Agent to the Stars | Page 2

enough).
Fast forward to today. My second novel, Old Man's War, did indeed sell to a publisher,
thanks in no small part to the experience earned writing this novel. And between the
writing of this novel and the publication of that one, five other books slipped out of my
brain, due in some measure to my confidence that I could write book-length works, be
they fiction or non-fiction. In a sense, this novel is the midwife to every book since. For
this reason alone, it holds a special place in my heart. It doesn't hurt that it's a fun story,
too.
And now here it is for you to read. I'm no longer soliciting a dollar if you enjoy the novel;
the story has long since proved its worth in that respect. I offer it freely to give new
readers a sample of my writing (perchance to tempt them to pick up one of the other
books), and to say "thanks" to those who picked up another of my books and were
curious enough about the author to find their way here. I hope you enjoy reading it as
much as I enjoyed writing it, and have enjoyed all the writing since.

John Scalzi
December 8, 2004


Chapter One
"Fourteen million and 15% of the gross? For Michelle Beck? You're out of your fucking
mind, Tom."
Headsets are a godsend; they allow you to speak on the phone while leaving your hands
free for the truly important things. My hands were currently occupied with a blue rubber
racquetball, which I was lightly bouncing off the pane of my office window. Each quiet
thock left a tiny imprint on the glass. It looked like a litter of poodles had levitated six
feet off the ground and schmooged their noses against the window. Someone would
eventually have to wipe them all off.
"I've had my medication for today, Brad," I said. "Believe me, 14 million and 15 points is
a perfectly sane figure, from my client's point of view."
"She's not worth anywhere near that much," Brad said. "A year ago she was paid
$375,000, flat. I know. I wrote the check."
"A year ago, Summertime Blues hadn't hit the theaters, Brad. It's now $220 million
dollars later. Not to mention your own Murdered Earth -- $85 million for perhaps the
worst film in recent history. And that's before foreign, where no one will notice that
there's no plot. I'd say you got your one cheap taste. Now you've gotta pay."
"Murdered Earth wasn't that bad. And she wasn't the star."
"I quote Variety," I said, catching the ball left-handed for the briefest of seconds before
hurling it back against the glass, "'Murdered Earth is the sort of film you hope never
makes it to broadcast television, because nearby aliens might pick up its broadcast signal
and use it as an excuse to annihilate us all.' That was one of the nicer comments. And if
she wasn't the star, why did you plaster her all over the posters and give her second
billing?"
"What are you all about?" Brad said. "I remember you practically doing me for that
artwork and billing."
"So you're saying you'll do anything I say? Great! Fourteen million and 15% of the gross.
Gee, that was easy."
The door opened. I turned away from the window to face my desk. Miranda Escalon, my
administrative assistant, entered my office and slipped me a note. Michelle just called, it

read. Remember that you have to get them to pay for her hairdresser and makeup artist.
"Look, Tom," Brad said. "You know we want Michelle. But you're asking too much.
Allen is getting $20 million and 20% of the gross. If we give Michelle what she wants,
that's $35 million and a third of the gross right there. Where do you suggest we might
make a profit?"
$14 million, she can pay for her own damn hair, I wrote on the pad. Miranda read it and
raised her eyebrows. She left the room. The odds of her actually giving that message to
Michelle were unimaginably remote. She's not paid to do everything I say -- she's paid to
do everything I should say. There's a difference.
"I have two points to make here," I said, turning my attention back to Brad. "First: Allen
Green isn't my client. If he were, I'd be endlessly fascinated by the amount of money
you're throwing to him. But he is not. Therefore, I could not possibly give two shits about
what you're handing him. My responsibility is to my client and getting a fair deal for her.
Second: $20 million for Allen Green? You're an idiot."
"Allen Green is a major star."
"Allen Green was a major star," I said, "When I was in high