Talented Maestro

Chapter 42: Jimmy's Ambition

Every demand Wayne had Jimmy propose was carefully calculated to serve his own long-term interests. Whether or not 20th Century Fox would agree was another matter—but the point was to stake his claim during negotiations.

This kind of contract talk was never settled overnight. Even A-list directors and actors often ended up signing deals hundreds of pages long, detailing everything from lodging arrangements to car types, and even how many personal assistants they could bring on set.

Some top stars took things even further. There were cases where the production had to assign dedicated staff just to take care of their pets, and even entourage members or boyfriends/girlfriends were paid through the production budget. That's why every mainstream commercial film set was a battlefield of subtle power plays and behind-the-scenes negotiations.

Wayne's request to also serve as a

co-producer was strategic—he needed that authority to keep the crew in line. His youth made him vulnerable to power imbalances, and he couldn't afford to lose control.

The trickiest demand, of course, was the one about back-end box office participation. He wasn't short on money now, and he believed in his work. So, he wanted to try negotiating for a piece of the post-release pie—even if it was a performance-based, tiered incentive deal.

Wayne specifically didn't ask for net profits—because he knew how easily studios could manipulate those numbers. With studios controlling the entire production and distribution pipeline, there was no way to verify real costs. Harry Potter had been a global box office phenomenon, yet the official accounting claimed it lost money—just so the studio wouldn't have to pay out profit shares to contracted actors. Who would believe that?

In contrast, a box office gross percentage was clean and transparent. But those types of deals were usually reserved for major stars or directors. They lowered upfront production costs while motivating the talent to make the film a hit—because that's when the big payouts came.

—

After leaving Wayne's apartment, Jimmy drove straight to Century City. Not to Fox headquarters, though—he returned to his own office at CAA.

Under Michael Ovitz's leadership, the Creative Artists Agency had skyrocketed in influence and was now widely considered the top agency in the business. While rivals like ICM, APA, and William Morris still existed, none posed a serious threat anymore.

Back at his desk, Jimmy began organizing documents and preparing for his meeting at Fox the following morning. The sooner the film got into production, the more it benefited him.

"You're back at the office now? Jimmy, we're about to clock out," said the agent across from him, looking up in surprise.

"Garfield's new project just got greenlit," Jimmy replied, taking a swig from his water bottle. "I need to work late and get the negotiation materials ready for Fox."

A colleague on his right turned with a snide tone, "Jimmy's not one of us anymore—he's too busy climbing the ladder."

"Yeah, Jimmy's got his hands full," the one across from him added with a smile.

"Come on, Stephen, don't tease me," Jimmy replied with a chuckle. "Honestly, I'm dying over here."

He ignored the sarcasm from his right. They were all junior agents, barely past the mailroom stage. In this line of work, success always bred jealousy.

Stephen—the agent across from him—smiled with a hint of envy. "I wish I were busy like you, stressed out because I actually had something going on. But hey, no such luck."

In Hollywood, it wasn't just actors and directors chasing dreams—agents were too, all hoping for that breakout client that would launch their careers.

The word opportunity had a magnetic pull. As soon as it came up, several coworkers nearby turned their heads, their eyes slightly twisted with envy. No one cared about the sleepless nights Jimmy had put in—they just assumed he'd gotten lucky.

"Jimmy, did you hear? One of the partners suggested giving you your own office. Looks like you're about to graduate from this cubicle."

"Really? I've been too swamped to notice." Jimmy smiled, brushing off the remark. But he already knew—it was happening next Monday. He had his own sources.

The colleagues chatting around him looked at Jimmy, exhausted but energized, and their jealousy spread like a virus. Jimmy understood—he had once looked at someone else the same way.

But things had changed.

Everyone thought he'd gotten lucky, thanks to landing up-and-comers like Uma Thurman and Ethan Hawke. But the real prize—the game-changer—was Wayne Garfield.

Plenty of agents had promising young directors on their rosters. Most fizzled out before ever directing anything at all. But Wayne was different. He'd already broken $70 million at the North American box office, and his global gross had passed $100 million.

Now, his colleagues—those who'd once stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the mailroom—were practically drooling with envy.

Having just one successful director client could transform an agent's career. Just think: every time Wayne made a film, Jimmy could slide a few actor clients into the cast. That alone was a goldmine.

Still, Jimmy wasn't entirely at ease.

Clients like Uma Thurman and Ethan Hawke were starting to get noticed, and the agency had already assigned multiple co-representatives to manage them. That was CAA's rule—usually four to six agents per high-profile client. On the surface, it was about better service. In reality, it made poaching clients impossible and raised the cost of jumping ship.

So for now, Jimmy had only one focus: Wayne. As long as he kept a firm grip on this rising-star director, he had nothing to fear.

Just then, his desk phone rang.

"Jimmy, come to my office. I need to speak with you," said a calm voice—it was Wright Loud, a partner at CAA responsible for the TV and film division.

"Your time's come, Jimmy. Good luck," Stephen whispered from across the cubicle. He was one of the rare agents who managed to be both grounded and supportive.

Jimmy stood up, heart pounding. His moment was arriving.

On the third floor, Jimmy knocked and entered Wright's office, taking a seat across from him.

"Boss, what's up?"

"You've done great work with Wayne Garfield." Wright studied the young agent with measured approval. No one had expected this rookie to land a director whose film grossed over $100 million. He still remembered how the whole office had laughed when Jimmy came back from a university visit, proudly claiming he'd signed some unknown student filmmaker.

"That's all Wayne," Jimmy answered modestly. "To be honest, I didn't expect this either. But he's just getting started—his next project with 20th Century Fox is about to launch."

Wright didn't respond to the project news. Instead, he said, "We've got a new office ready for you. And I want you to start using the company's resources and connections more freely. I hope I'll be congratulating you as a partner someday soon."

That made Jimmy's heart skip. His bold decision to chase a nobody director on a school campus—what once seemed like a foolish gamble—was finally about to pay off in a big way.

"Thank you," he said, confidence replacing the cautious tone. "I'll do my best."

Wright leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. In a casual tone, he asked, "Is it true Wayne Garfield's still under a temporary contract?"

That immediately snapped Jimmy to full alert.

"I'll handle his full contract soon," he replied quickly. "But it'll have to wait until after we close the Fox negotiations. Right now, Wayne's entirely focused on his new film."

"Don't delay this," Wright said, leaning back in his chair once he saw Jimmy understood.

"I won't," Jimmy replied firmly.

"Be careful, Jimmy," Wright added patiently, speaking like a veteran. "Any small misstep—anything that makes a client unhappy—can be a reason for them to drop their agent. I've also heard ICM is showing serious interest in Wayne. They might make a move."

That warning hit Jimmy hard. A director whose debut film made $70 million in North America would absolutely draw the attention of rival agencies.

"I've got your back," Wright added, softening his tone. "Don't hesitate to come to me if you run into trouble."

That warmth only made Jimmy more uneasy. He knew exactly what Wright was implying: If things get competitive, we'll assign you co-agents to share the burden.

Translation? We'll dilute your control over Wayne, but don't worry—we'll protect our asset.

Jimmy forced a smile. "There's no issue right now, boss. Wayne and I have a strong personal relationship. Unless something completely unexpected happens, no one's stealing him."

There wasn't much more he could do. He couldn't stop the agency from assigning co-representatives. But one thing still set him apart: Wayne trusted him. Their recent collaboration had only deepened that bond. And that bond—more than contracts or commissions—was his true leverage.

If he lost a little money because of CAA's multi-agent model, so be it. Even if his commission was split four ways, it was worth it to keep Wayne.

"Alright then," Jimmy said, standing up when it was clear the meeting was over. "I've got to get back to work—still need to prep materials for the Fox meeting."

Wright nodded, and Jimmy exited the office.

Back at his desk, the floor was nearly empty—everyone else had gone home. Jimmy let out a long sigh.

What could he really do about shared representation? That was just how the company operated. It wasn't personal.

And Wayne's first film had been too successful for even a giant like CAA to ignore. A $1 million indie film had grossed over $100 million worldwide—and it was still rolling out in international markets.

That was over a 100x return.

Even in Hollywood, where wild success stories weren't uncommon, that kind of ROI was top-tier. If Wayne's next film even matched the quality of Happy Death Day, studios would be lining up from Los Angeles to New York to work with him.

Jimmy finished organizing his materials for the next day's negotiation, stepped out into the night, and drove home.

Tomorrow was critical. He had to bring his A-game—not just to win the deal, but to hold on to the future he was building.