Marcia Talley: The Last Refuge

Hutch is one of the most unflappable guys I know. You’d have to be, married to the superannuated flower child that is my sister. Ruth had actually been at Woodstock in 1969. She’d inhaled . She’d enjoyed it. I watched Hutch’s green eyes widen as I explained about Patriot House, 1774 and my potential role in it.

When I ran out of steam, he asked, ‘What does Paul have to say about this?’

I shrugged. ‘I haven’t mentioned it to him yet.’

An eyebrow shot up, but before Hutch could say what he was probably thinking, I added: ‘I wanted you to look over the contract first. There’s no point in getting Paul all spun up over nothing. If you think it’s OK, and I decide to sign on the dotted line, then I’ll tell Paul about it.’

‘I see,’ he said in a tone of voice that suggested he thoroughly disapproved of my proposal. ‘Well, I’d better have a look at it, then.’

I watched, practically holding my breath, as Hutch shook the contract out of the envelope and onto the table, picked it up, licked a thumb and used it to rifle through the pages. After a few minutes he whacked the pages on the edge of the table and said, ‘Shit, Hannah. It’s thirty-two fricking pages! I have multimillionaire clients whose wills take up fewer pages than this.’

‘Are you saying that it’s unusually long?’

‘I’m saying that I’m a real estate attorney. I don’t have much experience with entertainment law.’

‘But you studied entertainment law at Georgetown, right? You know something about it.’

Hutch’s eyes were on scan, reviewing the first page. Without glancing up, he said, ‘But that was a long time ago, back in the good old days before reality TV was invented, when we watched scripted shows like M*A*S*H and Archie Bunker .’

‘Please, just tell me what you think, Hutch. I’ll be happy to pay you for your time.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He flipped from page two to page three, scowling. A few excruciatingly long minutes later he looked up and said, ‘You realize that if you’re accepted as a participant in this series, you’re agreeing to allow them, and I quote, “to videotape, film, portray and photograph me and my actions and record my voice and other sound effects in connection with the production of the series on an up to a twenty-four-hour-a-day, seven-days-a-week basis, whether I am clothed, partially clothed or naked, whether I am aware or unaware of such videotaping, filming or recording, and by requiring me to wear a microphone at all times.”’

I thought about the costume I’d just tried on, about the shift, the corset, layer upon layer of petticoats before I even got to the dress and had to laugh. ‘This is 1774,’ I reminded him, ‘not Survivor .’

‘Still…’ He read on.

‘They’re going to pay me fifteen thousand dollars,’ I added.

‘I see that. And I’m sure you’re thinking that a salary of five thousand dollars a month is pretty tempting, but remember, you’re going to be working’ – he drew quote marks in the air – ‘twenty-four seven. And furthermore…’ He flipped forward a few pages, searching for something. ‘Ah, here it is. You won’t even be able to profit from any of the spin-offs.’

‘Ha ha,’ I said. ‘As if everyone in the world is going to want to own a Hannah Ives bobblehead doll.’

‘Seriously, Hannah. Residuals and product tie-ins are major income producers. If you sign this, you’re agreeing that they can use your image in any way they want – websites based on the series, video games, pasted all over the sides of the Goodyear blimp for all I know. It goes way beyond T-shirts, coffee mugs and bobblehead dolls.’ He shot his sleeve to check his watch, looked up at me and smiled his best reassuring smile. ‘Look, why don’t you go for a walk and come back in an hour. By that time I’ll have given this doorstop a closer look and be better able to advise you.’

Sitting in an air-conditioned room watching somebody else read a bunch of fine print was about as interesting as watching the U.S. Open on television, so I readily agreed. ‘Thanks, Hutch. I really appreciate it.’

Still frowning over the pages, Hutch tipped an imaginary hat as I left the room.

One hour, fifteen minutes and a double-scoop of rum raisin ice cream from Storm Brothers Ice Cream Factory at City Dock later, I was back. Hutch was waiting for me in his office.

‘Hannah, I didn’t trust myself to advise you on this, so I consulted with a colleague in D.C. who represents Sonic Ice Cream Junkies, Gurlz-N-Boyz, and one of the contestants on the twenty-first season of Survivor .’

‘Sonic Ice Cream Junkies?’ I asked.

‘It’s a rock group. Go figure.’

I snorted. ‘Sorry, go on.’

‘Max emailed me a PDF of one of the boilerplate contracts in his files. I compared them and we agreed that what you have here is industry standard. In spite of the length, it’s pretty straightforward,’ my brother-in-law explained from across his desk. ‘I don’t know who the attorneys who drafted this document are, but it’s tight as a tick. Basically, you agree to give them three months of your time in exchange for fifteen thousand dollars. They’ve thought of everything you could possibly sue them for, then added an additional clause that pretty much says if you can think of something to sue them for that they haven’t mentioned herein, you can’t sue them for that either.’

That actually made me laugh. ‘What could possibly happen in an eighteenth-century house with cameras following you around twenty-four seven?’

‘I don’t know. But if an asteroid slams through the atmosphere and lands on you while you’re picking green beans in the Paca garden, don’t expect Paul to get any money out of it.’

‘Thanks, Hutch. I’ll remember that.’

‘In addition, you’re prohibited from writing a book about the show, and during the course of the show, you can’t grant interviews, have a personal website or blog; nor can you post about the show on Facebook or Twitter.’

‘I don’t have a personal website, and since we’ll be living in 1774, I don’t believe there’ll be any Internet, so Facebook and Twitter are definitely out. Seriously,’ I said after a moment, ‘if you have any specific concerns, isn’t there any place we can modify the contract?’

‘It’s pretty much take it or leave it, Hannah. In my opinion, this contract contains much more than a producer could possibly need, but it’d be next to impossible to push back, since they could always put somebody else on the show.’

I thought about how Kat Donovan’s costumes fit me like a glove, and about Jud’s desire to stay on schedule and within his budget, and thought that wasn’t very likely.

‘And Paul has to sign something called “An Immediate Family Release,”’ Hutch added, shoving another sheaf of papers that I had obviously overlooked across his desk.

I simply stared at it for a moment, paralyzed by the number of pages in the supplemental agreement. ‘You mean I have to have Paul’s permission to be on the show? That’s positively Victorian.’

His upper lip twitched. ‘You don’t need Paul’s permission, no. But, he has to agree not to hold LynxE liable for anything bad that might happen to you, nor can he profit from any interviews, books, films – blah-de-blah-de-blah – that concern the show without their approval either before, during or after. Basically, Paul will have to agree that in terms of Patriot House, 1774 , his life, like yours, will be an open book with LynxE pulling the strings, food for their publicity mill.’

Hutch pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He laid a gentle hand on my shoulder, squeezed. ‘Think hard about this, Hannah. Is this something you really want to do?’