Chapter 102 – "Joker" First Choice Also Gone!
Why did Cameron Diaz take the initiative to date Wayne? It certainly wasn't out of some cheesy romantic attraction. Sure, there might've been a little mutual interest, but the real reasons were money and publicity.
For a rising actress, maintaining a glamorous lifestyle isn't easy—makeup, wardrobe, personal upkeep—it's all expensive. Wayne, on their very first meeting, gifted her a full set of Chanel's latest season collection, worth over a hundred thousand dollars. That might be nothing to Wayne, but for someone like Cameron Diaz, still early in her career, it was a huge deal.
"You look smokin' today, sweetheart," Wayne said as he gave the casually dressed woman beside him a long, appreciative look. Tight jeans and a fitted tee—she had the wholesome charm of the girl next door.
"You're really different from how I imagined models to be," he added.
Cameron sipped her chilled juice while reaching over to pet the two golden retrievers lazing beside them. "What did you imagine? Drunk, drugged-up, strung out, chaotic personal lives? Or maybe wild lesbian experimentation?"
"No, nothing like that," Wayne chuckled. "I meant you don't have that ultra-skinny frame—at least I can't see your ribs. That's rare among models."
She set down her drink, exhaled deeply, and nudged him with her shoulder before flopping down beside him and resting her head on his arm.
Up close, her face—youthful, playful, radiant—smiled up at him. "Don't pretend you don't know. You've been all over the gossip columns. Naomi Watts, Halle Berry—weren't they both models before hitting it big?"
Something seemed to click in her mind. She perked up excitedly, crawling on top of Wayne and staring him in the eyes.
"You've got a type! You like models who just left the runway. We've still got the body, but with a bit more curve. Admit it!"
She'd nailed it.
Thanks to the Eastern soul residing within him, Wayne preferred tall, slim women with a bit of softness—none of the exaggerated 'bombshell' curves that Westerners often found sexy. But there was one more unspoken standard: they also had to be pretty. Not in the harsh, angular way some Westerners admired, but in a delicate, universally appealing way—soft, symmetrical beauty.
Wayne wrapped his arm around Cameron's waist to keep her from rolling off the lounger. "So you've discovered my secret, huh? Careful—I might have to silence you," he teased. "Honestly though, I'm just curious. What's the real lifestyle like for most models?"
"Lifestyle?" Cameron asked, raising an eyebrow as his hand casually roamed over her.
"I've only met a few models, and they were all pretty exceptional. You can't possibly be representative of the entire industry. Most of them, I assume, live in the kind of messy, unstable environment you described—no long-term plans, no career vision. What happens when they're no longer young and marketable? Modeling has such a short shelf life."
"Then most just try to marry rich before their youth fades," she replied bluntly, falling silent afterward. "That's the only real 'exit strategy' most girls have."
"And why are you so curious about the modeling industry anyway?" she asked.
Wayne smiled. "Because you're a model—even if you're not walking the runway anymore."
Cameron rolled her eyes, flopped back beside him, and let out a soft sigh.
She knew very well—on the surface, Wayne seemed like the perfect man. Polite, well-mannered, attentive. But she was no fool—she was smarter than most men, in fact. Even during their first meeting, she had noticed something important: Wayne's polished manners only ran skin-deep. He didn't see women as equals. He looked at her like she was a toy. Or a pet.
That's why she kept her mind sharp. She was here for the perks—money, exposure, the social boost. Wayne, in turn, got her body... and her dignity.
It was a transaction, pure and simple. Sure, he might be generous, but only when he was in a good mood. That's why Cameron constantly reminded herself not to fall for his sweet words.
"Remember what I said last time?" she murmured, referring to when he'd dropped her off at her apartment. "I told you... anytime you want me, I'm yours—"
"But hey, I recently auditioned for a film. It's a lead role. The budget isn't huge, but it's still a real opportunity for me. If you've got time, you're welcome to drop by the set sometime."
Lead role? New movie?
Wayne's hand, which had been absentmindedly stroking her thigh, froze mid-motion.
That's right—this girl was about to blow up. One movie could change a life.
Wait—no! Wayne suddenly shot upright.
"What's wrong?" Cameron was startled by his reaction.
He grabbed a cigarette from the table, lit it silently, and shook his head. "Nothing. Just… remembered something."
But internally, Wayne was screaming:
"Damn it! I acted too late—my 'Joker' is gone!!!"
If there was one person in this era he thought was born to play the Joker, it was Jim Carrey.
Anyone who thought Jim Carrey was just a silly comedy actor was seriously mistaken. The man was the Joker—his whole life was practically a Joker origin story. From a young age, he had mastered exaggerated facial expressions and body language. As a teen, he honed his skills performing slapstick and stand-up in clubs and bars.
If it weren't for the depression and the string of tragedies—like the suicide of his girlfriend—he might've stuck around in the spotlight much longer.
Some fans in the future would even argue Jim Carrey was more perfect for the Joker than Joaquin Phoenix—because Carrey didn't need to play the clown. He was one.
"You landed a role in The Mask, didn't you?" Wayne asked, still unwilling to give up entirely.
"Yeah!" Cameron beamed. "How did you know?"
Wayne's heart sank. So it was true.
There was nothing to be done now. Life didn't always go according to plan.
Staring at the sweet and sexy woman beside him, Wayne decided to redirect his energy—into something more physical.
"This industry has no secrets," he replied casually, glancing around. Since Cameron arrived, the security and gardeners had all discreetly disappeared. Even Hela and her husband had slipped into the main house.
Wayne let his hand trail lightly over her thigh and said with mock innocence, "Didn't you say on the phone you'd learned a few new tricks?"
"Here?" Cameron's eyes widened in mock horror. No matter how open-minded she might be, a girl still needed her dignity. "Daddy... you're not just wild, you're a bit of a perv."
Despite her teasing tone, she slowly began slipping off her clothes…
Under the warm California sun, with two annoyed golden retrievers wandering back to the main house, the two of them lay together under a wide parasol, sharing a blanket and watching the garden in peaceful silence.
"You hungry?" Wayne asked, just as Cameron was about to doze off.
"I'm okay. I can wait till dinner."
Wayne groaned a little as he got up and stretched his sore back. This woman was relentless. Skilled, bold, and absolutely uninhibited—sometimes he even wondered if he was the one being played.
"Let's head inside. Take a shower. You can tell the housekeeper what you'd like for dinner—she'll make it happen."
They strolled leisurely back to the house. As soon as they entered the living room, they spotted Jimmy and Nina both glued to the TV.
Wayne glanced at Cameron and gave her a subtle nod toward the stairs. She took the hint and headed off to wash up.
"When did you get here?" Wayne asked Jimmy as he sat down next to him. "You didn't call."
Jimmy's expression was a mix of amusement and resignation. How could he even begin to answer that? Should he say, I walked in while you were going at it with your girlfriend on the lawn, so I decided not to disturb you?
Call? With that kind of action going on in the front yard, who the hell would dare? Nina? Sergei?
Jimmy mentally ranted about his wild client but kept a completely straight face, acting as though nothing had happened.
"News from John," Jimmy said, skipping the small talk. "Warner Bros. is about to approve the script. Take a look at this—it's a resume and reel from a commercial director. If you want to finalize a first assistant director before the contract is signed, you might want to consider him."
Wayne nodded. Once he was in work mode, he could tune out anything unrelated.
"Nina," he called, handing the VHS tape to his assistant, who promptly began fiddling with the player.
The screen lit up with a commercial—a perfume ad. It was long, clearly a director's cut and not something meant for TV.
Then another clip rolled—similar style, this time for a cosmetics brand. Wayne watched patiently, analyzing the camera work, lighting setups, and artistic choices.
Finally, a short two-minute experimental film played. Dark tones, somber pacing, even a couple of gory shots. Nina winced and looked away, clearly not a fan of this style.
But Wayne? His eyes lit up. He nodded thoughtfully, clearly impressed.
Once the screen went snowy, he finally asked, "This director clearly did his homework on me. He's put in some real effort. What's his name?"
"Zack," Jimmy replied. "Zack Snyder. He's based in New York—mainly does commercials for now."