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The agent began the introductions:
"Miss Hepburn, this is Michael Viner. He was originally a film and record producer. In 1985, he founded Dove Audio, a rising star in the audiobook industry.
"And this is his wife, Deborah Raffin. She's also a Hollywood actress and was nominated for Best Actress in a Motion Picture at the Golden Globes in 1981 for Touched by Love."
Audrey greeted Mr. Viner warmly with a handshake, then exchanged a cheek-to-cheek kiss with fellow actress Raffin, signaling a certain closeness.
Once everyone was seated, the coffees Henry had pre-ordered arrived—but Michael Viner couldn't wait. He immediately pulled out a stack of documents from his briefcase, nearly covering the table.
"Miss Hepburn," Michael began eagerly, "this idea of yours—an audiobook in the style of a radio play—is something my wife and I have actually discussed before.
"In short, the format would be one character telling stories, framing the entire audiobook. For the inner stories, we'd adapt works by Mrs. Marie Shelton.
"Options include Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, and other classics adapted into Disney films. There are no copyright issues here—Disney's claims don't extend to audiobook adaptations of the original works.
"Our plan is to select four to five stories, along with the storyteller's framing tale, to form about an hour of content. We'll also add music, rather than letting the narration alone carry the entire production.
"Of course, this may risk diverting attention from the narrator. But I believe you, Miss Hepburn, wouldn't mind such things if it meant achieving a richer, more outstanding result."
Audrey raised an eyebrow with curiosity. "It sounds promising. Why didn't you produce it earlier?"
Michael gave a wry smile.
"Until now, the audiobook market has been dominated by the text itself. Many buyers don't even care who the narrator is.
"My approach, on the other hand, further deemphasized the narrator, so I couldn't find anyone willing to collaborate. Hiring small actors cheaply didn't work either—their delivery simply wasn't strong enough.
"So the project stayed shelved—until you expressed interest in doing something exactly like this. That's the opportunity we've been waiting for."
Audrey glanced down at the pile of documents. At the center lay a script titled The Enchanted Fairy Tales of Madame d'Aulnoy.
"This is… a script?" she asked.
Michael explained:
"Yes. My wife and I outlined it, then had someone polish it into dialogue form. The premise is that a French lady recalls her childhood, when composer Maurice Ravel visited her family and told her stories.
"If you agree to join this production, the lead role would be adapted for you, performed as yourself. And don't worry—you'd only need to record in a studio. It won't be physically demanding."
By now, Audrey's health issues were something of an open secret. After all, she had already suspended her UNICEF Goodwill Ambassador duties. Anyone who wanted to know the reason could.
Any publisher that required her to do signings or promotional tours had been eliminated from consideration from the start.
The only sound at the table for a while was the turning of pages.
Unlike the many stars with reading difficulties who needed scripts read aloud and explained to them, Audrey was a lifelong reader. She skimmed swiftly through the text—though her presbyopia made standard typewriter fonts a little troublesome.
Still, she managed to finish in one go. Smiling, she remarked:
"This story is already quite complete. And the planned score is Mother Goose Suite?"
"Yes," Michael replied. "Also by Maurice Ravel."
"And how do you intend to handle the music?"
"If we can collaborate with you, Miss Hepburn," Michael said, "I plan to bring in a symphony orchestra. Everything must be done to the highest standard.
"There's no need to chase only the most famous orchestras. Hollywood has many excellent ensembles. And since you're Hollywood's own, you surely know this better than I do."
Audrey didn't dispute it. She reached into her handbag for a pen, pointed at the script, and asked, "May I?"
"Of course, of course!" Michael said, beaming.
Audrey then discussed certain passages with Michael and Deborah. Since Deborah had helped conceive the original outline, she had plenty of input.
It was the kind of conversation usually reserved for the production stage. Yet here they were, not even under contract.
From Audrey's demeanor, however, it was nearly certain she intended to collaborate with the couple. She wasn't inclined to wait around for other publishers to pitch alternatives.
Such was the entertainment industry—rarely about "fair competition," but rather about who showed up prepared first.
Still, this was only their initial meeting. The materials in front of Audrey weren't final drafts, so the discussion was kept light. Michael and Deborah still had much to refine before it could become a true production plan.
As for the actual contract negotiations, Audrey would, as always, leave that to her agent.
But some conditions she preferred to state directly. She said:
"I would like the proceeds from this audiobook—after costs are covered—to be donated to charity."
The agent asked, "Miss Hepburn, shall it go to UNICEF?"
"Yes. I imagine the sum won't be large—it will be more of a steady trickle. UNICEF is certainly an option. But do you have other suggestions?"
The audiobook market wasn't insignificant, but compared to the millions raised at her New York fundraisers for UNICEF, the revenue would be modest.
At that moment, Deborah Raffin offered:
"Miss Hepburn, if you'd consider another cause, how about the ASPCA—the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals?
"Their headquarters is here in New York. They've been working since 1866 to provide effective means for protecting animals from abuse."
Audrey nodded. "All right. Agent, please investigate this ASPCA for me, and I'll decide later. As for the negotiations, I'll leave them to you."
With that, she rose to leave. Everyone else stood as well to see her off. Henry, as always, followed quietly in her shadow like a transparent little assistant.
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