Chapter 84 – A Taste at a Time
"What do you need me to do?"
Only then did Halle Berry finally crack a smile.
"I'm confident I can land a role in Wayne Garfield's next project. You know what that means." She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.
"A director who's seen back-to-back success like this? Everyone wants to work with him. But I've only got one shot. And after everything I've done for him… in his eyes, I'm probably nothing more than a convenient plaything."
"Don't be fooled by that sharp jawline and serious expression," she continued. "He's incredibly calculating. Always clear-headed. I need you to help me figure out how to go from being his little distraction to becoming the mistress of the Garfield estate."
Julian looked at her like she'd lost her mind. She finally had a shot at a comeback, and yet she still wanted more?
Still, after thinking about it, Julian realized the plan wasn't entirely impossible. She nodded slowly.
"We can try—but you need to be very careful not to make him feel smothered or annoyed. Otherwise, you'll lose everything."
She didn't care that Halle had called herself a "pet." Hell, in this town, there were probably a dozen actresses lining up just to be Wayne Garfield's pet.
"I don't want this to be my only chance," Halle said firmly. "Even if I can't become the lady of the house, I need to at least get into his inner circle. Naomi Watts did exactly that. At the very least, I want to keep him fascinated with me a little longer. And I know I'm his type."
Now that Halle had laid out her intentions, she hoped her agent could give her some solid advice.
"We start with something simple," Julian said after giving Halle a careful once-over. She had to admit: the woman had impressive assets—voluptuous, but not overdone. A beautiful face. And most importantly, not too Black by Hollywood's standards.
"Tell me more about how you two interact," Julian added. "Keeping a man interested long-term is hard—but we might be able to stretch things out."
Halle thought about it—and was dismayed to realize that aside from sleeping together, she and Wayne had virtually no private time.
"Well then," Julian sighed, noting Halle's embarrassed look. "You're a beautiful woman. Appealing to a man shouldn't be difficult. But here's the key—don't give it all away at once."
She lowered her voice, like she was letting Halle in on a secret she'd learned from experience.
"You have to ration the sweetness. A little at a time. Take those sexy lips, for example—let them build anticipation. Don't bring out the wild stuff right away. Save that for when the usual tricks stop working. Got it? Men need something to look forward to."
Julian sat back, casually swirling her coffee with a spoon. The light clink of metal against the mug echoed softly.
"Julian, please stop doing that," Halle frowned, nodding toward the spoon. "You obviously haven't seen Get Out yet."
Julian smirked and took a long sip of coffee. "Fine, I'll go watch it. Let's see what all the fuss is about."
She placed some cash on the table and looked up. "Alright then—call me if you need anything. Want me to give you a ride?"
"Of course. Take me to Garfield's estate," Halle replied, picking up her purse and following her to the car.
The red Chevrolet cruised silently through Beverly Hills. Neither woman said much—clearly, they were both lost in their thoughts.
When they pulled up to the estate gate, Halle finally spoke up.
"If I make it big, I won't switch agents. Helping me succeed is in your best interest too."
Julian turned to look at her.
"You're my client, Halle. You've got great potential—I want you to succeed. And if possible… maybe introduce me to Wayne someday."
Halle blurted out, "You'll never steal Wayne Garfield!"
Realizing how intense she sounded, she quickly added, "I mean—you don't stand a chance. You don't know how much he trusts Jimmy. Jimmy's not just his agent—they're friends. You get what I'm saying, right?"
Julian raised her brows but replied calmly, "You misunderstood. I'm not looking to replace anyone. Just… an introduction."
Halle gave her a final look, then stepped out of the car and walked toward the estate gate. The guards opened the heavy iron doors, letting her inside.
Julian didn't drive off right away. She stared at the massive mansion, already thinking about what she might gain from all this.
---
At the Warner Bros. executive office in Burbank, Wayne was seated at a table with several high-ranking executives. He had come straight from the airport to discuss the ongoing release strategy for Get Out.
"Jeff," he began, "the film is doing extremely well right now. Can we reach out to theaters and increase our screening volume?"
Jeff Robinov, one of the Warner execs, nodded. "I'll call them, Wayne. The film's momentum is strong—it's just a matter of how many additional theaters we can secure."
Wayne nodded. He had full faith in Warner Bros.' capabilities. With the box office climbing, theater chains would be happy to expand screenings.
"Make sure to contact the film labs too," Wayne added. "We'll need more prints ASAP. Even if this film is doing great, we can't forget—it's still a genre piece. A horror-thriller has a shorter shelf life in theaters than your average blockbuster."
Everyone in the room understood what he meant. No matter how engaging a genre film might be, it couldn't defy the natural market cycle. It had to burn hot and fast.
The only way to capitalize on the buzz was to push audiences into theaters quickly—with relentless media exposure.
"By the way," Jeff continued, "your schedule's been changed. No one expected this kind of explosion in the first weekend. Jimmy told you, right? You've got an interview with Vanity Fair tomorrow."
Jeff watched as the young director lit a cigarette with practiced ease, frowning slightly before continuing.
"I know you're not fond of dealing with the media, Wayne. But this kind of exposure is inevitable. Don't worry—any questions they plan to ask will be shared with you in advance. You'll have time to prepare.
Right now, your name is trending, and everyone's curious about who this 'young genius director' really is. Let's see how the public responds. If it goes well, the company might even push to get you on the cover of Time magazine."
This was the media power of a legacy studio. For others, appearing on the cover of Time might seem like a monumental achievement—but for Warner Bros., if there was enough incentive, it was simply a matter of pulling the right strings.
Wayne took a long drag on his cigarette and nodded silently. He knew this kind of exposure could only benefit him. He also understood that Warner Bros. likely had its own motives for promoting him—boosting his public image and tying him closer to the studio.
"Your current girlfriend is African-American, right? That's actually a very valuable angle," said Kevin Tsujihara, who spoke up only after Jeff had finished.
"You've seen the data. Theaters in African-American communities are packed every night for Get Out, and the occupancy rates remain extremely high. We need to make full use of that momentum. Have you ever seen The Oprah Winfrey Show?"
"Oprah Winfrey?"
To be honest, Wayne hadn't watched her show, but of course, he knew who Oprah was. You couldn't live in America and not know her name.
She was nothing like most of her peers. Sharp as a tack, overwhelmingly successful, and almost intimidatingly influential. More than just a talk show host—she was an actress, producer, and media mogul. After acquiring a controlling stake in Harpo Productions, her net worth had soared to nearly $3 billion.
"Then you understand her influence," Kevin continued, stroking his chin in thought. "We can try to get you booked on her show."
Wayne didn't care much for Oprah. He found her interview tactics a little too manipulative—digging up painful personal stories, springing them on her guests, and then swooping in like a warm-hearted savior with her famous 'comforting hugs.'
Still, he wasn't the kind of person to let personal bias interfere with business. If Warner Bros. believed an Oprah appearance would help the film, he'd do it.
"I'm available anytime. Just coordinate with Jimmy."
With business more or less concluded, Wayne was ready to call it a day. He hadn't slept well the night before, and after catching a flight back to L.A., all he wanted was to crash.
But just as they were heading downstairs—and before Sergei could even bring the car around—John came rushing toward them, breathless, waving them back upstairs.
"What now?" Wayne asked, exasperated, as they waited for the elevator.
"I'll explain when we get up there," John replied quickly, ushering them inside.
"Damn it," Jimmy muttered under his breath. "Can't anything go smoothly around here?"
Wayne sighed. "Jimmy, this is Hollywood. Nothing ever goes smoothly. I've known that from the start."
He was thoroughly drained. Since filming began, it had been a nonstop marathon—from production to editing, to a whirlwind national promo tour. His body was running on fumes, and his mind was fraying from the constant demands.
Back in the same office they'd just left, Jeff sat at the table with a grim look on his face. Once Wayne took a seat across from him, Jeff finally spoke up.
"We've just received word," he said, picking up a lukewarm cup of coffee and taking a sip, "that tomorrow, there's going to be a piece published… and it's not going to be good. For the film—or for you."