The contract for Chicago was signed, and this minor role—with less than three minutes of screen time—earned Jenny thirty thousand dollars.
Of course, compared to the two leading ladies' paychecks, thirty thousand dollars was practically nothing. Jenny's fee might not even match that of the female prisoner who shared the scene with her and had even less screen time, let alone the warden, "Mama." Still, $30,000 matched the average annual income in the U.S. back in 2001. After taxes and commissions, Jenny would have over $20,000 left—enough to live on for several months even if she quit her dog-walking job.
The catch was the payment schedule. Unlike CBS, which paid upon completion, CBS paid only after filming wrapped. In other words, she was still broke—all but a small deposit was a distant prospect.
The next audition was nowhere in sight, but Jenny was already busy again. Lillian, Dave, Lynch, George Edes, Emma Swan—all had called to congratulate her on landing the role. Naturally, dinner invitations followed. Were it not for her nightly dog-walking duties, Jenny's social life would be even more vibrant; the sheer volume of party invitations she received was staggering.
This marked a shift in her social life. On the work front, Cesare had arranged accent classes for her, intensively honing her British accent. She was even taking cultural courses teaching her about ancient customs—specifically those of Britain's Victorian era, corresponding to America's Civil War period—along with the manners and speech of women from that time. Beyond that, Jenny was taking martial arts lessons, covering everything from basic punches and kicks to fencing and horseback riding.
She suspected the tuition for all these courses had already exceeded her pay from Chicago. While Cesare undoubtedly had a training budget, her receiving such extensive training meant other artists under his management had fewer opportunities for professional development.
However, she hadn't met any of Cesare's other clients yet. According to Jim, they were mostly B- or C-list performers, each busy with their own careers. Besides, Jenny rarely attended parties, so she rarely had the chance to meet them. Cesare didn't seem inclined to introduce them either.
Being under the same agent didn't mean they needed to be close personally. Supporting each other publicly for publicity was one thing, but privately, resources were limited. With only so much the agent could offer, competition was inevitable. Take Jenny, for instance. Today, Cesare brought only her as a new talent. If another newcomer had been added, wouldn't the others resent her hogging so many training opportunities?
Beyond these sessions, she must attend pre-production training for the upcoming musical Chicago. Neither of the two leading ladies had relevant experience, and even Richard Gere required dance coaching. Supporting actors like Jenny, regardless of screen time, received corresponding lessons—though significantly fewer hours than the leads. By the time Jenny auditioned, Renée Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones had each already trained for two months.
Naturally, she resumed her busy, penniless, and hungry existence. The only consolation was that the training regimen included numerous song-and-dance segments, providing some physical exertion. Combined with her daily runs while walking the dog, she managed to maintain enough activity to justify moderate calorie intake without resorting to extreme dieting to keep her figure.
"Alright, now say a few lines in a Scottish accent." The accent coach pinched her fingers. "Key points: the 'th' sound, the trill. Just say whatever comes to mind. Go on, give me a few lines."
How desperately Jenny wished she were in a Chinese accent class or an Asian accent class instead. She nearly rolled her eyes. "I'm starving to death! Give me a piece of meat, or I might eat someone!"
"That's pure bandit-style phrasing, but without the bandit-style roughness in your pronunciation. You haven't mastered the elision properly." The teacher began nitpicking. "Now I'll repeat that sentence. Listen to how it differs from yours."
During the hour-long accent class, Jenny felt her pronunciation habits were like a helpless little girl being tossed around and abused by vicious bandits. She was starting to forget how to speak her usual accent. "Are you really starving?" After class, several classmates teased Jenny with laughter, mocking her abysmal performance in the accent lesson. "You repeated that line at least dozens of times in class, sis. You made me hungry just listening to you."
"I really am starving," Jenny said weakly. "Now, please, have mercy. Can we stop talking about this? If you keep it up, my stomach will start digesting itself."
Her class wasn't one-on-one, though there weren't many students. The tuition was steep, and few took it purely out of interest unless it was professionally necessary. Among Jenny's seven or eight classmates, more than half were relatively unknown actors, mostly supporting roles in TV series, pursuing self-improvement for career advancement. The remaining three or four had no connection to the entertainment industry whatsoever, attending purely out of interest. One had the strangest reason: after 9/11, he developed a paranoid delusion that the entire world hated Americans. Yet he loved traveling abroad, so he wanted to learn foreign accents to pretend to be a foreigner while overseas...
While America is generally a rather dull, puritanical nation—over 90% of its small towns likely offer far less excitement than Chinese stereotypes suggest—this is Los Angeles, California. This is Hollywood, the nation's most affluent metropolis. And one universal truth holds true: individuality finds its greatest liberation in big cities. So even though his reasoning was absurdly childish, the worldly Hollywood drifters accepted it quite naturally.
The guy who'd just come over to chat with Jenny and tease her was this same person. While most classmates hurried off after class, he was still leisurely packing up his things. "Since you're hungry and I'm hungry, why don't we grab something to eat together?"
"Forget it, Will," Jenny rolled her eyes. "Can you please stop trying? I won't go out with you for dinner, coffee, or drinks."
He wasn't her first suitor. When she worked as a waitress, many customers asked for her number. But most men had their pride around beautiful women—after a few subtle or direct rejections, they usually gave up. Take her accent coach, for instance. He'd tried asking her out too, but after a few rejections, he'd backed off.
Will, however, was an exception. He embodied the essence of the saying "persistence pays off with the most stubborn women." He'd been relentless since the day he first saw Jenny.
"Come on, at least join me for one party," Will insisted, following Jenny out of the classroom. "Aren't you an actress? I could introduce you to the Backstreet Boys. You know Nick Carter? The hottest one—"
Jenny rolled her eyes again. "Yes, I know you have a famous sister, Will—"
Will corrected, "Cousin."
"Okay, cousin." Jenny pressed the elevator button. "Isn't that perfect? Paris is the style icon for every girl in New York. She's surrounded by gorgeous women, right? Go ahead, have her introduce you to one. It'll be way more efficient than pestering me."
Yes, Will's surname was Hilton, and he was one of the heirs to the Hilton hotel empire. Jenny couldn't possibly ask about his exact inheritance share, but she knew his family was wealthy enough to fund his two-year global travels as a gap year before entering society after college. Their connections were also powerful enough to get this boy—who, by all accounts, didn't seem particularly outstanding—into Yale. In short, for her current circumstances, Will was a genuinely good outlet. If she hadn't chosen to pursue a career in Hollywood, securing a wealthy heir like Will and marrying into a prominent family would indeed have been an excellent option.
But then again, she'd already made that choice in her past life. Her ex-husband had been even better than Will Hilton—at least he was the sole heir to a vast fortune, wielding both power and wealth, and far more mature than Will. —She knew all too well how that marriage had ended.
Of course, the current Jenny wasn't about to be charmed by Will. What left her both amused and exasperated was that his apparent fascination seemed to grow stronger precisely because of her aloofness.
"But none of them are you," he pleaded, batting his eyelashes at her. "Please, please? Just one date. I promise I'll never bother you again."
She couldn't deny he was quite handsome. Hilton descendants naturally had brown hair—Will hadn't followed his cousins' trend of dyeing it blonde. With his brown hair and blue eyes, he was a classic East Coast American heartthrob. For a wealthy young man, he was surprisingly unpretentious, not the type decked out in designer labels and luxury watches. If he hadn't revealed his family background to attract her, Jenny would have had a hard time connecting him to Paris Hilton.
"Setting aside how much I doubt the truth of your last statement," Jenny exhaled, "even if I wanted to agree, I simply don't have the time, Will. My play starts filming in a few days, and classes will be on hold. Here's the deal: if you're willing to wait—and promise not to contact me while you wait—then before you leave for your trip abroad, I'll go on one date with you. Is that acceptable?"
She ultimately decided to compromise, not because she was moved by Will's sincerity, but because this guy had somehow gotten her phone number. Plus, Chen Zhen still had a bit of that Eastern mindset—unless backed into a corner, she didn't want to burn bridges with Will. And—to be honest—he wasn't all that unpleasant, just not part of her plans.
"What is this? A pity date?" Will put on a hurt expression.
"Oh, if you feel insulted, you can totally say no," Jenny quickly added, sounding eager.
"I'm a man without pride," Will immediately changed his tune, grinning. "I'd be even happier if we could upgrade the pity date." (i.e., pity sex)
Speechless! Jenny rolled her eyes. "Nice try."
Will didn't get upset. He chatted with her about school stuff and mentioned his first stop on his international trip. "Amsterdam. It has to be Amsterdam. You know why."
The Netherlands had just legalized open drug sales in January 2001. For a non-mainstream young guy like Will, the Netherlands—with its red-light districts and coffee shops (the kind with soft drug menus)—was practically a holy land in his mind. Jenny shook her head, speechless. "Are you sure your parents will still pay for your trip once they find out why you're going to Amsterdam?"
"How would they know?" Will grinned. They descended to the parking garage together. "Aren't you letting me drive you home again today?"
"I drove my own car." Jenny pointed to her Passat.
"Are you sure you don't want to try my baby?" Will teased suggestively.
Whether intentionally or not, Will's car was parked right next to the Passat—a gleaming Ferrari. Jenny couldn't name the model, but she knew at a glance it was no entry-level sports car.
She flashed Will the middle finger as he caressed the fender affectionately. "Looks like you're enjoying yourself. Keep stroking it. I'm outta here."
Will jerked his hand up as if electrocuted, flashing Jenny a helplessly amused expression. She ignored him, climbed into her car, and backed out first.
But moments after leaving the garage, accompanied by a screeching roar of the engine, Will had already overtaken her. He laughed heartily, puckering his lips at Jenny in a gesture that was both flirtatious and sincere, mimicking a kiss before accelerating and disappearing into the traffic.
Watching the Ferrari fade into the distance, Jenny paused, then couldn't help but smile and shake her head.
This was Hollywood—money within easy reach, temptation everywhere. With beauty, you could encounter heart-fluttering invitations anytime, anywhere. Take Will, for instance. For the original Jenny, his appeal would have been off the charts.
But what about Chen Zhen's version of Jenny?
All she could think about now was tomorrow's shoot. She wasn't worried about her own scenes—after several rehearsals, she was confident she wouldn't be any worse than Lucy Liu.
What did concern her, of course, was Renée Zellweger's attitude.
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Since I accidentally included the comments earlier, here's a little bonus chapter to make up for it.
A little over a month later
"Jenny's scenes should only take a few days to shoot. She'll probably call me, right?" Will thought as he got out of bed.
He decided to tuck his phone into his breast pocket, even though it looked a bit silly.
One month later
"Maybe Jenny did well and the director gave her extra scenes," Will consoled himself.
One and a half months later
"Maybe she's just waiting for me to contact her so she can tell me I'm out," someone still tried to stay optimistic.
Two months later
Will started calling Jenny, but no matter how many times he tried, she was always out of service. (Jenny was in a subway dead zone at the time)
Two and a half months later
"Jenny's a total fraud!" Will stormed onto IMDb, ready to expose her on her website.
After opening the site
"Wow, screenshots! And a download link for that episode she was in—I never found a rerun." Will clicked the link. "Let's see..."
One hour later
"Jenny is so beautiful..." Will picked up his phone. "I guess I'll just wait for her to call me..."