Talented Maestro

Chapter 40: Private Assistant

Three plates of rich, aromatic baked cheese and meat sauce pasta were set on the dining table. Once Naomi and his mother sat down, Wayne did something rare—he took a half bottle of champagne out of the fridge.

After pouring it into two glasses for them, he raised his own, looking into his mother's eyes with sincerity.

"Mom, thank you for calling Mr. Thomson Rossman. I don't know how you found out I was in trouble, but… I admit, I underestimated what it takes to make a film. Thank you—for everything you and Dad have done for me."

Anna looked at her son, who had grown so much in just half a year, and her voice was filled with pride.

"No, sweetheart. You've already done so well," she said. "Believe me, Wayne, you've made me proud. You fought for these opportunities, and you earned them. You'll do even better in the future."

Wayne saw the contentment on her face, but he didn't feel proud of himself. He had underestimated the darkness of Hollywood—and the difficulty of filmmaking. This success came with a heavy dose of luck.

If not for his father's funding in the early stages and the favors both parents pulled later, if not for his family's support, he would have failed spectacularly.

But going through that taught him more than any classroom ever could. It was far more valuable than four years in an ivory tower. His mentor had been right—no film is ever made by just one person. It's the result of the tireless efforts of teams, of countless people working in sync.

"Hey, Wayne," Naomi said, lifting her glass after the mother-son moment had passed, "come on, let's toast to your graduation."

"Cheers, sweetheart. Congratulations again," Anna added, raising her own glass.

The three clinked glasses at the small dining table.

"The pasta's excellent, Ms. Watts. You're a good cook," Anna complimented.

"Ah, thank you! Just call me Naomi," she replied with a smile.

After lunch, Wayne pulled his mother over to the sofa and handed her a new script. He wanted her feedback—just like when he was working on his first film.

Anna quietly read the script for a good half hour, flipping through it twice before leaning back with a long sigh.

"Wayne," she began slowly, "your father and I gave you a loving upbringing, didn't we? Then why do you always write stories like this? Just like your first script… I don't like it. This one's even darker—it's chilling."

She looked at her son with genuine concern, wondering if something was wrong deep inside. Why was he always drawn to this kind of material?

Wayne shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and carefully chose his words.

"Mom, I've been studying this kind of narrative since my freshman year. I like exploring the darker sides of human nature to express certain ideas."

"And I suppose you're planning for Naomi to play the female lead again?" Anna asked, her tone skeptical. "Alright. I'm not sure whether you're ready to handle a film like this yet. And casting will be a challenge."

"Especially that Black woman in the script," she continued. "She doesn't have many scenes, but she'll need real talent. Don't think crying while smiling is easy. This feels like a small ensemble film—much more complicated than Happy Death Day."

"Still, I'll admit, the upside is clear. Simple sets, no need for heavy special effects, and the cinematography shouldn't be too complex. You'll need an experienced director of photography. Most importantly, based on the script, it looks like it can be made on a very low budget."

Anna shared her thoughts honestly. As she had said, she didn't like the story at all—it gave her chills just reading it.

"Yes," Wayne nodded. "I'm hoping Naomi can handle the lead. As for the other roles, I'm in no rush. Hollywood has plenty of talent to choose from. Worst case, I'll revise the script to match the casting."

As they discussed the project, Naomi brought over coffee and quietly sat beside them, listening.

"You're not planning to self-finance and do another indie production, are you?" Anna asked sharply. "Listen, Wayne, every director in Hollywood knows one thing—no matter how confident you are, you never use your own money to make a film."

She was genuinely worried her son would get reckless again now that he had tasted success.

"No, Mom," Wayne said reassuringly. "Even though this project needs only a small budget, I've already submitted a production plan to Fox. They're reviewing it. I promise—I'm not gambling with my own money this time."

After all, every film was a gamble. No one could predict the outcome. Even the big studios, with their market analysis departments, still had box office flops. Audience tastes were the most unpredictable variable of all.

"Hmm… you're being very clear-headed, Wayne," Anna said with a nod. "Alright then, that's enough for today. I should head back before your father does something crazy at home. If I don't get back in time, who knows? He might've turned the place into a weapons factory!"

---

Anna picked up her bag and smiled at Naomi.

"Thanks for the pasta, Naomi. I've called a car, Wayne—you don't have to see me off."

Wayne watched as his mother got into the car and left. His gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned away, worry creeping into his mind. It had already been several days since he submitted the project to 20th Century Fox, and there was still no news. That silence unsettled him.

He picked up his phone and dialed Jimmy's number.

"Hey, Jimmy. It's Wayne. Any word from Fox yet?" he asked the moment the line connected, unable to hide his eagerness.

"Nothing concrete yet," Jimmy replied. "I called them. Terry got back to me and said it's still under discussion. Oh, but your assistant situation? I found someone. I gave her your address—she should be there soon for the interview."

"Got it. Thanks. Keep an eye on the Fox situation—and don't hesitate to follow up."

After hanging up, Wayne couldn't help wondering about the assistant Jimmy had found. What kind of person would it be?

Meanwhile, Naomi sat quietly on the balcony, reading the script. She never interrupted him when he was working. She was sharp—smart enough to know when to be affectionate, and when to give space.

Wayne hoped Fox would respond soon. If the project got the green light, he'd need to begin assembling his production team: at the very least, a reliable assistant director and a trusted cinematographer. If he could get Steve back to handle lighting, it'd be perfect.

But none of that could begin until the project was approved. Waiting at home, in silence, for that decision… was torturous.

"Someone's at the door. I'll get it!"

Naomi noticed Wayne zoning out, a cigarette hanging from his lips—his usual thinking posture—and went to open the door.

In stepped a young white woman in her early twenties, around 5'7", thin build, average features—but at least not unpleasant to look at.

"Hello, Director Garfield. I'm here to apply for the assistant position. Here's my resume," she said quickly, handing over a stapled document as Wayne looked up.

"No need for that. Let's talk. Tell me about yourself—and why you want this job." He didn't even glance at the resume. For an assistant, credentials weren't everything.

"I'm Nina Klein, 21, just graduated with a degree in Finance from NYU. I don't have any work experience yet, but I believe I'm fully capable of handling this role," she said, clearly nervous but doing her best to stay composed in front of the young director.

Wayne leaned back and frowned slightly.

"Nina, this isn't a temp or internship gig. I need a stable, long-term assistant. You should be on Wall Street, crunching numbers—not playing babysitter to a director."

She saw he was about to dismiss her and quickly spoke up, her voice urgent.

"Please, Director Garfield. Wall Street discriminates against women—I've seen it firsthand. Before I came here, I researched you and your work. I want this job—not as a stepping stone, but because I need it. Please give me a chance."

A chance. That word lingered in Wayne's mind.

He looked at this plain-looking girl, earnest and sincere, and saw a reflection of his younger self—someone desperate for one opportunity.

"Alright, Nina. Can you drive?"

"Of course. I can drive."

"Then go home, get your things together, and meet Jimmy to sign the contract. There's a confidentiality agreement included. Look—I'm not stingy. If you prove yourself, I'll skip the probation period. You'll start at $5,000 a month—provided you sign the NDA. If that's acceptable, you start tomorrow."

It was a generous offer for someone just out of college. But if she truly needed the job, Wayne believed she'd quickly learn to do it well. He wanted to give her a real shot.

"Thank you! I'll head to Jimmy's now and be here first thing tomorrow." Nina beamed, unsure what made him change his mind—but she wasn't going to question it. She treasured the opportunity.

It couldn't be her looks—especially not with the woman on the balcony. Naomi was far more striking.

Wayne nodded slightly as Nina exited the apartment.

"That girl's had a rough life, Wayne," Naomi said as she sat beside him, speaking softly.

"I don't know if you noticed, but her clothes were old—but very clean. Her shoes had visible wear, two or three years at least. The cuffs of her shirt were frayed. She wasn't lying—she really needs this job."

Wayne hadn't paid attention to any of that, but now that she mentioned it, he recalled those details.

"You've got a sharp eye, Naomi. Anything else you picked up?"

"A bit more." Naomi pointed toward the window.

"She drove off in an old pickup—fifteen years old, maybe more. Like I said, she's likely struggling financially, but she presents herself with dignity."

Wayne stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"If she proves she can handle the job, this could change her life. A personal assistant plays a critical role. If she's capable and keeps her mouth shut, I won't hesitate to give her a raise. The cost's nothing to me."

"Just telling you what I noticed," Naomi said lightly. "Want some more coffee? Or are you getting back to work?"

She lifted the coffee pot and refilled his cup. But Wayne suddenly stood, pulled Naomi close, and whispered with a smirk:

"Sweetheart, coffee's got nothing on how delicious you are."

With that, he swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Naomi didn't resist. She liked his strength, liked his confidence. Her hands moved deftly, unbuckling his belt.

"Mmm…"

A sharp gasp escaped Naomi's lips—followed by shallow, quickened breaths behind the bedroom door.