Chapter 3: Like Searching for a Needle in the Ocean
After lunch, Aaron Anderson left CAA headquarters to run errands for a client—and at the same time, to scout for Hollywood's future stars.
"Whew…"
Having just delivered a check to an actor living in Santa Monica, Aaron strolled to the pier and gazed at the Pacific. The salty air and vast horizon hit him with a strange kind of clarity.
It wasn't hot in Los Angeles—if anything, the breeze carried a chill—but Aaron still wiped sweat from his brow.
In the mailroom trial phase, he had done every odd job imaginable—except anything that actually resembled the work of an agent.
CAA's only real lesson?
"The client comes first."
Now, as a junior talent agent, his real responsibility was clear: become a scout. Find clients. Build a roster.
"I need a car. Even a beat-up one will do," Aaron muttered, already planning his next move. Without wheels, he was stuck wasting hours on buses.
Within two days, in Koreatown, he spent $680 on a battered 1982 Chevy Cavalier. The paint was dull, the engine coughed like a smoker—but at least it got him around. No more waiting at bus stops.
With the new year came a routine: mornings spent running errands at CAA, afternoons wandering Hollywood's soundstages, film schools, and studio lots, hoping to stumble upon raw talent.
One afternoon, Aaron and fellow assistant Jack Wells found themselves at the USC School of Cinematic Arts.
Aaron exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke.
"This whole talent hunt feels like buying a lottery ticket. A needle in the ocean. Odds are next to nothing."
"Better to trust God?" He smirked. "I'd rather trust myself."
Jack sighed. "That's just how it is. Cast the net wide. If you spot someone promising, give them a push. The real trick is building relationships—connections."
Aaron frowned. "What about the New York transplants? Actors who've just come over from the stage scene? Better odds, right?"
In truth, he was hoping to run into faces he remembered from his past life. But days of circling L.A. had yielded nothing. Not a single spark of recognition.
"A few years back," Jack nodded, "a lot of those New York actors came here without reps. Plenty of opportunities back then. But now?" He shook his head. "Agents are everywhere. Anyone with even a hint of potential gets scooped up fast by the more seasoned guys."
"Which means," Jack continued, "the best bet is to develop talent from the ground up. Guide their careers, manage their image, build their brand. That's where the long-term payoff is."
CAA, after all, managed its megastars with a team-agent model—several agents sharing responsibility for a single client.
The whole point of CAA's team-agent system was to keep stars from being poached. After all, stealing a celebrity really just meant stealing their primary agent.
Aaron thought it over. Maybe I should be looking at foreign actors instead. Or better yet—find a promising new director and spot talent through their work. That's smarter than wandering around like I'm searching for a needle in the ocean.
"Forget it. Let's grab a drink," he said at last. For now, building connections was the priority—producers, directors, writers, and actors. Those were the circles he needed to enter.
That night, back in his Koreatown apartment, Aaron pulled two Glock pistols from under the bed. He broke them down, reassembled them, then slid one into his waistband before heading out.
Soon, he was driving east of Los Angeles, where abandoned warehouses dotted the outskirts. Alone in the cold night air, he set up his own private shooting session.
"Bang. Bang. Bang."
The shots echoed against corrugated steel walls. Aaron lowered the pistol, grinning at the tight grouping on the makeshift target.
"Damn. I'm a natural," he muttered, loading a fresh magazine and emptying it before finally calling it a night.
---
The next morning, at CAA's Beverly Hills headquarters, Paula Wagner raised an eyebrow when Aaron mentioned his idea.
"You want to go to the Sundance Film Festival? Hoping to get lucky?"
Aaron didn't flinch. "That's right. Maybe I'll spot some fresh indie directors. Hunting aimlessly in L.A. is all luck, and I don't like relying on luck."
Paula leaned back, arms crossed. "Aaron, you're nineteen. You never went to college. Your network's paper-thin. Sundance is built for independent filmmakers—what makes you think you can recognize real potential?"
The Sundance Film Festival, founded five years ago by Robert Redford, had become the hub for indie cinema. Yet the industry was still dominated by the big studios. Indies rarely broke through, no matter how loudly critics called for more diversity.
"I want to try," Aaron replied firmly. He held her gaze. "And if I do find something worthwhile, I'll need the company's backing."
"That much is certain," Paula said, nodding. She scribbled out a check and slid it across the desk. "A thousand dollars. Consider it an advance. Tom and I are pleased with the work you've been doing."
Aaron glanced at the number and smiled. A thousand bucks—generous enough. His total savings barely topped three grand, and with another two thousand coming in at payday, this would cushion him nicely.
Not bad for someone who'd spent the last week booking Tom Cruise's dinner reservations and arranging his New Year's Eve plans.
Sundance would last over ten days. The timing was perfect.
---
That evening, back at his Koreatown apartment building, Aaron was intercepted by his bald landlord, Rafael.
"Hey, Aaron, rent's due," Rafael said, patting his round belly and extending a hand with a greasy grin.
"My dear Rafael, you are always enthusiastic when it comes to collecting rent," Aaron replied dryly. Then, pointing toward the creaking wooden staircase, his expression hardened. "But maybe you should show the same enthusiasm for repairs. The locks break, the stairs sound like they're ready to collapse. This place isn't safe."
Rafael spread his hands in mock helplessness. "Aaron, my friend, the rent here reflects the condition. That's just how it is."
Aaron's eyes flashed. "And tell the neighbors—if they throw another all-night party, they'll learn just how serious I am about my sleep. I won't warn them twice."
Rafael coughed. "Others have complained too. I'll… remind them."
Aaron shoved a prepared check for $150 into Rafael's hand, brushed past him, and unlocked his apartment door.
Inside, he quickly packed a bag. Sundance awaited.