Читать книгу Picture Perfect - Kate Forster - Страница 7

Los Angeles March 2015

Zoe Greene checked her reflection in the mirror and carefully blotted her neutral-coloured lipstick. Her tawny hair was blow-dried straight, her make-up flawless but subtle. She never liked to take the attention away from her clients but she was a beautiful woman and men noticed her, although she rarely noticed them in return.

Dating an actor was out of the question, she had yet to meet an actor who wasn’t self-obsessed, and the power-players in Hollywood didn’t want a relationship with a woman who might negotiate them out of their last million.

She heard that familiar sniff in the stall behind her and rolled her eyes at the bathroom attendant. The only drug Zoe ever needed was making deals and the annual Vanity Fair Oscars party was the ultimate place to make the deal of a lifetime.

Picking up her Judith Leiber clutch, she left the bathroom, ignoring the attendant’s offer of a spray of bespoke perfume.

She didn’t need a spritz of perfume, she needed a stiff drink, but that would have to come later. First she had the meeting from hell to get through.

‘He’s ready,’ she heard from one of his assistants, who seemed to come out of nowhere to murmur in her ear. Squaring her shoulders, Zoe followed him into the private VIP room, where the truly famous partied together, away from the merely famous.

Angie and Brad sat in corner, talking intently to Anderson Cooper; Maggie Hall, her best friend and truly famous movie star client, was discussing something at length with Charlize Theron, and Sandy Bullock was sitting on Clooney’s knee, laughing like they were the funniest two people in the room.

Actually they were the funniest people in the room, Zoe thought as she walked towards Jeff Beerman’s table, trying to act nonchalant, but knowing all eyes were on her.

She lifted her head out of pride, as though she were the one accepting the Oscar. This was her moment and she had damn well earned it, she told herself.

She thought of the years of grovelling to men who couldn’t think without being told what to think about, men who dismissed her and asked her to get coffee when she walked into a meeting, men who tried to make deals with her while trying to get her into their bed.

Zoe had never had a formal meeting with Jeff Beerman; she had only met him at industry events and parties, where he would usually have a circle of hangers-on, and an extremely beautiful girl on his arm when he was in between wives.

Although the Oscars party wasn’t really a formal meeting, she still knew it was going to be the biggest moment of her professional life and if she was going to take a gamble, she might as well go for broke.

Zoe’s poker face was the best in the business but a rare smile crossed her lips as she thought of her trump card, or manuscript, as it were.

‘What are you smiling at, Greene?’ Jeff asked with a curt nod of his grey head.

He called everyone by their surnames, as though he was the captain of Hollywood and they were all his junior officers.

‘Nothing, just enjoying myself,’ she said, making sure her poker mask was firmly back in place.

‘You should smile more, it suits you,’ he said, as though this was a certain fact.

‘Thank you, I think,’ she answered, thankful she was wearing a simple yet elegant Calvin Klein black dress. This was not the time for big hair and low cleavage; she would leave that to the starlets. She was there for business and nothing more.

‘Don’t think, just smile,’ he said and Zoe laughed.

‘Isn’t that the standard advice you hand out to all your girlfriends?’ she half joked and then almost gasped at her lack of control.

She was always in control, especially in meetings, but Jeff had disarmed her with that whole smiling schtick. She knew his game and she wasn’t about to play by his rules.

‘Give us a moment,’ he said to his assistant, not taking his eyes off Zoe. The man backed away quickly.

‘Sit,’ he ordered and she did.

‘You wanted to see me?’ she asked, as though she had anywhere better to be than at a private table with studio head Jeff Beerman.

Jeff leaned forward. Maggie and Zoe had always agreed that he was handsome enough to be a movie star, except he loved the business of movies more than the films themselves.

Like Zoe, he loved the deals but unlike Zoe he was a very rich man and, at times, a very despised man.

‘I hear you’ve just signed Hugh Cavell,’ he said, his eyes running over her, and she squared her shoulders and sat up straight.

‘I have,’ she answered, trying to be casual but professional.

‘I want the option to his book,’ he barked. ‘How much does he want for it?’

His presumption annoyed her and fuelled by the thought of Hugh being her royal flush, she smiled sweetly.

‘You could try asking nicely, Jeff. Manners are free, you know.’

‘Don’t fuck me around, Greene. I want the rights to this book!’

‘You and everyone else,’ she answered, meeting his icy gaze.

They stared at each other, neither moving, and then Jeff broke.

‘You’re braver than you look,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

‘You don’t intimidate me,’ Zoe lied, bestowing Jeff with another smile.

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment. ‘Good for you. Most people shit themselves when they meet me,’ he said, almost proudly.

‘Should I be impressed or concerned for them?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure there’s an operation for that.’

Jeff’s expression changed from steely to resigned, and he rewarded her with the flicker of a smile. What a shame he was such a bastard, thought Zoe, before his voice broke into her thoughts.

‘Greene, listen to me, I have to have this book. I can make the movie a huge hit.’

‘So can Harvey, Brian or David,’ she said, listing the other studio heads who had all offered her meetings since word had spread that she had Hugh Cavell in her managerial stable.

‘Yeah, but why would you work with those morons? My studio will make the best picture—you know it and I know it—so stop playing games. What does the guy want? Money? A shot at writing the script? Casting approval?’

Zoe sat back in the leather seat and crossed her legs. ‘Yes, he wants all of those things, and the other studios have already offered them.’

‘So, what the fuck else does he want then?’ Jeff looked impatiently at his Breitling watch.

Zoe paused for effect. She might not be an actor, but she knew how to play the role.

‘Actually, Hugh wants me as the lead EP on the film,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t trust anyone to produce it, unless I’m involved.’

‘What?’ Jeff recoiled as if she had just announced she was pregnant with his child.

‘You heard me,’ she said calmly.

A passing waiter placed two flutes of champagne in front of them, but Jeff pushed his away.

‘Scotch, neat,’ he snarled at the waiter, who retreated as though stung.

Zoe, glad for the distraction, picked up her glass and took a sip, trying to not let her hand shake. Show him nothing, she reminded herself, not how much you want it, and certainly not how much you care.

Jeff looked Zoe up and down dismissively.

‘Come on, Greene, get real. You’re a fucking talent manager not an executive producer. ‘

‘Yes, I am.’ Zoe wasn’t insulted. She represented some of the biggest stars in town and could pull a deal together faster than any of her peers. She knew her own worth. ‘But that’s about to change.’

‘You’ve got no runs on the board,’ he said. ‘What else can you bring to this besides the author?’

‘My expertise, my people skills, my industry knowledge. I’m good at what I do.’

Jeff rolled his eyes. ‘You and everyone else in this room,’ he scoffed.

Zoe sipped more champagne and felt the amber liquid roll down her throat, hoping it would be an elixir of courage. ‘It’s simple, Jeff. The book comes with me attached as EP, that’s what Hugh and I have agreed, so don’t even think about going over my head. We have a contract even you couldn’t pull apart.’

Jeff was silent. Zoe pushed her chair back and stood up.

‘Think about it and call my office tomorrow if you’re interested, my assistant Paul will patch you through to my cell,’ she said, and made to walk away from the table.

‘Sit down and don’t make a scene,’ he snapped and again, she did as he asked.

Who needs who more? she wondered, as she felt the eyes of passing guests on them and saw waitstaff nervously pacing nearby, ready for the snap of Jeff’s temper.

There was silence, each one holding their cards close to their chest.

‘So you want to make movies, huh?’ Jeff asked finally with a sigh, as though she had just asked for the right to vote. ‘Not many women make it in this business. Do you think you can handle it?’

‘Don’t patronize me because I’m a woman,’ she said politely. ‘I can do any job as well as a man.’

‘I’m not. I don’t care what’s between your legs,’ he laughed. ‘I want to know you can handle the bullshit and the drama when your leading stars hate each other and I’m screaming at you on the phone and the director’s losing the plot and you haven’t slept in a week.’

Zoe smiled. ‘My film wouldn’t be like that,’ she stated.

‘Oh, really?’ Jeff smiled now, and he stared at her for a long time. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Because I would make sure everything was sorted before we got to set,’ she said, knowing she sounded naïve but she believed in thinking ahead, her whole life she had had to be one step ahead of everyone else.

Jeff pulled at the cuffs on his shirt, a glimpse of silver cufflinks caught the light and Zoe’s eye.

‘You can’t always be prepared for what happens while making a movie,’ said Jeff. ‘Life throws curveballs at all of us, even me.’

Zoe felt the room’s eyes on her, the sound of gossip and conjecture about why Zoe and Jeff were talking so intently. She heard laughter and some music, and somewhere a glass smashed but it was Jeff’s eyes boring into hers that steadied her.

‘Why do you want to make this movie, Greene?’ he asked.

‘Because it’s the most beautiful book I’ve ever read,’ she answered truthfully.

Jeff squinted and frowned and then he rolled his eyes and Zoe laughed as she continued.

‘And because it’s box office gold: the man who learns about love only after his wife is declared terminally ill? I mean, what about that isn’t perfect chick-flick fodder?’

‘And the author, do you think he can write a decent script?’

‘Yes, I think he can write a great script,’ she replied, crossing her fingers under the table.

Jeff swilled the Scotch in his glass, drained the last of it, and then cleared his throat.

‘This is the biggest hit in books since fuck knows what,’ he said. ‘I want it to be the best movie Palladium Pictures has ever produced, do you understand? This is the movie people will talk about when I die.’

Zoe nodded, secretly marvelling at Jeff’s ego. Did he come to Hollywood with that intact or did he earn it?

‘I understand,’ she said and then she appealed to his ego. ‘And this is why I’m coming to you,’ she said. ‘I want to learn from you.’

Jeff watched her as she sipped her drink, his eyes narrowed.

‘How old are you?’ he asked rudely, but Zoe didn’t flinch.

‘Thirty-six,’ she said.

‘You’re too old for me.’

Zoe laughed. ‘I don’t want to date you; I want you to teach me. You’re the perfect age to be my wise old teacher,’ she said with a cheeky smile, and she saw a flash of displeasure cross his face.

‘I thought you weren’t into men?’ He smirked, but she swallowed her temper.

‘Oh, I am into men, just not old ones,’ she said. ‘I prefer to leave them to the piranhas with silicone breasts and gold-digging dreams.’

Jeff laughed. ‘God knows there are plenty of those fish in the sea; I even married a few of them.’ Then he looked up at her, his face unreadable. ‘But not many like you, it seems.’

She sensed Jeff’s respect that she could hold her own.

‘Every agent, manager and motherfucker in LA was after this Brit. How the hell did you get him to sign with you, Greene?’

Zoe thought about her trip to London. She remembered the taxi ride to Hugh’s little house and the desolate, drunken state in which she’d found him. She had been shocked. The guy was so self-destructive he made Hemingway seem like a lightweight, but for some reason he had trusted Zoe. She had cleaned him up, brought him back to LA in secret, and rented him a secluded, light-filled house in Malibu where he could write, and dry out. She hadn’t even told Maggie that Hugh was in LA. ‘He trusts me,’ was all she said with a shrug.

Jeff nodded and shook his head. ‘You know I’m gonna try to screw you on the backend deal,’ he said.

‘You can try, but I doubt you’ll succeed,’ she answered, and for a brief moment, she saw respect in his eyes.

‘Come and see me tomorrow. I’ll get my assistant to call yours,’ he said.

‘So we have a deal?’ Zoe asked.

‘No, we don’t have a fucking deal! I asked for a meeting, not to fucking marry you.’

Zoe resisted the urge to punch him in his handsome but arrogant face.

Men like Jeff made her angry. Angry that they had more power than her and angry that she was just as deserving yet was still overlooked because she was a woman.

‘Okay, then you won’t mind if I go and meet with Harvey before you?’ she asked, using one of her last cards.

But what she understood about men like Jeff Beerman was that he hated competition of any kind.

Jeff stared at her, making her feel like she was twelve years old again and under the eyes of the social worker. Judging, assessing, making plans for her that weren’t in her best interest.

A small amount of bile rose in her throat but she swallowed it down with a sip of champagne.

‘Jesus, you’re a bitch, Greene,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘Why?’ she challenged, the heat rising in her cheeks. She couldn’t tell if it was him or the champagne that was making her flushed. ‘Because I want what I want? You get to be ambitious but I’m a bitch? I’m disappointed in you, Jeff. I thought you were better than that.’

Actually, this was a lie. Jeff could be a misogynistic prick, whose three ex-wives would all testify to the fact, but Zoe wanted to give him a chance to dig himself out of his gender-biased grave.

To his credit, Jeff took a moment and then looked Zoe in the eye. ‘You’re right, that was unfair. You’re not a bitch; you’re just a pain in the arse.’

Zoe laughed a little, despite herself. ‘You have no idea how big a pain in the arse I can be.’

Jeff put his hand out over the table. ‘You’ve got a deal,’ he said. ‘Bring yourself to my office tomorrow to discuss the terms.’

Zoe took his hand in hers, feeling the smooth skin of a man who worked behind a desk all day.

‘Thank you, Jeff, you won’t regret it. This movie is going be a huge hit.’

‘It fucking better be. If it’s not, I’m gonna blame it all on you and you’ll never eat lunch in this town again.’

Zoe smiled. ‘That’s okay, I don’t eat lunch anyway,’ she said, and without a backwards glance, she walked out of the room that everyone wanted to be inside.

Outside, in the crisp midnight air, she handed the valet parking attendant the ticket for her Jaguar and shivered, not from the cold, but from the feeling that there was something exciting in the air.

She laughed as she got into the car and she thought about Jeff saying she was too old for him. The last thing she wanted was to be the next Mrs Beerman. She wanted something bigger than that: she wanted to be the next Jeff Beerman.

After nearly twenty years in Hollywood, Zoe Greene had finally got the break she needed, and she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way.