The California Redemption Fund

By Vincent Bechet

The California Redemption Fund is a novel that takes readers on the road so often traveled by aspiring actors in L.A.

Erik Wilkinson, an actor in L.A., struggles to stay afloat chasing the dream he once had. He encounters a motley crew who take him on a wild ride through the desert, where things aren’t always what they seem. His journey is only beginning.

The California Redemption Fund presents characters who are larger than life as they face their sometimes surreal reality.

Vincent Bechet, a former advertising executive and TV commercial director weaves some of his experiences into this book. It's quite a ride!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vincent Bechet
• Release date: Mar 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9780988610712

Vincent Bechet

VINCENT BECHET was born and raised in South Africa. He has worked in the advertising, film and television industries in various capacities, predominantly as a writer and television commercial director. His extensive time spent in California inspired him to write The California Redemption Fund. He now lives in Tampa, Florida with his wife and two sons.

Book preview

THE CALIFORNIA REDEMPTION FUND

a novel by

Vincent Bechet

Santosha Books LLC

P.O. Box 2432, Palm Harbor FL 34682, USA

This book is a real work of fiction. No character is real and none of the events described in this book have ever taken place.

Cover design by Dominic Hilton

Copyright 2012 Vincent Bechet

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

This book is also available as a print edition.

Dedicated to my parents, Roger and Lina Bechet. Islands in the stream.

1

I stood in a dingy San Fernando Valley film studio, staring into the bulbous lens of a large video camera. The lens stared back at me. Consuming me. In time, the people of Los Angeles, California, would consume the television commercial I was acting in. Millions would chew on it. Some would swallow it. Others would spit it out.

I heard a voice from behind the camera.

Are you ready Erik? The director asked.

I nodded.

A bright light turned on and almost blinded me. Whatever happened to the screens and silks the film crew always talked about? Those were supposed to soften the light. Then more lights were turned on.

Surrounded by lights.

Get some diffusion on that light and a quarter CTO! I heard a different voice say.

CTO, barn doors, egg crates, scrims, filters, diffusors, gels, gobos! A film crew had a very specific lingo and it was colorful. I had learned some of it over time, but a lot of it still confused the hell out of me.

The clinical decor of the set behind me told the audience that I was a doctor. Medical textbooks sat freshly stacked in a bookcase. Some were about anatomy. Some were of physics. Most were out of date and bought at a second hand college bookstore.

I was wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope. My eyes were genetically blue but they weren’t blue enough. The make up artist made me wear fake contact lenses that made my eyes look a deeper, more serious blue. They matched the way I felt. My unruly thirty-two-year-old sandy brown hair looked a little young so it was neatly brushed. Generous amounts of hairspray had been applied. Some hair color had also been added to make it a bit darker, and a few wisps of grey had been added to my sideburns. I was clean-shaven and had light make up on. I hated the taste of lipstick. Except when kissing a girl.

My role was to play Dr. Frank Metzler, a plastic surgeon representing 1800 BREASTS, a new plastic surgeon’s booking service. I had shot a commercial for them before and this was the second one. The first one was a big hit, generating thousands of leads for the company. The few acquaintances I had in L.A. had already started calling me ‘the boob guy’. It was embarrassing.

I had decided that this was the last time I was going to play a plastic surgeon or any other lame part in a cheap tv commercial. In fact, I had decided that this was going to be my last tv commercial ever. This was the last paycheck I was ever going to collect before I checked out of the career that had sucked me in, chewed me up and left me crippled with disappointment.

Roll camera. Said the director.

Rolling. Said the camera operator.

The camera whirred slightly and then fell silent.

I rehearsed the scene in my head. Walk up to the mannequin. Address the camera. Run your finger under one of the naked mannequin’s breasts looking back and forth at the camera. Speak softly, yet confidently. Move your hands as you speak.

It was going to be a master shot. They would shoot the whole scene in one go. Simple.

Scene 1, take 1, said the production assistant standing with the slate. She slammed the slate closed and walked away from the camera.

Action! Yelled the director.

I held the floor. Everyone watched and waited. I walked up to the mannequin. I turned and looked at the camera. They had asked if I needed a teleprompter. I had said no. I had memorized the lines.

Hi, I'm Dr. Frank Metzler. If you have ever considered changing the look of your breasts, I would like to tell you about a new service called 1800 BREASTS. 1800 BREASTS is a new service that puts you in touch with a qualified breast surgeon's office within sixty seconds or less. 1800 BREASTS can get you connected to the most experienced breast surgeons throughout the state of California. Whether it's a reduction, a lift, an enlargement or if you'd like a professional opinion on the size, look or feel of your breasts, call 1800 BREASTS today for your free consultation. All it will take is a few minutes of your time and you could be well on your way to having new, great looking breasts and feeling great. Take control of how you feel today. Call 1800 BREASTS now for a 5% discount on any procedure booked and completed within sixty days. 1800 BREASTS. Call NOW. Improve your look today.

I kept looking at the camera. Eyes focused.

A moment of perfect silence hung in the air.

Cut, said the director standing up, that was perfect Erik. Let’s put some more emphasis on the delivery of 1800 BREASTS. It’s a service the viewers can be proud of calling.

I saw two of the corporate marketing guys sitting in the background. They nodded their heads in approval. I saw the producer smile. His director knew the landscape. Keep the clients happy. They paid the bills.

I took my position again.

Roll camera!

Rolling!

Action!

2

We wrapped. My goodbyes were brief. I couldn’t bear the back patting.

One of the production assistants called me a cab. I was beginning to despise cabs. It was my own fault. I was trying to live a New York kind of life in L.A. It didn’t add up.

I was headed for Hollywood to meet my agent, Bill Maher. I needed to get paid for the 1800 BREASTS commercial I was being ferried away from and he had promised me that the money would be ready for collection after I had delivered my lines. I had delivered and it was time to collect.

Bill loved the sound of his own voice. It was rugged and raspy but it didn’t match his tepid pale face or his wispy balding hair. He loved his voice so much that he just rambled on and on. You couldn’t get a word in sideways. Bill had made all his money in the eighties as a voice over talent for car and cigarette commercials. He reminded me of this every time I saw him.

I sat in front of him as he sat at his desk counting dollar bills with an even steady cadence. Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. It's all here Erik. Two thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars.

I won’t spend it all at once. I replied.

I'm sorry you couldn't earn more on this job. You've been one of the best doctor's I've ever cast. Thing is, now you're going to be the breast guy for months. That commercial's going to play day and night for at least six months. It's going be hard to get you into anything big for a while. But don't worry, when I did voice over work for Ford, I was known as the Ford guy for years. It got me places. It opened doors.

I’m happy for your success.

Bill was a Ford fan. He had Ford posters all over his office. At least he was loyal to the products that he had helped advertise. How was I going to be loyal to saline or silicone? I had nothing against them but loyalty was a different thing altogether.

Bill continued. Besides, I've got one or two small things lined up for you. Dancing chickens are in. Chicken Lickin’s down in East L.A., they’re looking for a couple of dancing chickens for a new commercial they’re doing. They've just had some new neon lights installed, kind of a Vegas look they got going down there. Apparently those lights aren't cheap, but they'll pay off in the long run. It's not a personal thing, you understand. Dancing cabaret chickens are not a bad thing. The truth is, it's all about advertising man, you've just got to keep hammering away at it. You'll get your big break. One of the big campaigns, but you've got to do the small stuff first. The strategy guys down at Econo-Ads Corp have given me the low down on the facts. The facts Erik! The industry is in a world of crap with satellite and cable and now the Internet. Cheap, low cost retail ads on local tv are still the way forward. They pay off. Do you know why? Because everything is on the cheap now. People only watch free crap these days. They sit and watch hour after hour of free tv, laughing at cheesy thousand-dollar ads, munching on cheap processed donuts and discounted grocery store cola. Why? Because they have nothing better to do and also because it's free. Watching cheap ads between even cheaper programming is the way people spend their free time. It's their free time and they don't want to spend money, they want to watch free television and buy the shit they see on tv. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what's happening out there. It's a commercial jungle. If you're not on the box, you're out of the box! Chicken fast food joint versus burger fast food joint! But it pays Erik. It pays to advertise on television, and it pays to be seen on television. You are going to have to wait a while for your next big gig.

I stared at Bill blankly. He stared back at me.

He picked a used toothpick off his desk and began chewing on it.

I took my money off the desk. I stood up, looked at Bill and said the first words that came into my mind.

Fuck tv and fuck dancing chickens!

I walked towards the door.

Bill wasn’t concerned about my candid burst of emotion and brushed it off. Don't forget to check in every week with me Erik, your next job could be the big one.

I waved him goodbye, not looking back as I walked through the door.

I vowed to never visit or call Bill again.

3

I was back in a fucking L.A. cab.

We were heading home to my apartment in West Hollywood.

L.A. cabs were nothing like New York cabs. New York cabbies knew their shit. Besides, this was California, I needed my own wheels and with the cash in my pocket I could finally afford one.

As we drove, I looked at the driver’s permit on the back of the window separating me from the front seats. His name was Koresh Jagal, probably a green card visa lottery winner from Pakistan. Was the USA the only country that handed out green cards in a lottery? It was the American way. Buy a ticket and hope you gonna hit the big time.

We arrived at my apartment building.

Koresh fiddled with the meter.

He looked at me through his rear view mirror. I couldn’t see his eyes through his dark glasses. I couldn’t help but think that he looked like he was related to Osama Bin Laden. The fare appeared on the meter’s screen.

13.50. He said.

I handed over a $20 bill.

Koresh took the bill. He shuffled at his lap for a few seconds and sat in silence. He didn’t look back at me and muttered under his breath. OK. Thank you. You go now.

I wasn’t in the mood for this cabbie hustle crap. I gave you 20. I said.

Koresh nodded his head knowingly. Yes, I know. 20 green backs.

The fare is 13.50, I said pointing at the meter, that’s not 20 on there is it?

Plus tip. He added.

What tip? I asked.

You must pay tip! This is USA. He said defiantly.

He had one thing right. This was the USA. Freedom of speech which meant the freedom to demand a tip. That’s what you really won in the lottery. Tipping used to be discretionary in appreciation of good service. Now it was expected. A bad, rude waiter still expected their fifteen percent.

Six buck fifty tip. That's a little high, wouldn't you say? I challenged.

No, not high. You the breast doctor! I see you on tv. You fix titties. You make a lot of money!

He had finally revealed that he had recognized me.

I couldn’t believe that Bill was right. Who the hell watched cheap television commercials on daytime television? I didn’t, but now this Pakistani cab driver knew my face.

I’m not the breast doctor. I'm a god-damned actor!

Don't lie to me. I see you on tv. Talking about fixing woman's tits. I even asked my wife if she wanted to call 1800 BREASTS. But she got really angry with me. She told me that what God gave her is good enough. He yelled.

"OK, I'm happy to hear that. But that's