"It must be a kind of innate talent," Agatha sipped her after-dinner coffee. "I mean, sure, her fundamentals still have plenty of flaws—far from solid. You could easily pick out a dozen shortcomings. But none of that registers when she's performing. You could call it passion—or rather, the passion in her performance overshadows everything else."
"That's the kind of talent we're lacking," Rob agreed, his expression turning thoughtful. "In fact, it's the rarest quality in this entire industry."
"But you can't exactly call her a flash-in-the-pan kind of actress," Agata gestured toward Jenny. "Or an experiential genius. We've all seen those intensely charismatic, idiosyncratic actors—Johnny Depp, Phoenix River. Jenny is a completely different type. You could even say she has a dual personality. Off-screen, she's one kind of presence—quiet, unassuming, making you question your own judgment, Rob—"
Rob chuckled softly. "But when she perks up and truly begins to perform, it's an entirely different display."
"Exactly. That's a whole other story," Agatha affirmed. "Of course, I've seen her work on CSI, and what intrigues me now is how she approached both Vanita and Roxie. You know, these two roles share a common thread, yet you handled them completely differently."
Jenny, who had been sitting quietly while they discussed her, was finally brought into the conversation—after the audition, the theater had no further plans for her, so Rob genuinely invited her over for dinner at his place, along with his good friend Agatha.
During the post-dinner drinks earlier, Agatha and Rob had both raved about Jenny's "amazing talent," leaving her to listen with a slightly nervous smile. These two industry heavyweights truly lived up to their reputations—their outsider critiques of her performance were so spot-on that Jenny felt a cold sweat break out.
"True, both Vanita and Roxie seem like arrogant beauties," Jenny said, "but I think their differences are quite distinct. The most obvious point is that Vanita is intelligent and elegant—she's a strong character, so audiences easily forgive her crimes. After all, we all admire strength to some degree. But Roxie is ignorant and vain. She's weak. She can't stir the audience to cheer for her. So like her lawyer Billy, they'll admire her wonderful singing and dancing while fully aware of her ugly nature, shaking their heads with pity and smiling." As a microcosm of the era, Roxie taps into the audience's sympathy. That's why when portraying Vanita, restraint is key, but with Roxie, you must be more expressive and exaggerated."
Agatha and Rob exchanged glances, both smiling and nodding. Rob shook his head. "I really don't know where you get these theories, Jenny. You're barely out of high school, yet you talk like a UCLA graduate."
"And her learning speed," Agatha added, having had a few drinks with dinner, making her more talkative. "It baffles me, honestly. Jennifer, I've taught far more gifted students than you. Even now, I don't think your natural talent—your vocal quality, your range—surpasses some of my star pupils. But your rate of progress astonishes me. Rob, can you believe it? She corrected her vocal habits and rewired her muscle memory in just five days. If I hadn't witnessed it myself, I'd call it absurd. No one—absolutely no one—can overhaul deeply ingrained vocal habits in days. Typically, it takes three to four months of relentless practice before students begin to shift, then another four months to solidify those new habits. This process can involve excruciating setbacks—one slip and you revert to the old, more comfortable way of speaking. But with you, it's as simple as eating Cheetos: a few crunches, and everything changes."
Jenny understood this was the power of her golden finger. After all, Agatha's other students didn't share her urgent need to correct their vocal habits. They could practice just one hour a day, making gradual improvements over months. Even if they wanted to push harder, they had to be mindful of vocal cord health. Her golden finger gave her a massive advantage here: first, she effectively had three times the daily practice time of others; second, she didn't need to worry about physical limitations. So this outcome wasn't about any innate talent—it was simply that she was ruthless with herself, willing to put in the grueling work.
Of course, she couldn't tell Agatha the truth. Jenny took a sip of soda. "It probably has to do with some of my habits. I like to fully understand things before diving in. It was the same with Roxie and Vanita—once you grasp a character deeply, portraying them becomes less daunting. For me, the hardest part of learning new skills is the process of understanding and deconstructing them. Once that's done, the practice and refinement come much easier."
That was one way to look at it. Both Rob and Agatha nodded in agreement. Rob added, " "I think Cesare made a spot-on decision casting you in the musical. He must have recognized this trait in you. A good agent doesn't just negotiate contracts and inflate fees—they also create growth opportunities for their talent. Since you're this deconstructive learner, starring in a musical for several months will sharpen your grasp of the entire piece's emotional rhythm. You'll better understand how to convey a story's expression through its exposition, rising action, climax, and resolution. This will undoubtedly benefit your future as a leading actress. Without understanding how a complete work is performed, you'll struggle to gauge emotional weight during a film's fragmented shooting process—an expressive flaw that can't be fixed in post-production. When audiences watch your performance, they'll perceive it as disjointed and inconsistent. While the pay for a musical lead may be lower than a film supporting role, it offers far better training for an actress with your promising future."
Jenny felt she gained immensely from this dinner. The guidance offered by these two industry heavyweights, though seemingly abstract and lacking the direct incentive of "I have a role waiting for you," provided invaluable direction for her future development and priorities. Jenny knew her acting skills were far from polished—she was essentially coasting on her golden ticket. Setting aside the goal of shedding that advantage entirely, she understood that to integrate it into her core abilities and wield it with ease, she needed to keep pushing herself to improve and find ways to elevate her craft.
Of course, she understood that Roberto and Agatha wouldn't lavish such care on a stranger without reason. Had her demeanor failed to impress them, even Cesare's connections might not have secured such guidance.
Such matters follow the adage: "The master leads you to the door; cultivation depends on the individual." While Cesare is an exceptionally powerful agent, at least part of her current resources are earned through her own efforts. So don't be fooled by magazine articles often touting an actor's 'depth' or "erudition"—it's become a cliché. To infiltrate the elite director's circle, secure resources, and vie for Best Actor or Actress awards, you genuinely need that caliber of expertise. Take Titanic, for instance. No matter how skilled Cesare was, she couldn't have pushed Jenny into the lead role. In that scenario, whoever won James Cameron's admiration held the advantage. So who would Cameron favor more? An actress he naturally clicked with, or a young heartthrob he couldn't connect with at all?
The point is, if Jenny ever truly establishes herself in the director's circle and becomes close friends with five or six major directors, Cesare's role in her life would diminish significantly—even become dispensable. —Of course, achieving that level of influence wouldn't happen overnight. For now, she still needs Cesare—and desperately so. After all, if she can see this, others surely can too. Actresses with strong connections to major directors often become her fiercest competitors. Without Cesare's help, she might never overcome the hurdle of landing a leading role in a big-budget film by a renowned director.
Thus, for Jenny, Rob—this future director—represented pure luck. He was still in the early stages of his directing career, and they could be said to have met when both were still unknown. Moreover, Rob was currently under immense pressure. Jenny seized every opportunity to express her confidence in Chicago, even going so far as to state the bold truth: "I believe it can win the Oscar for Best Picture." Though Robert thought she was exaggerating a bit, he clearly loved hearing it, laughing noticeably more often.
"You have to come to the party," Robert told her as they parted. "You should really enjoy yourself this holiday. I suspect it'll be your only chance for fun in quite a while."
With Christmas break approaching, Broadway tradition dictated that Jenny would likely receive her contract only after the theater's busiest holiday season ended. Then came intensive training and rehearsals, with her stage debut possibly delayed until the new season began in February. So she basically had no time to return to Los Angeles. Plus, this was the most expensive time of year for flights, and she couldn't afford it—the paycheck for Chicago hadn't arrived yet, and she was living off her savings. Of course, she also had neither the money nor the time for nearby travel. Had it not been for Rob's invitation, Jenny would likely have spent Christmas Eve at the theater—she didn't care much for these white people's holidays anyway.
"You'd better get on the company's good side," Agatha's parting advice was more practical. "Your sudden arrival will be a shock to many, so you'd better pull a few more tricks out of your hat—just like you mastered your vocal technique. I hope to hear good news when I return from Honolulu."
Unlike Rob, who had no interest in vacationing, she would be spending Christmas with her family in Hawaii and wouldn't return until late January.
Jenny braced herself for the cold reception she was bound to receive, offering a wry smile. "I'm not so confident about that."
"If you're truly outstanding, everything will change once the show opens," Agatha reassured her, though her tone betrayed her own lack of confidence....
The decision by the Schubert Theatre—or rather, James Schubert—came as little surprise. On Christmas morning, Cesare called Jenny to inform her the contract had been delivered to the CAA office.
"Four thousand dollars a week—not too high," Cesare said. "But I've left room for negotiation. That's your base pay for the first three months. After three months on stage, depending on attendance and reviews, there's potential for an increase."
Broadway understudies typically earned between $1,000 and $2,000 weekly, while leads often commanded over ten thousand—though exact figures varied by talent. Four thousand a week meant sixteen thousand monthly. For Jenny, this was solid income. Though perhaps below market rates, she was thoroughly satisfied. At least it covered her monthly expenses and eased her immediate financial strain.
"What's the contract length?" she asked. "One year?"
One year was the standard practice. Theater company actors typically signed annual contracts, and if their performance wasn't up to par that year, they might be let go the following year.
"Yours is a bit special—it's for two years," Cesare said. "But only six months of performances are guaranteed per year, and you'll only be performing Roxie."
Before Jenny could ask, he said, "Yes, I know you have a lot of questions, and the contract terms are a bit odd, but for now, I hope you won't ask any questions, remember? You should trust me."
"I'm willing to fight tooth and nail for this musical role—why wouldn't I trust you?" Jenny countered. "By the way, Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Cesare replied flatly. "You don't have any plans to go out these next few days, do you? Lillian and I will be returning to New York today. I'll make time to go with you to the theater company to sign the contract. Wait for my call."
Besides tonight's party, Jenny had no other plans. Driven by her eagerness to get paid, Cesare's words felt like a wonderful Christmas gift. With this contract, she could apply for union membership, finally joining the ranks of those eligible for various insurances—a step up in social standing.
Though their first meal together ended with her getting completely drunk, Jenny believed that was due to Rob's immense pressure. In daily life, he wasn't one for wild parties or excessive drinking. The Christmas party was actually a very classy family affair—in fact, Christmas parties were a distinctive feature of Broadway.
Traditionally, Christmas is akin to Chinese New Year—a time when everyone returns home to celebrate. But for Broadway, the holiday season also signifies a peak box office period, making it impossible for most staff to travel back to their hometowns. Moreover, the gay population in Broadway far outnumbers heterosexuals. Even those with stable partners generally don't have children, resulting in a relatively weak sense of family ties. Thus, on Christmas Eve, they prefer gathering in large groups for lively celebrations.
At Rob's place, for instance, numerous renowned Broadway directors and writers gathered, discussing industry topics. Jenny couldn't quite join the conversation yet; after listening for a while, she was pulled aside by the young hottie William to chat. William was accompanying his significant other tonight. Earlier, Jenny had been introduced to this influential figure—an executive at Jujamcyn, one of Broadway's three major production companies, and a close friend of Robert's. Clearly, Agatha, Robert, this big shot, and others formed a small, elite social circle within Broadway.
"I know you're Agatha's good student, so you can't smoke," William grumbled. "Now you won't even drink. Jen, you're such a killjoy. This is eggnog—don't you have any holiday spirit?"
"Alcohol and tobacco are both harmful to the vocal cords," Jenny teased William with a straight face. "Look at Agatha—she never smokes. I remember she told you to quit too. But when I walked out onto the balcony just now, I thought I saw something sparkling on someone's finger."
"You mean my ring?" " William feigned innocence, flashing the diamond ring on his finger. "The old man gave it to me for Christmas. Three carats."
"Hmm." Jenny was all too familiar with this kind of banter. She pulled William's hand toward her, feigning envy. "But that's a woman's ring. Are you sure it wasn't meant as my Christmas gift?"
William immediately tucked his hand behind his back, flashing a sly grin. "Who says men can't wear women's rings?"
He lit another cigarette and took a drag. "The fact you'd make a joke like that proves you've never heard of Jules before."
Jenny was left speechless—William's two sentences carried too much weight.
"Ah, there she is." Thankfully, before the awkwardness could settle, James Schubert interrupted, pushing open the balcony door with a large mug of eggnog in hand. "Merry Christmas, my Rochelle."
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Schubert." Jenny extended her hand, intending a handshake, but Schubert caught it and brought it to his lips for a light kiss, turning it into a hand-kissing gesture.
The moment he saw this, William slipped away silently, like a fish swimming past them. He didn't even exchange greetings with Schubert, and Jenny had no idea which corner he'd vanished into—Rob's Long Island house was spacious, and this terrace was particularly large. They occupied only one corner, while several other groups chatted together.
Jenny awkwardly withdrew her hand. Schubert didn't stop her, only saying, "Just call me James, Jennifer. You're being a bit too formal with me."
He shifted closer to her, though Jenny didn't find it strange. From the moment he pushed open the door and spoke his first words, she'd had a distinct feeling (William had surely noticed it too—Fuck, this guy was sharp as hell) that James was after her. As for what exactly he was after, well, that didn't need spelling out. Everyone probably knew.
You had to admit, he knew how to pick his moment. They already had a solid deal in place, but it wasn't signed yet. Right now was when Jenny was least likely to want to cross him. Once the contract was signed, she could completely ignore him.
"Alright, James." " she said, her mind racing through every detail about James Schubert. Of course, she didn't want to seem too easy—like he could just flirt with her and she'd fall for it—but she also didn't want to upset him now. So she had to find a way to refuse him without hurting his feelings. "Aren't you being a little too enthusiastic with me?"
James tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Really? I thought nothing was too much for my leading lady."
He was decent enough—not the pushy type. Though he flirted openly, he kept his hands to himself. Overall, he was expressing his interest rather than exploiting their power imbalance to take advantage of her.
What Jenny needed to figure out now was whether he genuinely wanted to court her or was simply leveraging his position to demand sexual favors. Either way, she decided to create some distance first. "So, shouldn't you be even more enthusiastic toward those choreographers and directors in the back room? After all, they say it's not the actors who determine a musical's fate, but the choreographers and directors."
James suddenly burst out laughing, taking a step back. "Looks like I scared you. Relax, Jennifer—your hair's standing on end. Don't worry, your fears are unfounded. I was just joking with you."
Though relieved, Jenny almost slapped him: This man was utterly tedious and peculiar. Not only had he spent the past hour scrutinizing her, but now he was cracking such a vile joke. Did he really think she'd find it amusing?
"Heh," she forced a laugh. Hearing James's laughter grow louder, she simply reached out and gave his arm a light flick. "Done laughing? Hope you're still laughing when you get that lawyer's letter tomorrow."
"Insufficient evidence, right? A few words don't constitute sexual harassment." James wasn't the type to take jokes badly; Jenny's retort only amused him further. "But you handled it well. Hope you perform just as well at the client appreciation dinner. Though the odds are slim, it might save you from having to play the flute for those fat pigs."
He watched Jenny's expression freeze, then couldn't help but laugh again—apparently, this might be a joke after all.
Jenny slapped him again in anger, but the distance between them suddenly closed, erasing their earlier awkwardness. "You know you're really boring, right?"
James took a sip of his drink, ending the banter. " Actually, you're right. Compared to actors, theater managers value connections with directors and choreographers more."
He gestured toward the crowd inside, his smile fading slightly as he grew serious. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have come here after the Christmas dinner—Rob's Christmas party is packed with big names. Over 80% of the choreographers for next year's new musicals are drinking in that room right now."
"Then you shouldn't be wasting time on me," Jenny said, half-joking. "Your stage is inside."
"They're important, certainly. But my new Roxie is just as important," James replied. "Want some more drink? No?"
"I don't drink," Jenny said. "Protecting my vocal cords, you know."
"Good." James didn't seem like Cesare—though he was serious at work (not that he was overly so)—and in private, he wasn't stingy with praise. "I like your professional attitude."
He simply clinked glasses with Jenny using a large cup. "Sorry I didn't seem very enthusiastic at the audition that day. I've been swamped with work lately and haven't had a chance to meet with you. Truth is, we need to talk properly. I want you to understand what your Locksey means to me. This is a major project Cesare and I have planned for a long time. Casting you was my last available card to play. You'll be my primary focus these next few months. I hope you can get used to my presence."
The words "major project" alone had already stirred something within Jenny. By the time James mentioned the last card, the alarm bells in her mind were ringing wildly: Just as she suspected, Cesare had gone to extraordinary lengths behind the scenes to secure her selection.
Not only was she intrigued by his tactics, but she also desperately wanted to know what this grand plan actually entailed.
Based on her limited understanding of Cesare, she knew asking more questions would be futile if he didn't want to tell her. But James seemed to have had a bit to drink and was now in that talkative phase after a few drinks—
This was her chance.