Chapter 60: Girlfriend
Paul Charles' suggestion left both Wayne and Jimmy momentarily stunned.
Jimmy blinked and asked with confusion,
"An African-American girlfriend?"
Paul nodded without hesitation.
"Yes, a public, official Black girlfriend. Of course, this is all for the media and the fans—to keep public interest in Get Out alive until the movie is released."
Wayne leaned back, tapping his cigarette against the edge of the coffee table. He was seriously weighing the implications.
"Paul, let's say I agree. What exactly is your plan?"
In Hollywood, romantic scandals and celebrity couples had long been a tried-and-true method of film promotion. Any time a star suddenly revealed a relationship, odds were it coincided with an upcoming project.
Using romance to keep the public's attention was one of the cheapest—and most effective—marketing strategies in the business.
So those celebrities caught in whirlwind romances and teary interviews? More often than not, they were just acting out a carefully constructed campaign, all for box office numbers and a slice of the fans' wallets.
Paul Charles leaned forward, eyes locked on Wayne's face, and dropped a familiar name.
"Halle Berry."
He continued carefully.
"Don't you think the whole 'racism scandal' arc is starting to feel… too linear? Too boring? Her career is over now. No producer or director wants to touch her. This whole mess has become a taboo topic in the industry."
He studied Wayne's reaction closely. If Wayne showed any sign of disgust or disapproval at Halle Berry's name, the entire PR campaign would fall apart before it began.
But Wayne's face didn't change. That was enough for Paul to go on.
"If you agree, we'll take care of her. She doesn't really have a choice anymore. This is her only way back in. With our reporters, we'll stage an interview. She'll talk about how moved she was by your compassion and forgiveness. Then, the two of you will 'meet again,' and a deep romance will blossom."
Wayne took a long drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaled a plume of smoke.
"That's it? I imagine you've got more up your sleeve. A fabricated romance might get us attention for a few weeks—but the film's release is still at least six months away. People forget fast."
Paul nodded, clearly impressed. Now he understood why Jeff held this young director in such high regard—Wayne was sharp and level-headed, completely unshaken by emotion.
"Of course there's more," Paul said with admiration. "That's just the first step. Your 'relationship' will last until the movie finishes its theatrical run. We'll make sure you two stay in the spotlight—young genius director and beautiful Black actress, a golden couple the media can't stop talking about."
He paused to sip his coffee, making sure not to overload Wayne with information all at once, then continued:
"Once the news of your romance breaks, it'll spark an immediate surge of attention. That buzz will be the perfect springboard for Warner Bros. to launch a full-scale PR campaign. We'll position you as a tolerant, classy, socially conscious man—someone who supports equality and minority rights."
"And let's be real," he added. "Get Out practically screams racial commentary. You wrote the script yourself. The themes are loud and clear. So what could be more perfect than a socially conscious director who made a racially provocative film—and happens to be dating a Black woman?"
"You know exactly what that means, Wayne. That image alone will pull thousands of minority viewers into theaters. They'll see you as one of their own."
Paul wasn't done.
"Plus, the lead actors are mostly Black. The male lead is a hip-hop star. Those communities will naturally gravitate toward a film like this."
Wayne leaned back into the sofa, absentmindedly stroking his chin as Paul laid out the marketing plan. It was shamelessly clever—brilliant, even. These industry veterans didn't just understand how to sell films; they knew how to manipulate public psychology to perfection.
The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. With the right push, this low-budget R-rated film could punch far above its weight.
Honestly, the effect might be better than dropping tens of millions on traditional marketing.
Wayne crushed his cigarette into the ashtray and looked up calmly.
"I'm in," he said. "But—only on one condition."
Paul wasn't the least bit surprised by Wayne's agreement. He had quickly come to recognize that this sharp-minded director—whose films and scripts always left viewers with chills, and whose stories were steeped in darkness—was, at heart, a pragmatic storyteller.
Wayne's films might be thematically dark, but they never alienated audiences. In fact, they were built on tried-and-true Hollywood formulas that kept viewers hooked. Simply put, Wayne was an unconventional commercial director.
And a director like that would never say no to anything that could increase box office revenue.
Paul smiled and asked,
"What are your conditions? Lay them out."
Wayne held up one finger.
"First, Halle Berry must sign a confidentiality agreement and a contract clearly stating that our 'relationship' ends the day Get Out finishes its theatrical run."
Then he raised another finger.
"Second, I'll fully cooperate with your marketing plan—but convincing Halle Berry? That's your job."
Paul shrugged with a grin.
"Of course. You don't need to worry about that. We'll get that Black beauty on board."
Wayne nodded, trusting that a multibillion-dollar studio like Warner Bros. wouldn't struggle to handle a struggling actress.
"Third," Wayne continued, "this is strictly a contractual relationship. I'm even fine with getting 'engaged' for show if needed. But when the film is pulled from theaters and we 'break up,' you're responsible for controlling public opinion."
"That's all for now. If anything else comes up, we'll talk then. As long as Warner Bros. can deliver on this, I'm in."
Paul nodded without hesitation.
"None of that's a problem. Our people will handle everything with her, and you can stop by tomorrow to sign the contract."
He paused for a moment, then grew more serious.
"The Warner publicity department will create a detailed rollout plan—when to go public with the relationship, when your first public appearance together will be, when she'll move into your estate, how often you two will be seen showing affection. All of it will be carefully timed."
He looked Wayne in the eye.
"One thing I have to stress, Director Garfield: once you agree to this plan, you cannot back out. No surprises."
Wayne's demeanor turned serious too.
"You have my word, Paul. I wouldn't have agreed if I wasn't committed. I have skin in the game too. The higher the box office, the bigger my cut."
Paul stood and offered a hand.
"Then we have a deal."
"Looking forward to it," Wayne replied, shaking his hand.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Wayne left the office with Jimmy and headed back to the car.
As they got in, Wayne turned to his agent.
"So, Jimmy, what do you think of the plan?"
Jimmy had been silently mulling over the implications the whole time, carefully weighing the risks and rewards for his client.
"Honestly? No problem at all," Jimmy said, glancing at their driver Sergei before continuing. "Warner has tons of experience with publicity stunts like this. As long as they're committed to riding this all the way to release, they'll make sure nothing spirals out of control."
After giving his take, Jimmy turned to Sergei with a wave.
"Hey big guy, just drop me off at the corner—I'm heading back to the office. Got prep work to do."
"Thanks, brother." The Cadillac pulled up outside the CAA offices. Before stepping out, Jimmy gave Wayne a quick "call me" gesture and waved to Sergei.
The car rolled through the streets of Los Angeles toward Wayne's estate in the hills of Beverly.
Wayne leaned back, deep in thought.
He hadn't expected to end up becoming part of the film's promotional campaign himself. But this was 1991—still the pre-internet era. Personal computers weren't widespread, and online fan communities were virtually nonexistent.
Directors were still background players, far from the public eye. It would be years before fanbases would form around directors like rock stars, when media changed and people started obsessing over the storytellers behind the camera.
Back then, directors could keep their careers relatively private. But when those fanbases did emerge, they were ironclad—more loyal than the most devoted actor stans. They didn't care about personal scandals, substance use, or messy love lives. The only way to lose them was to make a bad movie.
That shift would eventually bring directors into the limelight, making it normal for them to publicly promote their work. Had it not been for this recent scandal, Warner Bros. probably wouldn't have chosen to center its publicity around a young director.
From the day he joined Warner, Wayne had been quietly adjusting his future plans. Warner Bros. had a deep library of IPs and potential projects—far too many to ignore. That was one reason he was so willing to cooperate with them.
He believed that as long as Get Out reached the level of success he envisioned, his importance to Warner would only grow. Jimmy had already briefed him: while Warner made tons of films each year, very few directors were tied to them long-term.
Wayne fully intended to become one of them.