It was sometime early that evening when Harry finally situated himself on the balcony of his estate, watching the faint orange wash of Los Angeles lights. The city hummed like a restless machine — deals being made, egos going down the toilet, careers being launched or buried by the hour. And yet, in the backdrop of that restless noise, Harry remembered something much quieter.
A conversation on a plane.
Anne Hathaway.
He smiled faintly at the memory — the laugh, the quick wit, the shred of disbelief in her eyes when he said he'd let her audition for his movie. She probably regarded it as polite small talk. In Hollywood, people said things like that to one another every day — and promptly forgot it by the time their wheels touched down on the runway.
But Harry was not like the others.
Once, he had been on the other side – a nobody desperately seeking someone, anyone, to believe in him. He was not going to be the kind of man who ever said something he did not mean.
He called Toni. "Can you reach out to Anne Hathaway's agent? Let him know I meant what I said. I would like her to come in to read for The Blind Man's Gambit."
"I will call her agent first thing in the morning," said Toni. "And Harry…"
"Yes?"
"That is a very decent thing you are doing. Just remember, decent doesn't mean easy."
Harry smirked and looked out at the shining skyline. "Story of my life."
-----
The following morning, he was back in the studio with Greg and the casting assistants. The atmosphere felt flat, strained - everyone was tired from wrangling through the mediocrity of the previous day. The headache that really did hold Harry's attention was Simi, the film's key female protagonist.
This character was required depth - she needed to feel mature, enticing, and to be able to convey a dangerous intelligence that was barely constrained. She wasn't just a bad lady. She was thewhole reason for making this film.
Harry kicked back in his chair, rubbing his forehead while the next eager actress completed her lines. "Next," he muttered, almost inaudibly.
Greg gave him an encouraging look. "We'll find her. Just not today."
Harry groaned. "She has to feel like she has lived a hundred lives already. When she smiles, the audiences should feel uncomfortable. You just can't fake that."
Greg nodded while scribbling notes just as his phone vibrated. He looked down at the phone, frowned, and looked up toward Harry. "Huh."
"What?" said Harry.
"This could interest you," Greg said, holding up his phone, "an agent just called. They have an actress who read the script through a mutual friend and she is interested in Simi."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Who?"
"Cate Blanchett."
Harry blinked in stunned silence for a second. "Cate Blanchett? You're joking."
Greg shook his head. "Nope. Apparently, she is looking to do something darker in between projects. She loved the tone especially the moral ambiguity."
Harry leaned back in his chair with his hand running through his hair. "Well, hell. That's--unexpected."
"And she wants to meet," Greg continued. "And the agent asked if you would be open to a private audition, maybe the first part it would just be a table read. To be honest, it's a miracle the agent reached out."
Harry hesitated. "I can't just accept her without seeing her act for it."
Greg looked at him pointedly. "Are you really going to say no to Cate Blanchett?"
"I'm not saying," Harry clarified. "I just want to see her as Simi, not simply for the star power."
Greg breathed out. "Harry, we are a new production company. Cate is giving us some of her time. You don't request an audition from someone like her — you give her the part and flowers."
Harry grimaced, but he didn't fight it. Greg was right; FunTime was not a major yet. Cate could've gone anywhere. He didn't have the right to be self-important. "Fine," he finally said. "Set it up. But if she is going to play Simi, I at least want her to read the script, with me there. Even if it's informal."
"I'll see what I can do," Greg said, with a grin.
Harry didn't have time to think about it anymore, because the opened the door and the assistant looked in the office. "Mr. Jackson? Anne Hathaway is here."
Harry raised his posture slightly. "Send her in."
Anne walked in, with her cuffs rolled up, wearing jeans and a reasonably dark-blue t-shirt, and loose hair around her shoulders. She appeared nervous but was doing her best to cover it up with an enthusiastic smile. "Hey," she said, with a nice, light sounding voice, as he remembered it.
"Hey yourself," Harry said. "I'm glad you came."
She let out a soft laugh. "To be honest, I didn't think you would remember. People do not usually follow through with their promises made on airplanes."
Harry shrugged. "I'm not 'people.'"
She smiled at that, "Thank you for remembering."
Greg cleared his throat quietly from behind them, gently reminding both Harry and Anne that they were not in a cafe somewhere.
Harry laughed, "Right. Sorry. Let's get started."
Anne nodded, gripping her script tightly, "What scene am I doing?"
Harry handed her the pages, "The street scene when Sophie first meets Aaron. I want to see how you play it."
Anne took a breath, nodded once, and began.
Her voice softened into the role instantly, "You are a pianist?" she said as the line floated with curiosity, not the forced sweet tones that came from a naive performer. In her verbal playing, there was an innocence in her tone, a warmth but not a naiveté to everything she said. As she smiled at the end of the line, Harry caught something natural happen, a spark that was not rehearsed.
Greg silently watched, writing his notes. Harry's expression remained neutral but his gaze followed every movement - the way Anne cocked her head while listening, the stutter before she laughed, the shadow of empathy even simple lines seemed to give life to.
When she finished, she nervously glanced at the two of them. "Was that alright?"
Harry leaned into Greg and said softly, "We may not be big enough to ask for a large name... but we can do a lot with small name."
Greg barely contained his smile pretending to write down something to cover up the form of his grin. Anne picked up Harrys whisper, but couldn't make out what was said.
"Oh did I—how was it bad?" she said quickly, biting at her lip.
Harry smiled and shook his head. "No, you were real. And that's rare... believe me."
Anne sighed and relaxed a little bit, but her cheeks flushed pink. "Now... do I get the part?"
Harry stood, offering her a hand. "We'll be in touch very soon. But I have a feeling we'll see you again."
Anne took his hand, her expression a mix of hope and disbelief. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson."
"Harry," he corrected. "Just Harry."
As she left the room, Greg folded his arms and said under his breath, "You know she's going to fall for you, right?"
Harry snorted. "She'll fall for the role, not me."
Greg arched a brow. "If you say so."
Harry didn't reply. His eyes lingered on the closed door, the faint scent of Anne's perfume still in the air.