Chapter 2: The Assistant Agent
On the western stretch of Beverly Boulevard stood a ten-story glass building, shimmering in the California sun. Both the façade and central atrium gleamed with floor-to-ceiling glass. This was the headquarters of CAA—Creative Artists Agency—Hollywood's hottest talent agency.
Within the industry, the building had earned a nickname: the Death Star. Just like the space station in Star Wars, it was seen as vast, intimidating, and nearly invincible.
After reporting in, Aaron Anderson was quickly assigned to one of CAA's most powerful agents, Paula Wagner, becoming one of her five assistants.
At forty-three, Paula Wagner was considered the top female agent in Hollywood. Her greatest prize? Tom Cruise—born Thomas Mapother IV—whom she had discovered in the early '80s. When Top Gun hit theaters just a few years back, it catapulted Cruise into global superstardom, making him a household name and the ultimate box-office draw.
Paula looked over Aaron's file.
"Aaron Anderson. Nineteen years old. You survived six months in the mailroom—that's no small feat."
She smiled thinly.
"Now that you're an assistant agent, here's the deal: bring in clients, and you'll be promoted to full agent status."
Technically, assistants were already licensed agents. But without clients of their own, their work wasn't much different from the mailroom grind—fetching, carrying, errands. The mailroom was considered the trial stage; becoming an assistant meant you'd passed it. Now came the real test: finding talent.
Wagner patted him on the shoulder.
"Remember this: both of CAA's founders, Michael Ovitz and Ronald Meyer, started in the mailroom at WMA—William Morris Agency."
She ticked off names with casual authority.
"Barry Diller, now chairman of 20th Century Fox Entertainment. Michael Eisner, CEO of Disney. Jeffrey Katzenberg, head of Disney Studios. All of them started in WMA's mailroom."
Aaron, who had spent half a year buried in industry gossip, couldn't help but add:
"And David Geffen. Founder of Geffen Records. He started there too."
Of course he knew these things. He had lived in the CAA mailroom long enough.
At that time, the industry was dominated by the Big Three agencies: CAA, WMA, and ICM (International Creative Management). WMA had ruled Hollywood talent representation for over half a century. But in 1975, five of its agents had defected, forming CAA. Their radical new strategy—packaging deals—reshaped Hollywood and turned CAA into a rising superpower. ICM had also been founded the same year.
Paula chuckled, checking her watch.
"Good. You've been paying attention. Now go downstairs to the Starbucks and bring me two cappuccinos. Quickly."
That was the life of an assistant agent. Fetching coffee, managing schedules, babysitting clients. Nobody handed you stars on a silver platter. If you wanted to rise, you had to grind.
Aaron nodded and left.
Moments later, the building lit up with the presence of Tom Cruise himself. Smiling warmly, he greeted employees and staff before heading into Paula Wagner's office.
"Rain Man, your collaboration with Dustin Hoffman, is getting rave reviews from critics and the press," Paula said, leaning back in her chair. "The award season is coming—you're bound to take home something."
She had been tracking the film closely. Released just two weeks ago, its box office had already surpassed $20 million in only ten days.
"And Born on the Fourth of July? Any issues with production?"
Cruise shook his head.
"Everything's on schedule. We're close to wrapping."
That film was part of Oliver Stone's acclaimed Vietnam War trilogy. The first installment, Platoon, had already swept the Oscars, winning Best Picture and Best Director.
Paula's eyes flickered.
"And then there's Tony Scott's new racing action film, Days of Thunder. Don Simpson and Jerry Bruckheimer are producing. Shooting starts next summer."
She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
"Paramount's given it a $60 million budget. And you're locked in as the lead."
Paula Wagner continued, discussing Tom Cruise's next film.
A $60 million budget—in this era, that was the mark of a true tentpole. Days of Thunder was designed to be pure commercial spectacle.
Just that summer, Stallone's new film Rambo III had cost $63 million, making it the most expensive movie in Hollywood history at the time.
"Rain Man and Born on the Fourth of July—those are prestige dramas," Paula said evenly. "But you also need a strong commercial title like Days of Thunder. Hollywood still runs on box office numbers."
"Don't worry, I know," Cruise replied. He had nothing against blockbusters. But since Top Gun, he had been deliberately seeking dramatic roles. The Oscars were calling to him. He wanted to prove that a heartthrob could act.
A few minutes later, Aaron Anderson returned with coffee. He knocked, handed the cups over, caught a brief glimpse of Tom Cruise, then quietly slipped out.
"Damn," Aaron thought as he walked down the hall. "Not even thirty, and he looks like that? Honestly, without Titanic, even DiCaprio can't compete with him."
In the next office, Aaron ran into fellow assistant agent Jack Wells, who was buried under piles of paperwork.
"Hey, Aaron," Jack said, adjusting his glasses.
Aaron glanced at the stack of folders. "Scripts?" He casually flipped through a few. In the mailroom, half the job had been opening packages just like these.
Jack nodded. "The company gets hundreds of scripts every month. CAA's basically become a script factory."
Aaron shrugged. "That's packaging for you. Start with the script, then bring in the producer, director, cast—the whole package. One-stop shopping."
He wasn't exaggerating. Rain Man, the very film tearing up the box office right now, was a full CAA package: writer, director, actors, even the MGM/UA marketing plan. All coordinated by the agency.
Jack lowered his voice. "Listen, Aaron—we need to get out there. Parks, malls, campuses. Find fresh talent. Otherwise, we're just stuck doing mailroom work and coffee runs."
Aaron clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll help you sort through these scripts first."
Truth be told, Aaron didn't mind. After all, in his head lived the memory of countless great films that hadn't even been made yet. Scripts were the seed of everything.
And he hadn't come back to this era just to be someone else's errand boy.