Talented Maestro

Chapter 38: The Script

For the past six months, Wayne had buried himself in work. The pressure, the anxiety—it consumed nearly every hour of his life. He hadn't had the time or energy to think about anything beyond filmmaking.

Now, with his success finally yielding tangible rewards, Wayne was able to breathe. With that breath came new thoughts: maybe it was time to improve his living situation. Looking around at his cramped little apartment, he started packing up clothes, preparing to move out.

He had the money now—enough to finally enjoy life. There was no need to cling to his frugal past. Filmmaking had always been his dream—across two lifetimes—but more than that, it was a means to a material end. In a country ruled by capital, nothing offered him a greater sense of security than U.S. dollars.

"Hey… are you moving out?"

Wayne turned and saw Naomi enter in her loose-fitting loungewear.

"I'm thinking about it," he replied. "I've asked Jimmy to connect me with a real estate agent. I want a place of my own."

"Oh no… does that mean I won't get to see you every day anymore?" Naomi pouted, frowning slightly.

"There's still time, Naomi," he said, walking over and pulling her into a hug. Speaking softly into her ear, he added, "It won't be easy to find the right house. Even when I move, you're always welcome at my place, anytime, love."

Wayne gently closed the apartment door behind her.

"Damn it, not here!" Naomi pressed both hands against the door, whispering into his ear with half-hearted resistance.

Moments later, she had already forgotten what she'd said. From the door to the balcony, the balcony to the bedroom, the bedroom to the bathroom—sometimes, their mutual understanding was uncanny.

Later, the two lay peacefully on the couch, sharing pizza while watching TV.

"Naomi, you've gotten a lot skinnier lately." Wayne glanced at her—she was wearing nothing but one of his oversized shirts, her pale, slender legs in full view. Actresses often starved themselves to look good on camera, sometimes pushing it too far.

"You know, Wayne," she said between bites, "I used to be happy with how I looked. But once I joined that acting workshop, I realized just how 'fat' I seemed compared to those other women."

"Stick to your original look, Naomi. I promise, your figure won't hold you back in this industry." As he spoke, Wayne finished his pizza and reached beneath the coffee table to pull out a script. He handed it to her. "Read this. Tell me what you think."

Naomi quickly sat up, grabbed a napkin to wipe her hands, and took the script from him. But instead of opening it right away, she stared at him intently.

This wasn't like the passion they'd shared before. The air shifted between them the moment their eyes met.

"Wayne," she said quietly, "you're not… asking me to be your girlfriend, are you?"

She watched him closely. "You're not that struggling little nobody anymore. I'm sure there are plenty of up-and-coming actresses who'd jump into your bed if you gave them this kind of script. Why are you being so nice to me?"

Her hands trembled slightly as she held the script. She didn't even need to read it to know—if she agreed, the female lead was almost certainly hers. She knew this man well enough to understand he never gave away favors for no reason. Not even after sleeping with someone.

"And besides," Naomi added, "my contract with Jenny's agency has clauses. During the active term, I'm not allowed to date, get engaged, get married… not even have a baby—unless ICM gives approval."

"We're just partners, Naomi," Wayne said with a helpless smile, finally understanding her misunderstanding. "I admire your persistence and your attitude. That's why I want to give this opportunity to you and not someone else. I want to help you reach your dreams sooner. That's it—we're just colleagues on the same path."

And that was the truth. Wayne appreciated her, respected her. But this was Hollywood—one of the most chaotic places in the world when it came to relationships. Everyone was an adult. No one took fleeting passion seriously here—it was just chemistry, a momentary need.

Wayne could tell—this woman had feelings for him. But he had never seriously considered settling down with a girlfriend so soon. In this strange country, as long as you didn't have an official partner, no one cared how wild your lifestyle was. At most, people gossiped about your messy private life.

But the moment you entered a committed relationship, you were expected to show the bare minimum of loyalty. Any ongoing promiscuity would no longer be entertainment news—it would become a moral scandal. Not that many in this industry followed those rules, but Wayne wanted to. His father, Ruben, and his mother Anna had set a powerful example.

Garfield"This is the price of fame," Naomi sighed, flipping open the script. She was unwavering in her goals—she had come to Hollywood to make it big, and she wasn't about to let fleeting feelings cloud her vision. That was something Wayne deeply admired about her.

She skimmed through the pages without diving in too deeply. Wayne wouldn't have handed her the script if he didn't think there was a part in it meant for her.

"Honestly, Jenny's always known I've been sleeping with you," Naomi said casually. "She never said a word. I get what she's thinking—a rising director who keeps succeeding can make anyone he wants into a star."

"Naomi, I have to say—you're exactly my type. In fact, you're the only woman I've been with in the past year," Wayne said bluntly. "I don't have the time or energy to date anyone right now."

"But let's stop the small talk. Read the script. Then give me your thoughts—as an audience member. That feedback really matters to me." He pointed to the pages in her hand.

Wayne knew this was only the beginning of his Hollywood journey. Just because Happy Death Day was a hit didn't mean success would follow him automatically. He would never allow himself to get complacent. The learning schedule he had created since childhood was his secret weapon—and his safety net.

He understood better than anyone: he was still a rookie. His directing skills, his cinematic language—none of it could be called mature yet. He had a lot to learn, and plenty to practice. A serious relationship would only drain the time and energy he needed to keep moving forward.

Every decision had to be made with care. Even with his favorite genre, he had to test the waters—step by step—and see how the market reacted.

Directing was a high-pressure job. He didn't drink heavily, didn't smoke weed, and stayed far away from powders and pills. But stress had to be released somehow, or it would lead to insomnia and anxiety. Naomi filled that need perfectly—a no-strings, mutually beneficial relationship with someone who not only matched his taste, but was also down for fun.

Naomi began reading the script from the top. Even from a quick glance, she could tell—it was a horror-thriller.

---

"Chris is a young Black man, currently dating a white woman named Rose. To take their relationship to the next level, they plan a weekend trip to visit her parents. Everything seems normal at first—Rose's parents are surprisingly warm and welcoming.

But as Chris spends time in the small town, he begins to sense something unsettling. The friendly facade begins to crack. Piece by piece, disturbing clues pile up, and Chris realizes the true horror of this visit—a dark, bloody conspiracy awaits him."

---

As Naomi finished reading, she stared at Wayne in awe and couldn't help blurting out:

"Wayne… you're a genius! I've never seen anyone approach these themes from this angle. It's chilling and thought-provoking all at once."

"Thanks, Naomi. Anything else come to mind? I want all your thoughts," he encouraged.

Naomi organized her thoughts. The script had stunned her with its precision.

"This is one of those stories that really gets under your skin the more you think about it. It's not cheap gore, and there are no cheap jumpscares. The protagonist is smart, always trying to survive—he doesn't make dumb decisions. But the atmosphere you've built here... it's terrifying. Everyone's initial friendliness just makes the eventual reveal even more horrifying."

"From a directing standpoint, the scenes are tight, not too many characters—it plays to your strengths. But… the humor. Let's be honest, Wayne, comedy's not exactly your thing. Aside from that, if you can shoot this even close to how it's written, this is Oscar material."

Wayne smiled at her reaction. She'd captured the essence perfectly. He remembered his own awe the first time he encountered this story in his previous life.

And she was right. In his last life, this exact film had been produced on a shoestring budget, yet earned massive box office returns. It went on to become an awards-season darling, eventually winning the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay.

"Naomi, what do you think? I'd like to give you the female lead—Chris's girlfriend. This role isn't like Happy Death Day. She's not the sole protagonist, so you'll have to think it over."

Naomi gripped the script tightly. What was there to think about? Wayne's progress as a director had been incredible. If he could bring even half of this script to life, the project would be a huge success.

"Wayne, I'll ask Jenny to cancel all my other auditions. I want to focus on this role."

It was true. Thanks to Happy Death Day, Naomi was in high demand. But offers for actual lead roles were still rare.

"Since you've decided to take the part," Wayne said seriously, "you'll need to start preparing early. This isn't like the last one—you can't coast on your looks alone. The role needs real acting skills. If you don't want me replacing you halfway through… you'd better be ready."

He looked at her with calm intensity. He meant every word. The budget for this film might be small, but it required far more than a pretty face.

(End of Chapter)

(Note: ƪ⁠(⁠˘⁠⌣⁠˘⁠)⁠ʃ Guess Guess Guess...)