The Last Refuge Read Online Free PDF Page B

we here?’ he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to me. He laid a hand lightly on the envelope.
    Hutch is one of the most unflappable guys I know. You’d have to be, married to the superannuated flower child that is my sister. Ruth had actually
been
at Woodstock in 1969. She’d
inhaled
. She’d
enjoyed
it. I watched Hutch’s green eyes widen as I explained about
Patriot House, 1774
and my potential role in it.
    When I ran out of steam, he asked, ‘What does Paul have to say about this?’
    I shrugged. ‘I haven’t mentioned it to him yet.’
    An eyebrow shot up, but before Hutch could say what he was probably thinking, I added: ‘I wanted you to look over the contract first. There’s no point in getting Paul all spun up over nothing. If you think it’s OK, and I decide to sign on the dotted line,
then
I’ll tell Paul about it.’
    â€˜I see,’ he said in a tone of voice that suggested he thoroughly disapproved of my proposal. ‘Well, I’d better have a look at it, then.’
    I watched, practically holding my breath, as Hutch shook the contract out of the envelope and onto the table, picked it up, licked a thumb and used it to rifle through the pages. After a few minutes he whacked the pages on the edge of the table and said, ‘Shit, Hannah. It’s thirty-two fricking pages! I have multimillionaire clients whose wills take up fewer pages than this.’
    â€˜Are you saying that it’s unusually long?’
    â€˜I’m saying that I’m a real estate attorney. I don’t have much experience with entertainment law.’
    â€˜But you studied entertainment law at Georgetown, right? You know
something
about it.’
    Hutch’s eyes were on scan, reviewing the first page. Without glancing up, he said, ‘But that was a long time ago, back in the good old days before reality TV was invented, when we watched scripted shows like
M*A*S*H
and
Archie Bunker
.’
    â€˜Please, just tell me what you think, Hutch. I’ll be happy to pay you for your time.’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous.’ He flipped from page two to page three, scowling. A few excruciatingly long minutes later he looked up and said, ‘You realize that if you’re accepted as a participant in this series, you’re agreeing to allow them, and I quote, “to videotape, film, portray and photograph me and my actions and record my voice and other sound effects in connection with the production of the series on an up to a twenty-four-hour-a-day, seven-days-a-week basis, whether I am clothed, partially clothed or naked, whether I am aware or unaware of such videotaping, filming or recording, and by requiring me to wear a microphone at all times.”’
    I thought about the costume I’d just tried on, about the shift, the corset, layer upon layer of petticoats before I even got to the dress and had to laugh. ‘This is 1774,’ I reminded him, ‘not
Survivor
.’
    â€˜Still . . .’ He read on.
    â€˜They’re going to pay me fifteen thousand dollars,’ I added.
    â€˜I see that. And I’m sure you’re thinking that a salary of five thousand dollars a month is pretty tempting, but remember, you’re going to be working’ – he drew quote marks in the air – ‘twenty-four seven. And furthermore . . .’ He flipped forward a few pages, searching for something. ‘Ah, here it is. You won’t even be able to profit from any of the spin-offs.’
    â€˜Ha ha,’ I said. ‘As if everyone in the world is going to want to own a Hannah Ives bobblehead doll.’
    â€˜Seriously, Hannah. Residuals and product tie-ins are major income producers. If you sign this, you’re agreeing that they can use your image in any way they want – websites based on the series, video games, pasted all over the sides of the Goodyear blimp for all I know. It goes way beyond