Jenny didn't ask him directly about his grand scheme with Cesare. Though they'd only met twice so far, she'd already gotten a handle on Jamie's character—put nicely, he was mischievous; put bluntly, he was a jerk. You couldn't take him seriously. Try to be earnest with him, and you'd be setting yourself up to be played. He'd tease you mercilessly before revealing the truth—a truth that was itself a mix of fact and fiction, impossible to disentangle.
"You decided to play your final card for me after just one meeting—albeit one that lasted an hour?" Jenny said, her tone half-joking. "Then forgive my bluntness, but either this isn't nearly your last card, or you're being awfully hasty."
"Isn't an hour enough to see through someone?" Jamie countered, his tone hinting at fierce self-assurance. "Fine, maybe not even an hour. The last half was purely for the pleasure of watching you endure me."
"You know you're sick as hell, right?" Jenny asked calmly.
Jamie laughed again, a hint of smugness in his voice. "People say that. But strangely enough, they usually end up liking me anyway."
The entertainment industry was full of oddballs. Chen Zhen had sensed it in her past life, and this lifetime only deepened her impression: the artsy director, the cheeky theater manager, the agent with a style straight out of a CEO-obsessed fantasy, and that cross-dressing industry mogul she'd glimpsed earlier... Probably because artists gathered here, everyone in this circle had personalities as bold as their brushstrokes.
She shrugged, listening as James continued his explanation.
"Of course, Cesare showed me that TV series of yours, and Rob even made an exception to let me watch some clips of your performances via video." James had regained his composure, radiating an air of elite professionalism. His authentic Upper East Side accent, clear and cool intonation, and expert demeanor elevated the entire atmosphere around him. "Your on-screen presence is entirely different from your real-life demeanor—I could sense that within minutes of meeting you. The real you is composed, ambitious, self-controlled, and handles roles with nuance. You can portray similar characters with distinct feelings—though now it's a third kind. The three female criminals you play are three distinct individuals, which is crucial. And of course, you're beautiful—no one can deny that."
He sipped his eggnog. "And with Cesare Viglieri as your agent, I was nearly convinced to push you as the next Rochelle. Even if your stage presence wasn't perfect, we'd have time to refine it—abandoning the idea was a last resort. But your audition made my persuasion much smoother and secured you a favorable contract through Cesare."
"Sounds like becoming your Roxie was quite the ordeal," Jenny remarked.
"You bet, lady." James snorted. "The thing is, you had no name recognition. If you were a Hollywood star, it would've been a different story. But now? You have no idea how hard I had to fight to get the higher-ups to accept Cesare's deal. The partnership nearly fell apart. Cesare insisted you be Roxie's lead actress. If not, the whole thing was off. Those old fogies initially wanted you as an understudy, guaranteed two appearances within three months, with more shows added later depending on attendance. When I said I played my last card for you, I wasn't joking. Come June, if attendance isn't up to par, we might both be out."
"What do you want me to do?" Jenny corrected herself. "Or rather, why do you insist on me—"
"Cesare hasn't told you anything?" Jamie countered.
"Cesare tells me next to nothing," Jenny admitted.
"Right, classic agent behavior." Jaime chuckled, hesitating before rubbing his hands and licking his lips. "Alright, let me unveil our grand plan—first, Jenny, allow me to introduce myself: the new manager of the Schubert Theatre, less than a year into the job."
"I thought you'd been in the business forever." " Jenny said doubtfully, knowing Agatha was closer to him and called him by his nickname, Jamie.
"Not everyone gets to step straight into the spotlight," Jamie said. "True, my last name is Schubert, but that only gave my career a tiny boost. The Schubert Theatre holds a special place in our company—you can tell just from the name. Anyway, after years of climbing over people's wrists, I finally got this position. But I wouldn't say I've secured it yet. Unfortunately, last year was a disaster—box office numbers tanked all fall and winter. Worst of all, current trends suggest next year might not be any better."
"And while there are many reasons, to your enemies, an ugly financial statement is a perfect weapon to attack you with. They couldn't care less about your hardships." Jenny added for him, "So you judge yourself to be at a disadvantage in the company's internal power struggles?"
"Quite a disadvantage," James said. "After 9/11, there were some personnel changes within the company. A director who had always appreciated my work went to Southeast Asia for PTSD treatment. In short, the past year hasn't been kind to me, and I need to make a breakthrough soon."
"And you've chosen me as your breakthrough," Jenny said.
"To be precise, Cesare knows my predicament and pitched a project to help me break through." Jamie glanced at her. "And you're a crucial part of that plan. With the right hype and packaging, we project attendance will rebound to pre-9/11 levels in the first year and grow in the second."
"So, the old question: why me?" Jenny asked for the second time. "Sure, I know I have certain advantages, but I'm not so special you'd bet on me, am I? Am I missing something?" "
"You are special, dear," James laughed—a business laugh. His gaze studied Jenny with the same calculation as that day outside the audition room, as if quantifying her into data points and plugging her into a formula. "We could certainly find established stars, but none of them have starred in the Chicago movie."
He paused dramatically before continuing, "And no one's beauty could indisputably outshine Renée Zellweger."
Jenny felt a vague sense of foreboding. Cesare's words suddenly came back to her: 'I want you to trample Renée Zellweger's performance underfoot on Broadway, making her the stepping stone to your rise.'
"So you're saying you plan to use me and Renée for publicity?" she asked. "How do you intend to package it? How will you promote it? 'She's prettier than the movie version of Roxie?'"
Jamie dramatically spread his hands in a gesture of modesty. "'Our Roxie is better'—what do you think of that tagline?"
Jenny stared at him, momentarily speechless. "Should I be grateful for your confidence? What if the critics don't buy it?"
"Yeah, that was my main concern before your audition. Of course I want you, but do we have to use that tagline? Does it have to be so uncompromising? Couldn't we soften the marketing strategy a bit, even if it sacrifices some impact?" " James said. "After all, Broadway thrives on word of mouth. There's no room for backfiring marketing. If we hype you up and you end up overshadowed by Renee, the whole theater will be embarrassed. But Cesare kept urging me to see your audition. 'Let her perform a scene—the hardest one,' he kept pitching. Plus, Agata recommended you, and Rob was absolutely raving about you."
"So you came. You watched me perform," Jenny said blankly.
"I came, I watched you perform, and I decided to adopt this publicity strategy," James raised his glass to her. "I think that's the highest compliment I could give you, don't you agree?"
Jenny didn't know what to say—Jamie believed her performance could crush Renee underfoot, convincing critics that 'Broadway's Roxie is better.' It was certainly a compliment, and she had no reason to be upset, but—
"Will Renee accept this?" she blurted out, immediately regretting the question's foolishness. She rephrased, "This effectively tramples on Rob's film. Are you sure he won't mind? Does he know about your PR plan?"
"Without Rob's consent, how did Cesare get him to endorse you?" Jamie countered.
Jenny struggled to follow Jamie's train of thought. "But—that—doesn't make sense—"
Jamie lowered his voice, leaning close to whisper conspiratorially in Jenny's ear. "I think you know as well as I do that Rob and his two leading ladies didn't exactly get along."
Jenny knew that, of course, and she didn't think it was anyone's fault. The director's lack of skill combined with his inability to manage two big-name actresses was a fact. It was a common workplace friction where both sides had valid points.
"So," Jamie said conspiratorially, "this story teaches us that the director is the center of the universe. Never cross a director. You never know what kind of trouble he can bring you." Jenny glanced through the window at Robert, who was laughing heartily inside. Robert was undoubtedly her benefactor, her angel investor, but he might play an entirely different role for Renee. If Renee had a good relationship with him, he certainly wouldn't approve of Broadway's publicity stunt, and neither Cesare nor James would dare provoke him. Now he was delighted to see Renee humiliated, and the entire situation had shifted.
"Are you sure the studio won't go berserk?" she voiced her final concern. "Weinstein is supposed to be a major buyer on Broadway."
"The studio won't lose out on this," Jamie replied. "Your musical came first. If you bomb, it's just a joke. If you shine, people will wonder who's better—you or Renee. They'll go to the theater to find out. From what I understand, that's exactly what the studio wants."
He shrugged and added, "Besides, with Renee's reputation as a serious actress, they should be confident in this showdown. It'll also boost her Oscar chances."
Jenny was also adjusting her perspective. Truth be told, this was nothing but a publicity stunt packed with gimmicks. No matter the outcome, the studio wouldn't lose. As capital operators, their sole concern was profit—they'd likely welcome it. And while Rob might have defended his own before, he was now siding with the outsiders. So Renee became the sole loser in this publicity stunt—if Jenny were the one outshone, she wouldn't have much to celebrate. Jenny was a nobody to begin with; beating her would be expected.
But if Renee were the one outshone...
A pang of guilt suddenly struck her. Though Veronica had bullied her, it hadn't been severe, and Renee might not even know. Cesare and Jamie's scheme felt like a slap in the face to Renee—a truly undeserved blow.
"Of course, it also means one of you two is bound to lose face." James set his cup aside and extended his hand to her. "I won't deny I'm quite taken with you, Jenny. Outside the audition room, I watched you for half an hour longer simply because I couldn't bear to look away."
Compared to his earlier playful flirtation, his current demeanor was far more appealing—open and natural. Jenny realized Jaime possessed a deeply confident nature. Like Lillian, perhaps due to his privileged upbringing, he lacked the timidity often seen in men like Dave. "But I have to be honest—my career is still my top priority right now. The challenges we both face are too important to risk distraction. So over the next few months, I'll be around a lot. My goal is simple: to help us both save face."
He took Jenny's hand and looked intently at her. "Then, six months from now, when we succeed and this year's contract ends—no longer an employer-employee relationship—if I draw near to you then, I hope you won't have to force yourself to stay."
Sigh...
Compared to Will Hilton, this kind of suitor was far more to her liking. Though his personality bordered on cheeky cuteness, he was undeniably capable, professional in his approach, and fundamentally decent. Jokes aside, he'd ultimately declared his feelings openly and honestly, implicitly leaving her room to refuse without forcing her into submission.
Jenny felt a certain fondness for him, but it hadn't yet blossomed into full-blown infatuation. Still, she wasn't sure whether to play the "Cesare and I are dating" card. She'd intended to save that card for when the situation became truly unmanageable. For now, she didn't feel the situation was that dire. Besides, it wasn't even true, so it shouldn't be used lightly.
"Six months from now," she smiled ambiguously, clasping James' hand. "I'll give you my answer then. I agree with your plan. Right now, our immediate focus should be the upcoming performance season."
"Oh, seems you're rather cold to my advances," Jamie teased, his playful tone returning. "Maybe I should try some romantic gestures to win you over. Perhaps business and romance aren't so incompatible after all."
Jenny shot him a huge, exasperated roll of the eyes, but Jamie didn't seem to notice. He looked up suddenly, his eyes lighting up with delight. "Ah! Mistletoe."
What? Before Jenny could process it, Jaime gripped her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her lips before straightening up swiftly.
"Mistletoe," he declared solemnly.
Only then did Jenny recall the tradition—during Christmas, any man could kiss a woman standing beneath the mistletoe.
Of course, James's kiss wasn't overly forward—barely more than a chaste peck—so she wasn't truly angry, just thoroughly puzzled. Rob hadn't even bothered with much Christmas decor inside the house, so why would he go out of his way to hang mistletoe on the balcony?
"Where?" she asked, squinting to find the wreath on the roof amidst the dim lights.
Jaime's voice was clearly stifling laughter. "Right there."
Jenny followed his gaze, but saw nothing but a dark silhouette—suddenly realizing what was happening. Just as she was about to accuse Jaime of breaking his promise and deceiving her, he had already unfastened the small mistletoe wreath from his chest and placed it over her head.
"There," he said, bending down to steal a second quick kiss on her lips. "Isn't that where it is?"
Jenny yanked the wreath off her head and tossed it back at him—now slightly annoyed, though not truly angry. "You sick bastard," she said, half-joking, half-serious.
"Thanks for the compliment," James replied with another modest shrug. "Now, since you're 'untouchable,' allow me to shift my focus and try this trick on someone else."
He picked up the garland, pressed it to his lips with a loud smack, raised his glass to Jenny once more, then turned and sailed away.
—His retreating figure, oddly enough, did possess a certain flair.