“Why is it that lawyers find it necessary to generate mounds of paper?” he asked. He was an actor, a creative. Paperwork made him feel physically ill.
“You’d be lost without your attorney, Jon, you know it,” his companion replied. “Just sign where he’s asked you to sign, and put it in the pre-paid envelope, and send it back to him,” she said.
Jon picked up the contract and flipped the pages over. “But what’s it all about? Where’s the actual number?”
She took the document from him and turned to the paragraph that mentioned a very large sum of money. “Look – there you go. If you want to read it all, read it, but I can tell you the terms are usual, and the money’s good. As your agent, I’m recommending that you sign.”
“Ok, ok,” said Jon, taking a Mont Blanc out of his jacket pocket and flipping to the signature page. He signed on the line, and she witnessed it below with a brief flourish. Then she folded the papers and stuffed them into the envelope that had come with them. As Jon headed for the door and the bar downstairs, she said “There. That’s done. In six weeks you’ll be on location in Haiti, living in a tent and dodging cholera.” Jon jerked around.
“What? You better be kidding…what did I just sign?”
“Hell, Jon, it’s an action movie, semi-doco set in the Haiti earthquake. You knew that. The tent should be pretty luxurious, and I’m sure that cholera thing is just the locals…”
“Hell, Maisie, what have you let me in for?”
“You saw the salary.”
“And you saw your ten percent.”