HELL OF A DEAL, a supernatural satire

Thirty One

31

The commotion on the front steps of the courthouse was impressive, from a strictly marketing point of view. A row of news vans with satellite dishes on their roofs lined the sunny Los Angeles avenue. It had been several years since all the national networks had taken such an intense interest in the outcome of a court case. This was a politically safe story, as only Al Smith Jr. risked losing anything.

Smith arrived by limousine, and he met up with his company's head of legal affairs, Dick Winford. The two men started up the stairs together followed by a couple of junior lawyers and legal assistants who trailed after Winford.

Lou Seaford arrived with his team of representatives in a stretched out SUV limousine. His booming soundtrack and deafening sub-bass attracted the attention of the press. Katya Stone appeared stunning as she stepped out in a lingerie-like dress that showed more skin per square inch than fabric. Katya hung onto Lou's arm like an ornament as they sauntered up the concrete stairs through the phalanx of professional gossipmongers. Katya smiled over at Al, and she flared her eyebrows to tease him.

Smith turned away, snubbing her. He slid through the reporters and up toward the doors. Numerous cameras and bodies delayed entry into the courthouse, until police officers cleared a path for the litigants.

At the initial hearing, Smith looked over at Seaford, who yawned and then acknowledged him with a nod.

The judge was announced as she entered, an African American woman in her early fifties. The judge had a well-known reputation for impartiality and restraint. She sat, and she slid on a pair of reading glasses.

Everyone else sat, and the court session began.

Lou's lawyer addressed the judge first. He was a young aggressive litigator, attractive with sharply cut sideburns and a moussed, spiked Hollywood haircut. "Your honor," said the young lawyer, "my client's character has been impugned. As you know the motion picture business is a very public, very image-centric enterprise. A libel of this magnitude has done irreparable harm and continues to inflict untold damage on my client's profitability."

Al rolled his eyes with pointed sarcasm. He rubbed his face, disgusted with this abuse of the court system.

The young lawyer read through his opening complaint as Katya buffed her fingernails behind him. "With this caliber of stars and at this budget level, a motion picture like my client's could easily take in one billion dollars eventually, when factoring in the long tail of revenue, of home video, of Internet downloads forever in perpetuity, syndicated broadcast for the next ninety-five years or more. This is a matter of egregious and unwarranted interference in my client's future profits."

The judge eventually jerked to attention. "How much are you asking for?"

"Well your honor," said Lou's young Turk. "The defendant has placed in jeopardy potential profits exceeding one billion dollars. The movie-going public can be swayed by someone of Mr. Smith's stature and position. When Mr. Smith says 'don't see a movie made by evil filmmakers' there's a very good chance that Joe Public would listen and not buy my client's product. Mr. Smith's irreparable harm has forced us to seek one billion dollars in damages, plus court fees."

The judge, startled, was taken aback unsure if she had heard correctly. "One billion, with a B?"

"That is correct, your honor."

Al Smith raised his voice, much to the surprise of his own counselor, "I object."

The judge appeared surprised as well. "You object? On what grounds?"