Joey locked herself in her house for two solid weeks and finally finished rewriting the script for Harvard Lives (or, as the rest of the world would know it one day, Juno).
It went that fast because, during the fifty years she spent hiding from the world in her past life, she'd rewritten this thing in her head a thousand times. The bones were already there; she just had to put meat on them.
The new version was built on everything she knew people would fall in love with in the next few years: a playful, almost cheeky tone wrapped around college and family drama. It never preached about love or kindness; it just let quiet, stubborn human decency leak out through the everyday details.
Basically, she was serving the audience a big bowl of chicken soup for the soul in the most politically incorrect way possible.
Once it was done, she grabbed her materials and headed to the Directors Guild.
The Directors Guild Foundation sits in a swanky part of North Hollywood and helps filmmakers with real talent who've hit a cash-flow wall; low-interest loans for people who still have something to say.
Outside, fallen palm leaves carpeted the sidewalk, and the few people on the street were hunched against the chilly wind.
Joey walked in wearing a camel trench coat and huge sunglasses, pushing through the door like she owned the cold.
The receptionist showed her to an office to wait. On the other side of the wall, a staffer named Pete was grinning at his boss, Smith.
"You'll never guess who just walked in."
Smith didn't even look up from his computer. "Who?"
"Joey Grant."
Smith frowned. "Name rings a bell."
Pete pushed his glasses up. "You don't read the gossip pages, do you, boss?"
Smith snorted. "Why would I? It's all talentless celebrities doing dumb stuff to stay relevant."
"Okay, but this one's a regular feature. Also, she spent seven years as Summer Redstone's almost-granddaughter-in-law…"
Now it clicked. "Oh. That Joey Grant. What the hell is she doing here?"
Pete smirked. "Word is she's desperate for distribution on her new flick. She and the Redstone grandson are done, so no need to kiss her ass anymore."
Smith clearly wasn't a fan either. "Fair. Climbing as far as she did on a guy's coattails is already impressive for an Asian woman in this town."
They printed out her file and headed next door.
Smith saw her sitting there, calm as hell. She looked older than her years; small, plain, very Asian in a way most white Americans don't find attractive. Hollywood's idea of a "beautiful Asian woman" is basically what they drew for Mulan: tiny eyes, upturned brows, sharp chin; the whole slightly severe package. That's the only kind of Asian face that gets leading roles.
Smith didn't do small talk. "Ms. Grant, why are you here today?"
Joey took off her sunglasses, revealing long, narrow eyes framed by lashes that looked dusted with morning frost. She met his gaze straight on. "Hello, sir. I'm applying for a loan from the Guild. I self-financed an indie film that's hit some roadblocks in distribution. I've realized the movie has major problems, and I'd like to borrow money to reshoot it properly."
Smith cut right to it. "How much?"
"I originally spent three million. For the reshoot, a lot of the sets and props are still usable, some footage can stay, and part of the post-production is done. That'll save money. I think I need another two million."
Smith actually laughed. "Honestly, I don't get it. Why reshoot this one? Start fresh; it'd be easier to find new backers."
Joey thought for a second, then looked him dead in the eye. "Because I have something to prove."
Smith raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected that much spine. "Prove to who?"
She dropped her gaze, almost shy. "To myself. I wasted too many years. And for my dream."
The word "dream" made Smith laugh again. "Ms. Grant, your résumé the last few years doesn't exactly scream 'dream-chaser.' Looks more like a one-hit wonder who crashed and burned. We give chances to hungry newbies or directors trying to make a comeback; but only if they've actually got drive and talent."
Pete chimed in. "Hollywood's full of flashes in the pan. Not everybody's cut out for it. We get that you want your dream, but you don't fit our criteria."
Joey had known walking in that the odds were basically zero. She'd just hoped for a miracle. Miracles, apparently, were still on backorder.
She nodded, no fight in her. "You're right. I haven't earned it. If it's not possible, that's fine. Thank you for your time."
Her humility threw Smith off. This wasn't the arrogant girl the tabloids painted; the one who'd coasted on her debut and her rich fiancé. He softened a little. "Look, you probably don't want to hear this, but you should think about getting out of the business. Hollywood isn't for you."
She smiled, genuinely curious. "Tell me why."
Smith leaned in. "Besides acting, name me one major department; directing, producing, editing, sound; where women have real power here. This isn't sexism talking, it's biology and the food chain. In fifty-plus years of Oscars, zero women have won Best Director, Best Editing, Best Sound Mixing… you get it. Even among actors, everyone knows a guy in the same role makes two to three times what the woman does. That's the ecosystem."
Joey just listened.
He kept going. "Second, this town isn't kind to minorities. Among all the white directors clogging the place, how many Black, Latino, or Asian ones do you see at the top? It's not that they don't try; it's that the deck's stacked. People cluster with their own. Legally, America's fair. Culturally? Invisible walls everywhere."
He held up one finger. "For an Asian woman to break through as a director here, she'd need ten times the talent of everybody else."
He waited for her to bristle. Instead, she laughed; light, unbothered, almost dazzling.
"So what you're saying is minority women just aren't talented enough, and no matter how hard I work, I'll always get buried in the churn."
She folded her hands, eyes soft but sharp as glass. "Maybe we Asian women come off quiet, reserved, well-behaved little dolls; that's just our culture. Doesn't mean we've got less fire or skill than any white man or woman. One day you'll be blown away by what we can do."
Smith gave a helpless chuckle. "I'm not being racist. Directing; especially commercial directing; needs cold logic, grit, a masculine edge. Women are too emotional. Asians are too delicate, too slow. You don't make the kind of big, fast movies guys want to watch."
Joey smiled like she'd been waiting for that one. "There's a line in Philadelphia: 'Judging an individual based on stereotypes about their group; that's the essence of prejudice.' You've seen the movie, right? So tell me, how's what you just said any different from clutching your wallet when a Black guy walks by or assuming every gay man has AIDS?"
Smith opened his mouth… and nothing came out.
She wasn't wrong. Hollywood's always had a sexism problem, an othering problem. Sure, the last few years "woke" culture had forced more female and minority faces on screen; Disney especially loved patting itself on the back for finally giving the world a Black princess in 2009; but behind the camera? Different story.
Still. She wasn't backing down.
Hollywood's spotlight is brutal and blinding, and people will kill to stand in it.
Even if she was just a tiny, half-burnt-out shooting star, she was climbing back into the sky to burn as bright as she possibly could.
Smith shook his head, half amused, half impressed. "If you were here giving a TED Talk, I'd green-light you on the spot. Unfortunately, you're here asking for money to make a movie, and your track record… I can't approve the loan. Interview's over."
Joey stood, smiled politely, and left.
That door was slammed shut.
Now what?
Was this rebirth really going to end the same way? Was she doomed no matter what?
No. She refused to think like that. She was going to make it this time. She'd fight tooth and nail to get close to her dream; that's the whole reason she got a second chance.
There had to be another way.
She thought of her favorite actor; the guy who used to be the biggest star in the world, who basically invented the modern blockbuster deal. He'd been dragged through the mud, canceled before "cancel" was a word, almost destroyed by the press. But he clawed his way back with great movies and sheer class, and ended up right back on top, looking down at everybody who'd tried to bury him.
That's the kind of guts she needed right now.