Picture Perfect

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.’