Квентин Тарантино: Once Upon a Time in Hollywood: The First Novel By Quentin Tarantino

Marvin asks, “Who else was on the list?”

“Four names on the list,” Rick says. “Me and the three Georges: Peppard, Maharis, and Chakiris.”

“Well,” Marvin enthusiastically insists, “outta that list, I can totally see you getting it. I mean, if Paul Newman was on the list, maybe not, but the fucking Georges?”

“Well, McQueen did it.” Rick shrugs. “So what does it matter?”

“No,” Marvin insists, “it’s a good story. We can see you in the role. The Italians will love it!” Marvin Schwarz then explains to Rick Dalton how the genre film industry in Italy operates.

“McQueen won’t work with the Italians, no matter what. Fuck the fucking wops , that’s what Steve says. Tell ’em to get Bobby Darin , that’s what fucking Steve says. He’ll work for nine months in Indochina with Robert Wise but won’t work two months at Cinecittà with Guido DeFatso for any amount of money.”

If I were in Steve’s position, I wouldn’t waste my time in a shitty wop western either , Rick thinks to himself.

Marvin continues, “Dino De Laurentiis offered to buy him a villa in Florence. Italian producers offered him a half a million dollars and a new Ferrari for ten days’ work on a Gina Lollobrigida picture.” Then Marvin adds as an aside, “Not to mention the pretty-much-for-sure Lollobrigida pussy to go along with it.”

Rick and Marvin laugh. Well, that’s a different story , Rick thinks. I’d make any movie ever made if I thought I could fuck Anita Ekberg.

“But,” Marvin says, “that just makes the Italians want him more. So even though Steve always says no, and Brando always says no, and Warren Beatty always says no, the Italians keep trying. And when they can’t get ’em, they settle.”

“They settle ?” Rick repeats.

Marvin illustrates further: “They want Marlon Brando; they get Burt Reynolds. They want Warren Beatty; they get George Hamilton.”

As Rick endures Marvin’s career postmortem, he can feel the burning, stinging sensation of tears starting to build behind his eyeballs.

Marvin, oblivious to Rick’s anguish, finishes, “I’m not saying the Italians don’t want you. I’m saying the Italians will want you. But the reason they want you is they want McQueen but they can’t get McQueen. And when they finally realize they’re not going to get McQueen, they’re gonna want a McQueen they can get. And that’s you.”

The glaring, brutal honesty of the agent’s words shock Rick Dalton as much as if Marvin had slapped him across the face as hard as he could with a dripping-wet hand.

However, from Marvin’s perspective, this is all good news. If Rick Dalton was a popular leading man in studio features, he wouldn’t be having a meeting with Marvin Schwarz.

Besides, it was Rick who asked to meet Marvin. It’s Rick who wants to extend his leading-man career in feature films rather than playing bad guy du jour on television. And it’s Marvin’s job to explain to him the realities and the possible opportunities of a film industry he doesn’t know shit about. An industry that Marvin is an acknowledged expert in. And in Marvin’s expert opinion, Rick Dalton being like one of the biggest movie stars in the whole wide world is a wonderful opportunity for an agent who places name American talent in Italian motion pictures. So he’s understandably puzzled when he notices tears running down Rick Dalton’s cheeks.

“Whatsamatter, kid?” the startled agent asks. “You cryin’?”

An upset and embarrassed Rick Dalton wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and says, “I’m sorry, Mr. Schwarz, I apologize.”

Marvin grabs a box of tissues off his desk and offers it to Rick, consoling the weepy thespian. “Sorry nothing. We all get upset every once in a while. Life is hard.”

Rick yanks out two Kleenexes from the box, with a harsh ripping sound. As macho as he can muster under the circumstances, he wipes his eyes with the tissue paper. “I’m okay now, just embarrassed. Sorry about this humiliating display.”

“Display?” Marvin snorts. “What are you talking about? We’re human people; human people cry. It’s a good thing.”

Rick finishes wiping away the wetness and puts a phony smile on his face. “See, all better. Sorry ’bout that.”

“Sorry about nothing,” Marvin admonishes. “You are an actor. Actors have to be able to access their emotions. We need our actors to cry. Sometimes that facility comes at a cost. Now tell me, what’s the matter?”

Rick composes himself and then says after a gulp of oxygen, “It’s just I’ve been doing this over ten years, Mr. Schwarz. And it’s a little hard to sit here after all that time and come face-to-face with what a failure I’ve become. Coming face-to-face with how I ran my career in the ground.”

Marvin doesn’t understand. “What do you mean, failure?”

Rick looks across the coffee table and tells the agent sincerely, “You know, Mr. Schwarz, once upon a time, I had potential. I did. You can see it in some of my work. You can see it on Bounty Law. Especially when I had solid guest stars. When it’s me and Bronson, and me and Coburn, and me and Meeker, or me and Vic Morrow. I had something! But the studio kept puttin’ me in flicks with faded old fucks. But me and Chuck Heston? That’d been different. Me and Richard Widmark , me and Mitchum , me and Hank Fonda , that’d been different! And in some of the movies, it’s there. Me and Meeker in Tanner. Me and Rod Taylor in McCluskey. Shit, even me and Glenn Ford in Hellfire, Texas. By that time Ford didn’t give a fuck no more, but he still looked strong as hell, and we looked good together. So yeah, I had potential. But whatever potential I had , that prick Jennings Lang at Universal pissed it away.”

Then the actor exhales a defeated, dramatic breath and says to the floor, “Hell, even I pissed it away.”

He looks up and meets the eyes of the agent. “I totally pissed away a fourth season of Bounty Law . ’Cause I was done with TV. I wanted to be a movie star. I wanted to catch Steve McQueen. If he could do it, I could do it. If during the entire third season I hadn’t been an uncooperative pain in the ass, we would’ve sailed into a fourth season. And we coulda all done well and all parted friends. Now Screen Gems hates me. Those goddamn Bounty Law producers are gonna hold a grudge against me for the rest of their lives. And I deserve it! I was a prick on that last season. I let everybody goddamn know I had better places to be than this fuckin’ pipsqueak TV show.” Rick’s starting to get teary-eyed again. “Doin’ that show Bingo Martin , I hated that prick Scott Brown. Now, I was never as bad as him. You can ask the actors I worked with, you can ask the directors I worked with, I was never as bad as him. And I’ve worked with pricks before. But the reason this prick got to me? I saw how ungrateful he was. And when I saw that, I saw myself.”

He looks at the floor again and says with sincere self-pity, “Maybe gittin’ the snot wiped outta me by this season’s new swingin’ dick is what I got comin’.”

Marvin listens to the whole explosion that bursts forth from Rick Dalton with his mouth closed and his ears open. After a moment, the agent says, “Mr. Dalton, you’re not the first young actor to land a series and fall under the spell of hubris. In fact, it’s a common ailment out here. And—look at me—”

Rick raises his eyes to the agent’s eyes.