Chapter 16: Quentin’s Euphoria  

Before dawn, Link woke up early and roused Quentin, who was still asleep, to go sign the contract and complete the transaction.  

Grumbling, Quentin got up and repeatedly asked Link if he was really sure about selling the script, warning him that once it was sold, there was no turning back.  

Link assured him that he was serious and had no regrets—he was ready to sign the contract.  

Quentin thought it was a good idea. The two first went to the neighboring law firm, Wall Street—Rogers & Jones, where, under the notarization of a lawyer, they signed a draft contract.  

Then, they headed to Citibank to transfer the money and finalize the transaction.  

Seeing the updated balance in his Citibank account, Link let out a sigh of relief. This trip had not been in vain.  

Outside the bank, he made a call to Jerome Preston, who was in Los Angeles, to check on the negotiations with the United Theaters manager.  

Jerome Preston regretfully informed him that William Mason, the manager of United Theaters in Burbank, had agreed to lower the deposit requirement, but the minimum amount was still $20,000—anything less, and he wouldn’t agree.  

"Link, there’s really no need to haggle over a deposit of just twenty or thirty thousand dollars. If you’re short on cash and don’t want to borrow from others, how about this? I’ll cover the deposit for you for now, and when AMC headquarters distributes the bonuses, we can deduct it from your share. How does that sound?"  

"Jerome, I really appreciate the offer, but that won’t be necessary. Please let William Mason know that I’ll pay the full $30,000 deposit. In return, I’d like some prime display space in the theater to help promote my film when 'Buried Alive' is released."  

"You have the money for the deposit? Where did you manage to make $30,000 in just three days? You didn’t go rob a bank in New York, did you?"  

*"Of course not. Just look at the movies—have you ever seen an bank robber?  

I wrote a script, someone took an interest in it, and I sold it for a pretty good price."*  

Link glanced at Quentin, who was sitting in the car, making a phone call.  

Before coming to New York, he had asked Jerome Preston to negotiate a lower deposit because he was worried his script wouldn’t sell for more than $30,000.  

Now that it had sold for $50,000, he felt emboldened.  

There was no need to act too frugal—being overly thrifty in America could make people look down on you. On the other hand, making tens of thousands of dollars in just three days would only earn admiration.  

"Selling a script for tens of thousands of dollars? Tsk, tsk. Link, I have to say, you’re really something else. With this kind of talent, why don’t you continue being a screenwriter or even pursue a promising career in marketing? Why waste your energy on a film project that’s clearly doomed to fail? I just don’t get your way of thinking sometimes."  

Jerome Preston’s tone was complicated.  

Link just laughed, then asked Jerome to help him coordinate screenings with several theaters. Once he was back, he’d sign the distribution contract and start promoting the movie.  

—  

Inside a car parked on the side of the street, Quentin, seeing that Link was still on the phone, took out his newly purchased Motorola and called producer Lawrence Bender.  

As soon as the call connected, Quentin excitedly told Lawrence that he had just bought an amazing script for an insanely low price, about the same as what he had spent on a jacket last time.  

"A script? You always say other people’s scripts are garbage. What made you decide to actually buy one?"  

"Haha, this one is different! This script is truly fantastic—it’s exactly my style. I’d bet anything that if we turn this into a movie, it’s going to be absolutely incredible."  

"I’m even thinking… should I film this script first and push back my own script for a couple of years? Writing scripts is such a headache—I’ve been working on mine for six months, lost half my hair, and still haven’t come up with something I’m satisfied with."  

Quentin said with excitement.  

"Let’s not talk about switching scripts just yet—we’ll discuss that when you’re back in LA. First, tell me where you bought this script. If it’s really that good, why did the writer sell it? And why at such a low price? Are you sure you didn’t get scammed?"  

"No way. The guy who sold me the script is Link, that director who’s just as handsome as I am."  

"He’s actually a pretty amazing guy. Whether it’s screenwriting talent or directing skills, he’s not far behind me."  

*"But the thing is, he’s a bit of a blockhead. The reason he sold the script is that he wants to self-fund the distribution of 'Buried Alive'."*  

*"Self-fund the distribution of 'Buried Alive'? You mean that bizarre film he wrote, directed, and starred in?"*  

*"Haha, exactly! That movie. I’ve told him countless times, ‘Give it up, man. That film has no market appeal. Even if it gets released, it’s going to flop.’ But he refuses to listen. He went around trying to get distribution deals and approached fifty or sixty companies, but not a single one agreed to distribute 'Buried Alive'."*  

"Even after all that, he still wouldn’t give up. Now he’s planning to self-fund the movie’s distribution."  

Quentin glanced at Link, who was still talking in a phone booth, then lowered his voice.  

"Since distributing a movie costs money and he’s broke, he had no choice but to sell his script. But do you know what’s even funnier?"  

"What?"  

"Hahaha! He actually flew all the way from Los Angeles to New York just to personally deliver this amazing script to me."  

"When I asked him how much he wanted for it, he said 'whatever.' So I threw out $50,000 as a test, and he didn’t even try to negotiate—he just shook my hand and said, ‘Pleasure doing business with you.’"  

Quentin grinned, stifling a laugh.  

"Link might be a great screenwriter and a promising director, but when it comes to negotiation and business transactions, he’s clearly out of his depth."  

"That’s what I thought too. Honestly, when I signed the contract with him, I felt a little guilty—like I was taking advantage of an honest guy."  

"Well, if he was willing to make the deal, you don’t need to feel bad about it."  

"Yeah, I get it. Anyway, I gotta go—Link’s coming. I’m giving him a ride to the airport."  

Quentin hung up the phone and looked at Link, who had just taken the passenger seat.  

"Not staying in New York a couple more days?"  

"*'Buried Alive' is premiering in a few days. I need to get back and take care of things."*  

Link buckled his seatbelt.  

"Where’s it premiering? Will it be showing in New York?"  

Quentin started the car.  

"For now, just one theater in Burbank."  

"Just one theater?"  

Quentin’s mouth twitched.  

Even for the most niche films, the minimum for an initial release was usually four theaters.  

Link had been running around, selling a script and scraping together money to self-fund distribution, and all he managed was one theater?  

"That theater has ten screens. It’s not a lot, but I believe that within a few weeks, 'Buried Alive' will not only be playing in New York but in theaters all across the country."  

"Uh-huh, sure, whatever you say. Hope your dream comes true."  

Quentin clenched his teeth, thinking of sad things to keep himself from bursting out laughing in front of Link.  

At JFK International Airport, Link got out of the car and waved goodbye.  

As he disappeared into the terminal, Quentin rolled up the car window, leaned forward onto the steering wheel, and burst into uncontrollable laughter.  

(End of Chapter)