Chapter Two: A Good Opportunity
Alright, let's give this a more laid-back, streetwise vibe:
Chasing dreams is cool and all, but you gotta eat first. If you can't even keep your belly full, everything else is just a pipe dream.
Frank's been stuck in this world for over a year now, mostly behind bars. The grind taught him some hard truths. Before he can hit it big in Hollywood, he needs a gig that pays the bills.
The dude who had this body before him was a total idiot, but at least he left behind some useful stuff, like this tiny apartment.
This pad's in a Latin hood, and like most places in downtown LA, it's an old, beat-up building. Security here sucks, with a bunch of sketchy folks hanging around, kinda like Daniel, who you see lurking in the area.
Maybe it's luck or just 'cause the place is so rundown, but no one's bothered to rob this "aunt's" apartment in the past year. The furniture and gear the old Frank left behind are still here, which was a nice little surprise.
Frank found the apartment from his memories, gave it a good scrub, and took stock of what he had.
First off, he's got a place to crash. By American standards, the place ain't tiny, about fifty square meters. The kitchen and bathroom are separate, but the bedroom, living room, and balcony are all one space, with a small work area that used to be a freelance journalist's office.
Since his other place got taken as a fine and compensation, Frank's stuck here for the long haul.
The furniture's basic. The Garcia family was just another poor family in the slums. The aunt who bailed to the UK left behind some old appliances like a TV, fridge, and washing machine. The furniture's simple too: two chairs, a chipped dining table, a faded sofa, and a foldable single bed.
In one day, Frank went from California State Prison to downtown LA, cleaned up the place, and his stomach was growling. He counted his cash: two hundred and forty-three bucks.
He took out a ten-dollar bill, stuffed the rest in his pocket, and headed to a nearby burger joint for dinner.
Even though it was dark and the area was sketchy, Frank didn't get mugged. Maybe it was his tough look from all that prison time.
Dinner was just five bucks. With no income, Frank had to be careful with every penny.
Climbing the dirty, rundown stairs, and ignoring the weird looks from two black dudes, Frank got back to his room. He tried the TV, but there was no signal. Guess the bills hadn't been paid in forever. He turned it off and ate his dinner in silence.
As he chewed the bland burger, Frank's mind was racing, trying to figure out how to make some cash.
The stock market? Nah, he had no money, and it was June 2000, right in the middle of the Nasdaq crash. Plus, he was just a broke film school student who knew jack about stocks.
Investing? With what money? He needed someone to invest in him.
Swallowing his food and leaving half the burger on the chipped table, Frank leaned back, propped his head with one hand, and brainstormed ways to make quick cash.
Drugs and illegal guns like Daniel? No way.
After a lot of thinking, Frank went back to what he knew best: the film industry. Sure, he was just a student with little real-world experience, but he'd analyzed tons of classic Hollywood movies and scripts and listened to a bunch of famous movie soundtracks.
He shifted to a more comfy position and ditched the idea of writing songs. Listening to them and writing them were two different worlds. Without any training, writing a song was a no-go.
Those kinds of thoughts would just leave him starving.
So, movies and scripts it was. His film school wasn't top-notch, but the basics were solid, and he was a pretty diligent student. He knew the classic art films from class and had studied a lot of movies he liked in his free time.
Suddenly, a wild idea hit Frank: why not write a killer script for a future blockbuster and send it to the big Hollywood studios? He imagined the top execs from the Big Six tripping over themselves to get to him, treating him like some kind of genius. From there, he'd ride the wave to fame, fortune, and all the perks that come with it.
"Seriously, dude? Haven't you learned anything this past year?" Frank chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "You're not that naive kid anymore. Time to ditch those dumb fantasies."
Even a newbie like Frank knew Hollywood was drowning in scripts. The Big Six? They had piles of them collecting dust. Even the smaller studios had more scripts than they knew what to do with.
He remembered that some future hit movies had scripts sitting in those script libraries for decades.
The odds of a newbie's script getting picked up were slim to none. But hey, it was still a shot, no matter how tiny. Frank figured he'd give it a go if he could land a steady job first.
With that in mind, Frank got up and stared out the window at the starry sky. He sighed, pushing aside those pie-in-the-sky dreams, and focused on the real deal: finding a legit job to pay the bills.
Chasing dreams was his right. Frank had survived the hell of prison life for it and wouldn't mind doing some grunt work to get by.
Of course, there was another option: picking up where his predecessor left off.
He walked into the old workspace, which he'd cleaned up. The simple workbench, wooden chair, and the shelf behind it were now spotless. On the shelf sat a laptop, a Canon camcorder, and a Los Angeles police scanner.
These were the tools of the trade.
Sitting at the workbench, Frank fired up the laptop and found some news videos the old Frank had shot. The guy mostly covered stuff like car crashes, fires, and robberies. Then he got greedy, went after a big reward, and stupidly filmed Paul's private life.
There were not just videos but also guides on using the police scanner, LA police codes, and contact info for news directors at several local TV stations.
The old gig wasn't rocket science. It was all about cruising the streets of LA, catching newsworthy stuff on camera, and selling the footage to TV stations that were interested.
But Frank wasn't planning to stick with that. He was eyeing the gear, thinking he could sell it for some quick cash to keep him afloat.
Even though he ditched those pie-in-the-sky dreams, Frank still had a game plan. This was Hollywood, after all. Tons of people were grinding in the film industry, making it his top pick for job hunting.
Starting with any job in the film biz, even the crappiest one, could help him get his foot in the door and maybe catch a break.
The film industry was the same everywhere. Loads of talented folks trying to make it, but only a few actually do. Sometimes, it's all about being in the right place at the right time.
As the night wore on, Daniel hit him up, asking if he needed anything. Given his situation, Frank didn't beat around the bush and asked to borrow a car to job hunt.
Bright and early the next morning, a young black dude showed up with a pretty new Chevy at the corner. Daniel had hooked him up; the car was freshly gassed up. Frank parked it in an alley next to his building, grabbed some breakfast and a few newspapers, and headed back upstairs. While munching on his food, he flipped through the job listings, hunting for something that fit.
Given his current state, his standards were pretty low. As long as the job was in the film industry and paid on time, he was game.
This was LA, the heart of Hollywood, with thousands of production companies and studios. Every day, new film crews were kicking off projects, so there were always job openings.
After skimming through two newspapers, Frank jotted down a few interesting job ads to call later. When he got to the last paper, a big recruitment ad jumped out at him, and his eyes lit up.
A huge film crew was gearing up and was publicly hiring artists, costume designers, painters, assistants, and a bunch of other staff. The project? "The Matrix"!
Just reading a few lines, Frank knew this was the recruitment ad for the sequels to "The Matrix" by the Wachowski Sisters. This was a golden opportunity.