Chapter 199: I Insist

Snow-white light spilled across her shoulders, and a sharp gleam flickered in her dreamy eyes. Sophie Marceau sat with her legs crossed on the wide sofa, her gaze fixed on Mel Gibson as he stood before the liquor cabinet. Her beautiful face was completely devoid of expression, making her look like a statue carved from marble.

Mel Gibson grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses, walked over to the coffee table in front of Sophie Marceau, poured them each a glass, and sat down opposite the French actress.

He had already said his piece; he needed to give her some time to think it over.

Sophie Marceau picked up her glass and took a slow sip of red wine, her eyes on the man across from her. Those words clearly didn't just come from Mel Gibson; they had to represent the agency behind him, CAA. It was just the two of them here. No doubt, the moment he walked out that door, Gibson would completely deny ever saying such things.

The Oscars had always touted their fairness, but the struggles behind the scenes seemed far more complex and dark than she had imagined. They weren't any cleaner than the César Awards or the Cannes Film Festival in France.

Wherever there were people, there was conflict. This was especially true in a circle that chased fame and fortune. Sophie Marceau was used to seeing all of this over the past decade or so, but what right did CAA have to demand this of her? Just because she was an actress signed to them?

She let out a cold snort. Although she didn't show it too obviously, she was voicing her dissatisfaction.

Yes, she was incredibly dissatisfied with CAA!

Ever since signing her representation contract with CAA, things hadn't developed the way Sophie Marceau had envisioned at all. Over half a year had passed, and she still only had a single genuine Hollywood production under her belt. Furthermore, Braveheart had performed far worse than expected; she feared it wouldn't be enough to carry her dreams and ambitions of breaking into the global center of film.

To North America, she was still an unknown actress.

If it were just that, she could have let it go. After all, there were simply too many factors that dictated a film's success or failure. It merely proved she had poor judgment in picking a terrible project from a loser like Mel Gibson. But the real problem was that CAA—for whatever reason—didn't value her at all. Sophie Marceau could feel the cold shoulder they gave her. The few audition opportunities she'd gotten recently hadn't even come from CAA's efforts or recommendations.

Without adequate support, the difficulties a non-English-speaking actress like her faced were easy to imagine. If she weren't so isolated and lacking in influence, and if she didn't still harbor some hope for CAA, Sophie Marceau would have already thought about changing agencies.

Sometimes, she even fantasized: if she hadn't firmly rejected that director—a man a hundred times more successful than Mel Gibson—would she now be one of the female leads in the highly publicized Chicago?

CAA...

A mocking smile surfaced on Sophie Marceau's face. Did Mel Gibson actually make such an unreasonable demand because he thought she was just a plaything? Or did CAA truly consider itself the master of its stars?

"Sophie, have you thought about it?"

Hearing Mel Gibson's question break the silence, the mockery on Sophie Marceau's face grew even more pronounced. "Don't you think this is going too far? I'll have to sacrifice a lot for this, and I'll be taking on a lot of pressure..."

Her expression gradually tightened as she asked the question she wanted answered most. "What... what's in it for me?"

Sophie Marceau was not the type to give without getting anything in return!

Mel Gibson had seemingly been waiting for her to say just that. He picked up his wine glass and, in a manner quite uncharacteristic of his usual style, took a slow sip before speaking at a leisurely pace. "Bernard Rose is prepping a new film, and CAA will recommend you for the lead actress role. CAA can win you the recognition the French denied you. Martin will personally orchestrate an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress for you. If you perform well in Bernard Rose's new film, we'll maneuver a Best Actress nomination for you. Furthermore, CAA will map out your future career development plan holding you to the standard of an A-list female star."

Her tense face slowly relaxed, the mockery replaced by deep contemplation.

"Sophie, I know what you're worried about." Mel Gibson stood up, his tall figure casting a shadow over her. "When it happens, you'll be the victim. Duke Rosenberg has always had a bad reputation in this regard, so you'll draw widespread sympathy. As long as we properly guide public opinion, you'll be known across North America with a highly positive image. Don't forget, CAA has the power to steer entertainment media narratives."

"Once you reach the pinnacle of Hollywood leading ladies—just like Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, and Katharine Hepburn before you—everyone will only envy you and be jealous of you. Who will care about your past?"

The feeling of having everything completely under control had been gone for far too long, ever since Duke Rosenberg forcibly interrupted the shooting of Braveheart. Now, Mel Gibson had finally found it again. "Don't underestimate the power of sympathy. If this happens during awards season, those sympathy points could very well decide who takes home the heavyweight trophies!"

Sophie Marceau seemed to be analyzing Mel Gibson's words. She remained silent for a full five minutes before finally speaking. "I need some time to think about it."

"Of course," Mel Gibson said with a laugh.

These actresses were all masters of saying one thing and meaning another. She had clearly already been tempted by fame and fortune, yet she still insisted on putting up the front of a saint.

Without lingering, Sophie Marceau left the private club. Braving the afternoon sun, she walked into the parking lot and got into her car, but she didn't start the engine right away. Instead, she sat in the driver's seat and quietly thought things over.

The things Mel Gibson had mentioned meant absolutely nothing in the European Film Circle and the eyes of a French woman. To grab attention, she'd even dare to take off her top on the red carpet at the Cannes Film Festival. The real question was: how trustworthy were CAA and Mel Gibson?

Although Sophie Marceau was bold and uninhibited, she wasn't naive. When she first signed with CAA, they had promised her a series of lucrative conditions, but how many of those had actually materialized by now? She was still the same Sophie Marceau, completely unknown in North America. No matter how beautifully they painted the picture, nothing was as reliable as what she already held in her hands.

There was another point as well. Back in Europe, many people spread rumors about how immensely powerful CAA's grip on Hollywood was. But what was the reality? They had been utterly crushed by a twenty-five-year-old director and had no effective way to deal with him, leaving them no choice but to resort to such shady, underhanded tactics.

CAA was nowhere near as powerful as she had heard...

Of course, she couldn't ignore the fact that CAA remained the number one entertainment agency in Hollywood. If they could truly fulfill the conditions Mel Gibson had promised, the benefits of this endeavor would far outweigh the harm.

Faced with the temptation of fame and fortune, the famous European movie star wavered back and forth, greedily wanting to find a way to have the best of both worlds.

Perhaps she could handle it like this... Sophie Marceau's eyes narrowed into slits. Could she test CAA's sincerity while simultaneously wringing some benefits out of Duke Rosenberg?

No one was stupider than anyone else. At a critical juncture like this, the very first thing on Sophie Marceau's mind was undoubtedly how to act in a way that best served her own interests.

The afternoon sun shifted toward the ocean, shining down through the gaps in the palm leaves and leaving dappled spots of light across the garden. Sitting beside a small table under one of the palm trees, Duke smacked the tabletop heavily. He used a bit too much force, causing the laptop resting on it to wobble, and he hurriedly reached out to steady it.

"Damn WIN95!"

Frustrated, he shoved the laptop aside and turned to his female assistant sitting across from him. "Tina, just give me the typewriter. I've had enough of Microsoft and Bill Gates."

"I'll get it..."

A girl a little over five feet tall hopped off the swing in the garden. She tossed her blonde ponytail back, ran over quickly, took the typewriter from Tina Fey's hands, carried it over to Duke, and rather obediently placed it on the table.

"Duke..." The girl leaned in, blinking her eyes.

"Scar!" Duke tapped her on the forehead and said rather sternly, "I'm working. No messing around."

"Then I'll just go play by myself."

Limited by her young age, and coupled with the fact that they hadn't seen each other in so long, Scarlett Johansson had inevitably grown a bit distant from Duke. She walked over to the opposite side of the swing, took the Sony DV Camera off its tripod, fiddled with it for a few moments, and started filming the empty garden. This novel toy had completely captured the young girl's attention, and she ran around enthusiastically with it. However, the weight of a DV camera in this era was still quite substantial. She soon put it back on the tripod and simply stood in front of the lens, amusing herself by recording herself.

Duke had also played a few times with the DV Nancy sent over. Of course, it wasn't to shoot Videotapes or anything like that; it was purely out of curiosity. Even if he didn't particularly like a certain island nation, he couldn't deny that the vast majority of cameras used in the film industry today were produced by its companies. Sony and Nikon were the absolute cream of the crop among them.

The former, in particular, was reportedly working with James Cameron to develop a set of high-speed motion-capture and deep-sea pressure-resistant filming equipment specifically for him.

He glanced at Scarlett as she played. Perhaps it was because she was getting older, but she was noticeably quieter than before. Moreover, after her mother moved to New York, she seemed to have lost her backer, no longer making any unreasonable demands.

Lowering his head, his gaze returned to the typewriter. Duke's fingers flew across the keys, organizing the script he had already filtered through his mind several times. Tolkien's masterpiece was far too long, while the length of a movie was relatively limited. Knowing what to keep and what to cut during the adaptation process was extremely important. He would personally complete the main plotline of the script.

Fortunately, the pre-production for Chicago was extremely lengthy. At this stage, the primary focus was on choreography and rehearsal. All he could do in that regard was keep a general eye on things; getting involved in the specific details would only cause trouble. He had relatively more free time, especially on weekends like this. If he didn't go out, he had plenty of time to dedicate to writing the script.

Duke and Tina Fey split up to handle their respective work, while Scarlett Johansson played by herself. This continued all the way until sunset.

After eating dinner, Duke called for his driver, preparing to send Scarlett Johansson home.

The little girl held her hands behind her back, very reluctant to leave. "Duke, can I stay here?"

"Your mom just called Tina." Duke shook his head. "You have to go home."

Scarlett Johansson looked at Duke, whose attention clearly wasn't focused on her at all. She bit her lip hard and followed Tina Fey out of the villa.

Packing up the DV, Duke carried it upstairs and went straight back to his bedroom. He casually placed the camera in the cabinet between the door and the bathroom, planning to turn in early. He still had to hurry over to Warner Studios first thing tomorrow morning.