[Chapter 77: It's All Business]
Before his transmigration, Orlando had heard about Julia Roberts, the big mouth Oscar winner beauty. When it was said she'd slept with most of Hollywood's elite, he still didn't quite believe the stories. He thought it was all exaggerated. But now... he found himself believing it a little more. After all, this was Hollywood!
He'd been in the music scene here a few months, and he realized he had to fight through the dark and chaotic industry just like everyone else.
Take Titanic, for example. These stunning Hollywood stars started out a bit shy, but almost all of them soon dropped their guard.
Orlando then understood something crucial: only the right approach works.
When dealing with these Hollywood beauties, being an investor, director, or producer mattered far more than just being filthy rich. The super-rich could only throw money around, but who could say when they'd get bored and leave? Directors, producers, or movie investors, on the other hand, became true top-tier players once they came forward.
They could easily make money independently and mingle with the genuine upper crust of celebrities.
In other words, Hollywood played everything out in the open -- no secret rules.
If you were talented and useful to people, but had nothing to offer beyond just spending nightlife with them, your biggest advantage was making them happy and getting physical satisfaction.
So Orlando stopped doubting things.
Leonardo DiCaprio and other male stars headed to places like Lolita Island to become, well, playthings.
Before they became famous, male stars like Leonardo were no different from Jennifer Connolly and others around them.
When something good comes along -- roles, opportunities -- just decide whether you're willing to pay the price.
It's never that he couldn't perform without someone's help; the final result mattered.
---
The next day, around noon.
Orlando returned to the Beverly Hills Hotel, to Jennifer Lopez's jealous and complaining glare.
He discussed with Frank the plan to buy a luxury home in Beverly Hills.
"That's definitely necessary. We can't just keep crashing at Madonna's place. Even if Ms. Ciccone doesn't mind, the paparazzi crowd is a problem."
Frank didn't care what Orlando had gotten up to the night before. As long as he was safe.
Washington and Lincoln -- Orlando's two bodyguards -- had protected him through it all. Frank had been in the business a long time.
He'd worked with other artists and even served as Michael Jackson's agent and music producer.
He'd spent over a year in Hollywood and acted in a couple of movies and TV shows.
Frank knew this world better than anyone.
So when Orlando said he wanted to buy a mansion in Beverly Hills, Frank zeroed in on the topic.
"I want a bigger place, preferably somewhere with a prime location. I've already talked to some luxury real estate agents. Frank, any recommendations?"
"My suggestion..." Frank began.
Beverly Hills was the finest residential area in Los Angeles.
Nestled near the refreshing Pacific coast and at the base of the famous hills, it was known as "the most prestigious neighborhood in the world," a worldwide symbol of wealth and fame.
But not every neighborhood could call itself Beverly Hills.
Only the roughly 6-square-kilometer area within the golden triangle formed by Beverly Hills, Bel Air, and a neighboring hill was the real deal -- the dream address for the global elite and celebrities.
If he was buying a home in Los Angeles, Beverly Hills was the natural choice.
But Orlando had wasted the whole morning.
He had other things scheduled in the afternoon -- several award parties and PR events Warner asked him to attend.
So he didn't have much time to meet all those real estate agents.
They'd have to meet just once, he'd express exactly what he wanted, and then Diane Lane's recommended agents would prepare brochures, photos, and other materials for him.
He'd review those before going out to see properties in person.
Then, he'd start the music award PR circuit that Warner arranged, which was set for two days and nights.
---
At night, summertime in Los Angeles felt stuffy, like an airtight can.
The crystal chandeliers in the Hilton's third-floor banquet hall dazzled enough to hurt your eyes.
In the area Warner had reserved, soft jazz floated through the air. Men in suits and ties clinked glasses, smiles polite but calculating.
But for Orlando, this wasn't anywhere near as comfortable as an airport lounge.
He slumped on the lounge sofa, his tie hanging loose, dark circles under his eyes stretching toward his chin.
"Fuck, Frank," he rasped, wiping his face. "You didn't tell me it would be this intense. Five cities in two days! The VMAs are fine, but the Grammys are still six months away!"
Two nights ago, Orlando had no idea the next job would throw him back into the hellish grind he'd faced during his first two months after debut.
Warner's award PR wasn't treating him as a human.
One afternoon, one day, two nights -- less than forty hours total.
He'd traveled to five cities and hit eight parties.
The ninth was happening now, and after this, the party was over.
Around midnight, he still had to appear on a radio show hosted by an AMA judge before he could even catch a break.
Not that it meant rest -- tomorrow he started filming his first scene for Terminator 2.
After about two days of shooting, Warner's hectic schedule would pick up again, and he'd be back on the awards and promo trail.
...
At the party corner, Frank and Warner's PR manager Jason surrounded Orlando.
The agent knelt in front of him like he was soothing a child, waving a paper with a list of names.
"Six months is actually too late. Many artists start prepping for the next year's Grammys right after the previous ceremony ends."
Frank coaxed gently, "Take the Grammys as an example. The ceremony's in February, but voting begins in October. If you don't get your name out now and wait for the nominations, they won't remember you when they open the envelope."
Jason whispered next to him, "Remember O'Brian? He's a Grammy judge who praised you on last week's show, right? The DJ hosting the radio show you're on tonight is his son."
Orlando sniffled. "So it's a trade-off?"
"What else?" Frank raised an eyebrow. "VMAs, AMAs, Grammys -- all the same. Hollywood's Oscars and Golden Globes too!"
Jason added, "Tracy Chapman won Best New Artist last year. Is she really the best? Maybe, but she's the newcomer who shook hands with the most Grammy judges. She met 62% of them -- her nearest competitor only did 38%. All those industry 'friend' gatherings? Staged."
He pointed toward the banquet hall.
"See that woman in the black and white striped plaid? Jessica Kamen, president of the Grammy Pop Division. That ugly, tacky dress? Designed by her 25-year-old husband, a fashion designer. When you go say hello, compliment her on it. She loves her husband -- he's 20 years younger. After you chat, slip her your EP demo. I won't promise, but she'll most likely back you for Best New Artist next year."
Orlando closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd thought he'd made it -- but he was in Hell's promotion tour all over again.
Last time, the point was to get remembered by the audience.
Now, it was to make the judges aware that he wanted the award.
Even exhausted, Frank's encouragement echoed: "Michael Jackson didn't sleep for 36 hours when he won his first trophy. Six Grammy judges were having a party during that time!"
"Goddamn it!" Orlando, able to read minds, knew Frank was baiting him.
But he took the bait.
He didn't care about anyone else -- he just wanted to surpass MJ.
Simple reason: He had so many cheats. If he still hadn't surpassed MJ and become new Pop King, all his cheats would be in vain!
Seeing Orlando's expression soften, Frank smiled. "You just have to push through. Once you get used to it, winning awards won't be so tough! These bastards don't even listen to your music but they remember if you smiled when you handed them a drink."
"Alright." Orlando sat up straighter, adjusting his shirt tail. "I get it. I'll do it."
---
At the end of the day, it was all a matter of telling one person one thing and another person something else.
To be honest, with all the tricks at his disposal, he wasn't really outmatched.
The problem was the pace -- too fast, too many places, not enough rest.
Otherwise, he could easily be the life of any party.
Because everyone loved hanging with a handsome guy who could chat on any topic and whose thoughts matched theirs perfectly.
Daisy Cuomo couldn't resist him at first, and someone like Hillary, who now smiled whenever she thought of him, definitely wouldn't stand him if they spent every day together.
Speaking of Hillary, she'd had a recent event on the West Coast.
A public fundraiser for the National Association for the Protection of Children, publicly announced that including Orlando, Madonna, and several other artists, would perform to raise money.
The event was at the end of the month -- more than two weeks away.
So, until then, alongside Warner's PR schemes, Orlando's main job in California was a few commercial gigs.
Then he had Terminator 2 filming.
---
Orlando'd been on a radio program last night, returning to the hotel around 3 a.m.
And yet, at 7:30 a.m. the next day, he was woken up again.
"You have to get up, Orlando. Today's your first day on Cameron's crew."
"Fuck! Even if it's my first day, does it have to be this early?"
"We can't help it. Cameron's assistant told us yesterday: the first scene is you chasing Schwarzenegger in early morning sun. Cameron's real picky about light angles. We can only shoot around 8 or 9 a.m."
"Fuck!"
No matter how much he cursed, Orlando ended up sleeping only over three hours.
Others might still feel drained, but he was almost fully recovered.
He just hated that his sleep-in routine was broken.
The work had to get done.
At 8 a.m., Orlando and the crew drove to Columbia Pictures' studio in North Hollywood.
On one hand, Orlando was part of the Warner system. The media war between Warner and Sony Music was ongoing.
On the other, Columbia Pictures, the largest investor in Terminator 2, was part of Sony.
Columbia Pictures and Columbia Music had both been sold by Coca-Cola to Sony Entertainment last year.
When Cameron made a big deal about signing Orlando to star as the T-1000 months ago, they didn't block the process -- even welcomed it.
Sure, media tied to Sony criticized Orlando and Warner artists harshly now.
But when Terminator 2 released next year, those Sony-influenced media outlets would flip and praise Orlando to the skies.
At the end of they day, it's all business.
*****
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