THE JACKIE WAR [231 a 235]

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THE JACKIE WAR

The cardinal rule of Hong Kong cinema has always been, “If it works once, do it again.” Which is to say that any big hit is sure to result in dozens of quickie rip-offs and at least one or two official sequels. 

As a result, it wasn't much of a surprise when Lo Wei announced that my next film for the company would be Fearless Hyena II. 

We'd already begun shooting when I got an urgent phone call from Willie, who'd decided not to join us on the set. 

“Jackie, we need to talk,” he said, sounding unusually excited. 

“Okay, let's talk,” I said, my mind fixated on the movie at hand. 

“We need to meet, face-to-face," he said. "As soon as possible.” 

Something was up. Something big, if Willie didn't want to talk about it over the phone. I told him I'd meet him over at the office as soon as shooting had wrapped for the day. 

Willie was at his desk, talking on the phone, when I walked in, still wearing my movie costume. He waved at me, continuing to talk, and motioned at me to sit. I made myself comfortable in a swivel chair—there were no couches in the office—and let my head slump back. Willie's conversation was animated and went on for a while. He was talking about numbers, numbers that sounded vaguely like money, but I was too tired to concentrate on eavesdropping. 

Finally, he hung up the phone and swiveled his chair to face mine.

“Who's your favorite uncle?” he said to me, his face lit with a smile. 

I opened one eye and looked at him with suspicion. Had he cracked under the pressure? Lo was riding him hard these days, ever since our little contract negotiation, and the two were making a point to stay away from one another—if Lo was at the set, Willie stayed at the office, and vice versa. 

“What's going on, Willie?” 

Willie laughed and put his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. “Only big money, Jackie,” he said. “Only big money.”

 That woke me up. “Huh?”

“Remember I told you I'd make some phone calls?” he said. “I just got off the line with Golden Harvest. They offered you one million Hong Kong dollars to sign an exclusive contract.”

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My eyes bulged. One million Hong Kong dollars? That could buy my entire apartment building! “What—where do I sign?” 

Willie shook his finger at me. “Ah ah ah, you don't sign anywhere. I told them about your loyalty to Lo Wei, and said that a star of your stature wouldn't break a contract—”

My face fell. 

“—for such a small amount,” he finished. 

Small amount! I found myself having trouble breathing. “Willie, are you crazy?” 

“Don't worry, dear boy, it's a negotiating tactic. Now, the first thing we do is call a meeting with Lo—to give him a chance to beat the offer. Meanwhile, we sit and wait for the next round.” 

Things were getting beyond me here. “What next round?” 

He quirked an eyebrow at me in surprise. “You don't think I was silly enough to speak to just one studio, do you?” he said. “I expect Shaw Brothers should be calling shortly with their bid. In the language of the deal, Jackie, you're ‘in play.’ Now, don't worry about anything; I've got things under control here, and I'll keep you up to date. In the meantime, isn't it nice to feel wanted?” 

One million Hong Kong dollars! 

I had to agree with Willie: it felt very nice indeed. 

“This is a stab in the back, traitor!” shouted Lo, smashing his fists into the table and sending papers flying. I couldn't tell if he was referring to Willie or me, but I suppose that in his eyes, it didn't make a difference. 

Sitting in front of him was a check from Golden Harvest for HK$2.7 million, made out to Jackie Chan Sing Lung. That is to say, me.

“I'll rip this up! You have no right to negotiate with other studios,” he yelled. “We have a contract!”

I looked over at Willie, who was unmoved by Lo's hysteria. “Go ahead and rip it up,” he said. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Lo howled. 

“The truth is, Lo, Jackie’s worth a lot more than you're paying him, and a lot more than you can even afford to pay,” Willie continued. “Now, we can make this pleasant, or we can make it difficult—it’s entirely up to you.” 

Actually, my conscience was beginning to nibble at me. I had signed a contract with Lo, after all. And I didn’t want to abandon Madame. 

But the money—well, Willie had said that it wasn’t the money, it was the principle of the thing. Although I never imagined that principles could attach to numbers that big. 

“I'll sue!” raged Lo. 

“Difficult it is,” said Willie. “Well, I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,

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seeing as how Jackie is in the middle of shooting a picture, but I believe it’s time for us to go.”

Lo pointed a fat index finger directly at Willie. “You go! You’re fired! And as for him, he ain’t going nowhere!” Lo called to his contracts manager, who was trying to be invisible behind the divider. The manager walked slowly over to his boss, carrying a handful of papers. “Read ’em and weep.” He spread them in front of Willie, who adjusted his glasses and began reading. After a few minutes, he pulled off his glasses and slapped them onto the table.

“Lo, this is revolting,” he said, his voice icy. “You have broken Jackie’s trust and turned your back on any honor you might have remaining in your tiny soul. He should have left you years ago, instead of waiting to find out what a villain you truly are.”

The words coming out of Willie’s mouth were the hardest things I’d ever heard him say. The contracts manager had turned as pale as paper. Lo, on the other hand, didn't seem to care at all.

“He can leave anytime he wants,” said Lo. “As long as he pays me HK$10 million.” 

“What?!”  I shouted, jumping up. Willie let the papers falls to the desk. The number was there, exactly as Lo had said—right above our signatures. Lo had taken advantage of my naïveté, changing the terms of our agreement after I’d already signed a blank contract. Instead of the HK$100,000 we’d agreed upon, my buyout was a hundred times higher— and four times what Golden Harvest had offered me as a signing bonus. 

“Now get the hell out of here, my former general manager, before I call the police,” snarled Lo. “And as for you, Jackie—let's put this whole ugliness behind us and get back to making movies, okay?” 

“You can’t fire me, Lo—I won't give you that satisfaction,” said Willie. “I quit.”  He pushed back his chair and walked out, grabbing his coat and slamming the door. I turned my back on Lo and ran to follow my friend. 

My worst nightmare had come true. Willie had lost his job. I’d lost my chance at the big money. And any kindness in my heart toward Lo, the man who called himself my godfather, well, that was gone too. 

Which didn't leave me with very much at all. 

“I’m sorry, Willie,” I said, as we sat at our usual bar, surrounded by an air of gloom. “I was stupid to sign that blank contract.” 

Willie sighed. “No, Jackie, you weren’t stupid,” he said. “Just young. And who could have known Lo would pull a stunt like that? It’s beyond belief. It’s beneath anything I thought he might be capable of.”

We stared at our drinks, as if some happy resolution to our mess might emerge from a glass of cocktails.

“If only we could prove that Lo changed the contracts,” said Willie.

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“Right now, it’s our word against his. And unfortunately, he does have your signature on those papers.” 

I slapped my head, as if to punish myself. Stupid! 

“Hello, Willie... Jackie,” said a voice behind us. We both turned toward the sound. It was the contracts manager, looking nervously in all directions. “I need to talk to you.” 

Willie patted the bar stool next to him, and the manager, a somewhat creaky older gentleman, hopped up with difficulty. 

“Can I get you a drink?” said Willie. There was a sourness to his tone, since Willie obviously considered the manager to be one of Lo’s tools, but the look on the old man's face suggested that he had something to say that was worth hearing. 

He shook his head, declining the offer. “I just needed to talk to you quickly; Lo will wonder where I’ve gone. Listen, Jackie, you’ve been good to me, and I’m ashamed at the way Lo has treated you. I remember how you lent me money for my daughter.”

The manager’s daughter, who still lived on the mainland, had been ill, and I'd given him some cash to send to her, even though at the time I didn't have much myself. 

“Well, I'm not one to repay a favor with a bad turn, so I want you to know this: Lo told me to change the contracts. I have a memo he signed that tells me exactly what to do—turn one hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars into ten million Hong Kong dollars. And if this goes to court, I'll be your witness, even if it means losing my job.” He placed a folded piece of office paper on the bar, nodded to Willie and me, and then left. 

Willie unfolded the paper, read the note, and Lo's signature at the bottom. And then he let out a whoop—nearly causing me to spill my drink, since Willie was not given to public displays of emotion. 

“Jackie, my dear boy, we're back in business,” he crowed. “This is all we need to prove that Lo acted in bad faith. Don't worry about me—I'll be making phone calls from home.” 

He drank the rest of his drink and slapped a handful of money on the counter. 

“Let the bidding begin!” 

A week later, Willie called me at Lo's office. 

“You shouldn't be calling me here, Willie,” I whispered. 

“It's all right, Lo never answers the phone, and the receptionist is hardly going to turn me in, is she?” he said, sensibly. “I was quite nice to her.” 

“What’s the news?” 

“Are you sitting down?”

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I sat down. “Yeah.” 

“Golden Harvest has upped its bid to four-point-two million Hong Kong dollars,” he said. 

I kicked out my legs and spun around in my chair. In two weeks’ time, they'd doubled their initial offer, and then doubled it again. 

“That’s not all, Jackie,” he said. “Shaw will go as high as five million.” 

My head began spinning. Four million, five million, two billion; all the numbers were too high to count, and more than I could imagine spending in a lifetime. There really didn't seem to be a difference anymore. 

“What—what should I do, Willie?” I said.

Willie paused, as if to think. “Take the Golden Harvest offer. Raymond Chow and Leonard Ho are good people. Run Run Shaw—he’s something else,” he said. “Besides, Leonard is guaranteeing you all the major markets. You're the biggest thing in Asia since steamed rice, Jackie. But how would you like to be big in France, Germany, and Spain? How about America?” ​​

The U.S.A.! Bruce had been the only Chinese star ever to conquer the States. Golden Harvest had put him there. And now they were promising to send me on a journey to the West as well. 

“Where do I sign?” I shouted, causing people around me to look in my direction, startled from their chores. 

I didn't care. I was gone. 

I'd stayed with Lo out of loyalty and innocence, and I was leaving in disgust. I would miss Madame, and I knew she would miss me. But I would leave her a note, explaining what had happened, and I thought she would understand. 

Lo's chains were broken, and the future was bright. And America— the home of Hollywood, where filmmaking began—awaited. I had long watched American films with envy, wishing I had the budgets and resources they boasted with every frame; I'd danced along with Fred Astaire, hummed to Frank Sinatra and Julie Andrews, laughed at Chaplin and Keaton and Lloyd, the great comics of the silent classics. 

Now, someday soon, I'd join them in Hollywood's galaxy of stars.

Nothing could stop me now.