Chapter 103 – To Hell with Dawn of the Dead
The name "Zack Snyder" gave Wayne a jolt.
"Let me see his resume." He motioned toward the folder Jimmy had brought. Watching the VHS earlier, Wayne had thought the director seemed talented and clever—someone who had done his homework and clearly understood Wayne's style.
But now he realized—it wasn't just about currying favor. If this was the Zack Snyder from thirty years in the future, then the man definitely had the chops. The only question was: how much of that future genius had surfaced yet?
Pasted to the resume was a photo: Snyder wearing a white baseball cap, brown hair messy underneath, smiling like a goof.
Wayne chuckled. Young Zack Snyder didn't look anything like a big-shot director—he looked more like a brooding artsy film student.
What made it even funnier was that, based on appearance alone, you'd never guess this guy liked to shoot gritty, dark films laced with bleak human psychology.
"Zack Snyder, born March 1st, 1966, in Wisconsin. Graduated from ArtCenter College of Design. Started working in cinematography and directing in 1990, currently focused on commercials and music videos…" Jimmy recited softly while Wayne flipped through the resume.
There was a long list of projects, but most were indeed advertisements or music-related.
"Yeah, we can skip all this fluff." Wayne tossed the resume onto the coffee table, leaned back into the couch, and folded his arms. His fingers tapped rhythmically against his arm. "Zack Snyder's probably doing quite well in commercials, right? Coming to Hollywood might even mean a pay cut for him. You really think he'd be willing?"
An entry-level assistant director wouldn't be treated much better than an intern. Hollywood production companies didn't care how many successful commercials you'd shot—they only cared about your ability to generate box office results.
This was a capital-driven industry. The moment you made a commercially successful film, you had value. Warner Bros. would throw support behind Wayne unconditionally—but they wouldn't do the same for an unproven nobody.
"He'll say yes," Jimmy replied confidently. "We barely spread the word and already got submissions like this one." He tapped both the resume and the now-finished VHS tape. "Clearly, he's been waiting for his shot at Hollywood. And this guy's definitely keeping an eye on you."
"Set up a meeting tomorrow in L.A.," Wayne said. "Bring him here to the estate. If I like what I see, I'll try to get Warner Bros. on board."
Right now, Zack Snyder seemed like the best possible candidate. Wayne had no idea how bringing Snyder into Hollywood a full decade early might change things—but passing up on someone whose creative vision aligned so well with his own? That would be foolish.
"Got it." Jimmy nodded, packed his briefcase, and stood to leave.
The entire day had been full of... distractions. As soon as he'd stepped onto the estate, he'd witnessed something you'd expect to see in San Fernando Valley's wilder corners—let's just say Jimmy now had a lot of unprocessed capitalism-fueled envy in his system.
This was what all men in Hollywood fought for: power, money, and actresses. There really wasn't much else that could stir the blood of the successful.
"You're really impressed with this director?" Nina asked, removing the VHS from the player and stacking it with the resume.
Thinking about Snyder's future filmography, Wayne was convinced—Zack might be even more in sync with his creative style than his former classmate Luke had been.
"Huh?"
Wayne had a habit of zoning out when deep in thought, and Nina had seen it plenty of times—sometimes the man even let burning cigarettes scorch his fingers without noticing.
"I said," Nina repeated patiently, "you seem to think highly of this commercial director. I didn't quite get what he was going for… the footage was all dark and bloody. I had no idea what message he was trying to send."
Her puzzled look reminded Wayne of his own student days.
Back in his freshman year, all his experimental short films had been just like that—moody, provocative, driven by pure artistic intent. Most of his professors thought he'd gone completely off the rails. Only Professor Anderson Horowitz had ever understood his visual language.
"Nina, it's just an experimental reel," Wayne explained with a chuckle. "And honestly, it's a little test for me too. If I can't understand his visual language, then I'm not someone he'd feel comfortable working with."
"If you'd seen the shorts I shot in college," he added, "you'd notice the same style—shadowy, weird, disturbing stuff. Jimmy nearly ran off the first time he saw them."
Just then, a familiar voice rang out sweetly:
"Hey, darling—are you done with work?"
As soon as Wayne finished speaking, Cameron Diaz appeared at the corner of the second-floor landing and waved down at him.
"Alright, come down now."
Clearly, she had tact—she'd probably been standing there the whole time, waiting for Wayne's agent to leave before making a sound.
Nina glanced at the woman tabloid gossip dubbed an "easy girl" and stood up to head toward the guest room. She knew her boss well enough—not the time or place to linger.
"Hi, Ms. Klein."
Cameron, now in a loose bathrobe, greeted her cheerfully after coming down the stairs. She understood clearly: this plain-looking assistant was the one Wayne truly trusted.
"Hello, Ms. Diaz. Nice to meet you."
Nina, already halfway out, paused to politely shake hands. "I'll leave you two to it. I'm going to check on the goldens upstairs. If they've chewed the furniture again, the boss might just have a meltdown."
"Wait up, Nina!" Wayne called after her. "You haven't gone shopping in ages, and if I remember right, no one's been chasing after you lately—no boyfriend either."
That one nearly sent Nina into orbit.
She spent nearly every day on the estate or tagging behind Wayne wherever he went, constantly juggling calls with lawyer Ryan or accountant Colin. When exactly was she supposed to date?
She barely went back to her rented apartment anymore—might as well move in. Ever since that fluke encounter with Halle Berry, Wayne's attitude toward her had shifted, and nobody questioned her living arrangements since.
Ignoring Nina's reaction, Wayne headed up to the study, pulled open a drawer, and returned with a card. He placed it directly into her hand.
"I need time to think. Take Cameron out shopping. And get yourself something while you're at it—clothes, bags, whatever. Your boss just scored big today. No need to be frugal. Credit limit's $200,000. Go nuts."
Nina stared dumbfounded at the sleek black card in her hand—Wells Fargo's black-tier credit. Something she'd probably never own in her lifetime.
"Boss, you're too cool!"
Wayne was halfway upstairs when her voice rang out. He shook his head and smiled, stepping into the bathroom to shower.
If he didn't hold back with someone like Cameron Diaz, he certainly wasn't going to skimp with his real people. Nina's salary alone rivaled that of a mid-sized company executive.
Hot water steamed against the glass as Wayne whistled to himself in the mirror. Zack Snyder's unexpected emergence had completely wiped away his earlier frustration about losing both a first-choice assistant director and his "Joker" candidate.
"Come on—screw Dawn of the Dead. Come, Zack, skip all that and leap straight to your destiny!"
By the time the golden California sunlight faded and night fell, the two women returned, arms loaded with shopping bags. Even Sergei, their driver, trudged in behind them, face drained of life, hands weighed down by countless branded totes.
Sometimes, a little reward went a long way. Watching Nina move with renewed energy and enthusiasm, Wayne shook his head and chuckled behind his dinner table.
And it wasn't just Nina glowing with excitement—Cameron was nearly radiant. No sooner had they reached the third floor than she leaned close to Wayne's ear and whispered something that made his pulse spike.
Moments later, she was in his arms, and he was carrying her into the bathroom again, ready for an even bolder game than before.
---
The next morning, Wayne returned from jogging with his two golden retrievers to find that Cameron Diaz had already left the estate. She'd taken her half-day haul and gone off to prepare for her role as the female lead in a new comedy film—The Mask.
Meanwhile, as Wayne waited on a final word from Warner Bros., just a few blocks away in Burbank, on the third floor of the CAA building, someone else was talking about him.
Evan Martin sat at his desk, speaking to a guest in his office—a familiar figure with rugged charisma and a distinct Aussie accent.
"Mel," Evan said, shaking his head, "Wayne Garfield turned me down flat. Forget it. He's not the kind of director who shares power."
Seated across from him was none other than Australian actor and filmmaker Mel Gibson.