"You bought so many books?"
Mary hurried over to help Ryan, who was coming through the door carrying a large stack. "You look worn out again."
Ryan's hair was disheveled and he had dark circles under both eyes. He clearly hadn't slept well.
"There's too much to do lately." He didn't seem particularly bothered by it. Hard work was just part of starting something from scratch. He set the books down on his desk and took the ones from Mary's hands. "I was revising the script last night and lost track of time."
The company had only just gotten back on its feet, and there was more work than hours in the day. Script revisions had to happen at night.
Mary made him a cup of coffee and flipped through the stack. "Are you studying?"
They were all industry titles: entertainment law, production management, screenwriting craft, and several collections of case studies from successful productions.
Ryan nodded. "The last failure made it clear how much I was missing."
Foresight was an advantage, but personal ability was the real foundation. One determined his ceiling, the other his floor.
Running a production company and actually being a good producer required more than memory. Ryan had decided to go back to the books he'd put aside years ago in his previous life and fill in the gaps properly.
His experience as a small producer back home had been useful, but that world and Hollywood were two very different things.
This past week he had averaged around six hours of sleep. Books and script revisions in the evenings, company work through the day, and whatever gaps remained spent filling in his knowledge.
Entertainment law and industry regulations were one example. Even if he didn't memorize every clause, as a producer and company owner he needed to understand the landscape clearly.
Take the Writers Guild. If he hadn't looked into it, he wouldn't have known it was the hardest guild to get into in the entire industry. To qualify for membership, an applicant needed to have appeared on the crew lists of at least twenty-four productions within the previous three years, including work done under a proper contract or verified sales of written material.
In other words, even having written a script for a film that had been publicly released wasn't necessarily enough to get in.
Beyond studying and running the company, Ryan had also started picking up the network of contacts that young Anderson had let go cold. He'd spent three consecutive afternoons visiting Old Anderson's former friends and business partners.
Yesterday, when he went to settle New Line Cinema's share from the video and TV rights of Desperate Survival, he made a point of going up to see Robert Shaye directly.
More connections were always worth having. Young Anderson had never understood that.
Hollywood was undeniably a talent-driven industry, but walking in as a newcomer and expecting raw ability to overcome everything was a bit naive. Ryan had seen too many genuinely talented people fall apart on the road to building something.
"I was going to mention, you said you were looking for a suitable party to attend." Mary placed an invitation on the desk. "This is a high-end banquet organized by DreamWorks. Apparently a lot of people from entertainment and fashion will be there. I had to pull some strings to get it. The ticket is three thousand dollars."
Ryan picked up the invitation and saw David Geffen's signature on it. "Charge it to The Purge production account."
Three thousand dollars was genuinely expensive. Even tickets to the Oscar night party this year only went for five thousand. And buying them required the right connections in the first place.
Since the Arab investment was covering it, Ryan didn't feel any particular guilt about the expense.
He was busy all morning. He interviewed six applicants, reviewed an initial expenditure report for The Purge that Mary had prepared, and squeezed in time to read through a section of California entertainment law between meetings.
In the afternoon, he set aside the other work and met with three directors who had come in to interview for the project.
None of the three were members of the Directors Guild. Going directly to production companies looking for work was technically against industry norms, but the independent film world operated loosely, and this kind of thing happened constantly.
The more significant problem was that all three were underqualified. Between them they had shot some experimental short films at school and nothing else. Not a single music video credit between them.
Since he genuinely wanted The Purge to succeed, Ryan turned all three down. His own producing experience from his previous life had real limits when it came to Hollywood, and if he brought on a director with no track record, the film had a nine in ten chance of failing regardless of the material. This wasn't a situation where a strong script from a successful original property guaranteed a good result on its own.
He needed a director with proven experience, even modest experience, and he needed to keep learning and building on his own side.
His ideal choice would have been David Fincher, but that was pure fantasy given that the film's actual budget wasn't even two million dollars.
That was the core paradox. Directors with any real track record weren't cheap, and directors who were cheap mostly hadn't proven themselves yet.
The recruitment notices Starlight had put out had generated some activity. Beyond people who came in directly, several smaller agencies had sent over their rosters of directors, actors, and other talent.
Ryan paid particular attention to the director and actor lists. A few of the actor names were familiar. Not a single director name was.
Good directors were a scarcer resource in Hollywood than good actors.
Over the following days he met five more directors. Their situations were more or less the same as the first three.
Second and third-tier directors through mid-size and larger agencies had reached out, but when Ryan saw their quotes, he stopped considering them. In some cases the asking price for just the director exceeded the entire actual production budget. After Ryan turned down several such offers in a row, The Purge quietly dropped off the radar of the larger agencies entirely.
Where Starlight Entertainment actually made real progress was in general staffing. After several days of interviews, Ryan finalized a handful of new hires.
The weekend came. Ryan got a fresh haircut from the stylist Mary had recommended, felt considerably more like a functioning human being, and arrived at the Beverly Hilton.
The DreamWorks banquet attracted a crowd even outside the hotel. Walking into the lobby, Ryan spotted Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio near the entrance.
From a distance, he caught Kate telling Leonardo to go ahead, that she was waiting for someone. Leonardo walked on without argument.
Ryan's reason for being here was straightforward: expand his social circle. Not to accomplish anything specific, just to become a familiar face to more people. Connections in Hollywood were built slowly and paid off unevenly, but they paid off.
"Good evening, Miss Winslet." He walked over and smiled. "We meet again."
Kate shook his hand and replied politely. "Hello, nice to see you."
From her tone, Ryan could tell immediately that she didn't remember him.
He didn't let it show. "Ryan Anderson. We met at the 20th Century Fox appreciation reception."
"Of course, yes." Kate's expression warmed with recognition. "Call me Kate. May I call you Ryan?"
Unlike some of the roles she played, this British actress came across as very gracious, at least on the surface.
"Of course." Ryan smiled. "Kate, I'm a genuine fan."
Kate's gaze shifted to a point past Ryan's shoulder. He read the situation quickly and said, "I was just heading into the ballroom. Let's catch up later if there's a chance."
"Sounds good," Kate said with a smile.
She found herself with a good impression of him. Handsome, and with enough social instincts to know when to leave.
Ryan walked on, glanced back once, and saw a large, broad-shouldered man with a full beard already standing beside Kate. She had looped her arm through his, not in a polite social way but with fingers intertwined.
At a public event, that gesture meant something definite.
"I told you to keep your distance from Leonardo." The man's voice carried, and it was not happy. "Isn't there enough gossip about you two already?"
Kate sounded a little tired. "Leo came over to say hello. I can't just walk away."
Ryan slowed his pace without making it obvious. He wasn't actively eavesdropping, but he wasn't rushing away either. From those two exchanges alone the dynamic was fairly clear. Kate was on the back foot.
The man's voice went up slightly. "I don't like that preening pretty boy. I hate him."
Kate said quietly, "Jim, we're engaged."
"If he comes near you again, I'll make sure he regrets it." It didn't come across as an idle threat. "I'll show him exactly what a British man's fist feels like."
Kate's voice dropped lower, clearly trying to calm things down. The man let out a heavy breath and went quiet.
Ryan glanced back one more time, shook his head slightly, and walked on into the corridor leading to the ballroom.