“I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!” Frozone yelled. “You are going to put an end to this right here and right now.”
The lawyer caught a glimpse of his closest seated employees hurrying away from their desks. Then frost coated the glass walls of his office, and they were just dark shapes that quickly disappeared. Waves of chilled air floated off the enraged super. Ice formed on the Persian rug he’d bought in Marakesh and the leather chairs he’d gotten from London were entombed in a thick covering of snow. The lawyer made a mental note to send the receipts to accounting so they could properly bill the government.
“Mr. Zone, please sit down,” the lawyer said. He stepped around his desk and swept the two chairs free of their snowy covering, noting that the cushions were already cracking. He sat down, gesturing to the other chair, genially.
“It’s FROZONE!” the Super bellowed. “Not MISTER ZONE. And I don’t want your platitudes or your phony smiles. I want this situation shut down. NOW!”
“You signed a contact,” the lawyer said. He dropped all pretense of good nature. If the Super wanted to play tough, then so be it. “My client has both your signature on a binding legal agreement and a literal brigade of legal representation willing to make your life very unpleasant should you fight them on this.”
“I signed up for a movie about my life,” Frozone asserted. “And I didn’t sign with them. I signed with the guys that did Bob’s movie. That was classy. This is just a marketing scheme to sell dolls to little girls.”
“And those little girls are going to see the movie in droves,” the lawyer said. “They’re going to bring their parents and their siblings and their best friends.” He pointed at the papers on his desk, a black, mouse-eared logo prominent. “The fact of the matter is that the company that made your friend’s movie – the one you signed with – is now owned by them. They made the movie you contractually agreed to. And they made it into something that’s going to earn billions.”
“THEY TURNED MY BROTHER AND ME INTO PRINCESSES!” Frozone screamed.
“They made some artistic choices for the betterment of the story in whole. Siblings. Ice powers. Those are both still there. The director just chose to change gender.”
The lawyer recognized the multiple shadows growing from behind the iced-over glass as security preparing to break in. He exhaled with relief. “Frankly Mr. Frozone, if you wanted script approval, you should have had it written into the contract. But since you did not, I suggest you follow the advice from your movie and let it go.”
“Oh you did NOT just tell me to let it go,” Frozone growled as ice shards formed around his clenched fists.
The Writin' Project 