Ben Fountain - Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk

“GE Capital’s been begging to put some money with us,” says Todd.

“That’s right. And that’s not counting individual investors. Just with our friends next door”—Skip nods toward the main suite—“I bet Dad could step over there and have commitments for twenty, thirty million by the end of the game.”

“We have access,” Norm says patiently to Dime. “We have ample experience raising capital. I think you could even call us”—he pauses and smiles— “players.”

“Yes sir, I sure hear you on that, sir. Those are some stout numbers you’re talking about, but with all due respect, sir, fifty-five hundred for each of my Bravos just seems kind of… small.”

“Albert, they understand how we need to structure this deal?”

“I explained,” Albert answers in a studiously neutral voice.

“So you know”—Norm turns back to the Bravos—“your fifty-five hundred is just an advance, correct? We could buy you out with a big lump sum, sure, but that makes it harder for us to get your movie made. We need maximum flexibility to put this package together, and what we’re asking from you, what we need from you, is in the nature of an in-kind equity contribution. In exchange for the rights to your story you’ll have a vested interest in the project, which means you share with us in the upside—”

“And the downside,” says Dime.

“Sure, sure, and the downside. There’s going to be risk, just like with any investment. But it won’t be any greater for you than it is for any other investor, myself included.”

“Mr. Oglesby sir, with all due respect, sir. We’re soldiers. We feel like we’ve already got enough risk in our lives.”

“And I’m certainly sensitive to that, but we’re talking about an entirely separate arena here. If we’re going to sell this project to potential investors, we’ve got to show them a solid package. We can’t afford to be cutting sweetheart deals here.”

Norm swivels his chair for a look at the field, and Billy realizes that their host was hoping to close the deal before the fourth quarter began. Too late; the players are taking the field. “You do understand, I trust,” Norm says, turning back to the Bravos, “this is about a lot more than just money. Our country needs this movie, needs it badly. I really don’t think you want to be the guys who keep this movie from being made, not with so much at stake. I sure wouldn’t want to be that guy.”

“We understand, sir. And I can assure you sir, if anything terrible happens, Bravo is ready to take full responsibility.”

Norm cuts a glance at his execs. He’s almost smiling, Billy sees. He’s enjoying this. There is a vast asymmetry in the dynamic here that Billy can’t quite put his finger on, even though it’s the elephant shitting all over the room.

“Sergeant,” Norm says, “that’s our offer. Based on what I’m hearing, it’s the only offer you’ve got, and now, well, you’re going back to Iraq. Wouldn’t you like to have something before you go? Something to show for all your hard work and sacrifice, the magnificent service you’ve given the country? Maybe it’s not as much as you were hoping for, but I think most people would agree, something is better than nothing.”

“Something would be nice,” Dime says. “Something would be great. But it’s”—he breaks off with a choking gasp—“it’s just, I don’t know, it’s just so sad, sir. We thought you kind of liked us.”

“But I do!” Norm cries, lurching upright in his chair. “I do like you! I think the world of you fine young men!”

Dime clasps his hands to his heart. “See?” he gushes to Billy. “He does like us! He likes us so much he’s going to fuck us in the face!”

In a second Albert is on his feet, chousing the Bravos out of their chairs with a bright furious smile and asking Norm for a place where he can talk to his “boys,” and though the Oglesby team takes it all more or less in stride, Dime has offended, clearly. He has crossed the bounds of couth. A very curt Mr. Jones leads them down the hall to a small, windowless room with a half bath attached, a kind of massage and decompression chamber, Billy gathers, furnished with a heavily pillowed daybed he would describe as “French,” a couple of leather and steel-tube chairs, a massage table, and a deep-pile Persian rug. The ubiquitous TV is mounted high in a corner, the first they’ve seen today that’s not switched on. Mr. Jones ducks into the bathroom and has a look, then walks a circle around the massage table. He seems to be doing some sort of security sweep.

“Hey, Mr. Jones, is this place bugged?” Dime asks. “It’s okay if it is, I’m just asking. Do you think it’s bugged?” he continues, turning to Billy and Albert as Mr. Jones leaves without saying a word. “I bet it is, hell, I bet it’s wired for video. I bet this is where Norm does his day-shift hookers—”

“David, chill.”

“—um umph, check this action out.” He’s feeling up the daybed, then testing its bounce with his rump. “I could definitely jam some high-dollar ass on this. I betcha anything he’s got it fixed for video—”

“Settle down, Dave, please—”

“—it’s always the billionaires who’re the biggest pervs—”

“—would you shut up, Dave, please, please just shut the fuck up? Please? Can you? Yes? Thank you!”

Dime sits on the edge of the daybed and primly crosses his legs, looks over at Billy, and laughs. Albert looks to Billy and rolls his eyes. Billy has taken the leather chair by the bathroom door, as far out of the line of fire as possible.

“You’re on his team ?” Dime snarls.

Albert seems to rear, grizzly-like. “Hell yes, if that’s what it takes to get your picture made.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“And that’s supposed to mean anything? This is business, there’s an asshole every time you pick up the phone. Stop thinking like a twerp and get your head in the game.”

“Oh gee Albert, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry if we’re messing up your brand-new partnership.”

“Tell me this, David, do you think you’re a player? You wanna be a player, you better learn to keep a civil tongue in your head. What you said in there — look, you cannot let emotion escalate into drama, not if you want a deal. You can whine and bitch and argue and everything else, but you cannot blow it up just because you’re pissed off.”

“Like we haven’t heard some rank stuff out of your mouth.”

“That’s different, I know how far I can push. And some of these studio guys, they like the abuse, but you’re punching way above your weight here. Norm doesn’t have to take that kind of shit from you.”

“Norm can lick every pimple on my pretty pink ass.”

“Oh, lovely. Wonderful. I can see how well you’re listening. You know what, maybe Billy should represent the squad in there. How about if you stay here, David, stay here and grow some brains. Billy and I’ll go represent the squad in there.”

“I’m not going back in there,” Billy says, not that anyone’s listening. Dime holds up his hand.

“All right, all right, okay, truce. Okay.” He takes a breath. “Albert, just tell me this — is Norm just fucking with us? Does he really need to bust us down like this, or is he being a corporate dick just because he can?”

Albert leans against the massage table and sucks his lip, considering. “Both, probably. I think he could do a lot better by you guys, no question. Fifty-five hundred is pretty thin. But you’ll have equity.”

“He’ll wanna screw us on that too, that’s the vibe I get from this guy. If he’s doing us on the front end he’ll do us on the back, it’s a matter of principle with this guy.”