Hold up, Ronald." The girl's tone instantly shifted from friendly to guarded. "I'm a signed print model. I don't go to photographers.homes alone."
Ronald paused, Smart girl. "Understood. Completely standard. If you have access to a studio, I can come to you. Otherwise, I'd have to rent a commercial space, which would cost extra. Or, if you have a large living room with high ceilings, I can bring my lights to you."
"That works," she said, relaxing. "My boyfriend's place in West Hollywood is huge. We can do it there."
"Perfect. For first-timers, I suggest two looks: one dramatic, one commercial/girl-next-door. Fifty dollars total for both looks. That includes the session, five 8x10 prints of each look, plus the negatives."
"Deal."
"What's the number, Miss Guynes? I'll call on Friday the 22nd to confirm the time and address."
"It's 213-689-8425."
Ronald hung up the phone.
A lucky break. Another booking secured. And if this "Demi Guynes" was a model in West Hollywood, maybe she had friends who needed photos, too.
Money for college.... Money for film and maybe he could make it work.
Authors Note:-
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