"Sir, ma'am, have you decided what to order?"
Whether by coincidence or not, just as the tension between them reached a boiling point, the waiter approached to take their order, inadvertently easing the atmosphere.
"Start us off with the seafood platter for two," Cesare decided swiftly. "For my main, I'll have the filet mignon, medium-rare, with mashed potatoes and lobster tomato sauce on the side. Open the wine—two bottles. You choose the pairings."
The waiter jotted down the order swiftly, then turned to look at Jenny alongside Cesare.
The tantalizing aroma of tenderloin, the rich, slightly tart aftertaste of red wine, even the wheatiness of a single slice of bread—all were irresistible temptations to Jenny. She'd been working day and night for nearly a week straight, and hadn't eaten lunch.
But that also meant a week without exercise. Every bite of this feast now carried a high risk of turning into fat on her face and body.
"Tuna salad, please." She admired her own composed tone, even adding with a touch of resignation, "No dressing, please."
The waiter's demeanor instantly turned cold, but Jenny didn't take offense. In high-end restaurants, waitstaff showed more respect to food connoisseurs. Customers like her—obviously obsessed with strict dieting—were less welcome than tourists.
Conversely, Cesare showed a hint of approval. He offered, "I imagine you probably didn't have time for lunch."
"Yes, but I've worked five days straight without time for the gym," Jenny shrugged. "Do I crave good food at times like this? Yes. But I crave success even more."
"Excellent," Cesare praised without reservation. "You never cease to surprise me, Miss Jefferson. Now, allow me to apologize for my oversight. I should have considered Jim's capabilities, but clearly, my busy schedule led to an oversight."
Jenny raised an eyebrow. "You mean you thought I could make it in time for dinner and didn't need to rush?"
"I worked my way up from the bottom too," Cesare said. When I was working in the mailroom, Eno Martin once sent me on an errand to get Julia Roberts to a dinner within three hours—she was filming My Best Friend's Wedding at Universal Studios with director P.J. Hogan. Both were in foul moods, and I was just a newbie, barely three months into the job. Julia had explicitly told Martin she didn't want to attend that evening's event, and Hogan had scheduled filming until 9 PM that night."
Jenny found herself drawn in. "How did you finally convince her?" she asked.
"That's the problem," Cesare said. "Within three hours, I delivered Julia looking stunning into Martin's arms. All Jim has to do today is get you a dress, make sure you leave work on time, change, and come over. There are no fixed standards in this business, and that's precisely why the gap between good and bad can be so vast."
"I see what you mean," Jenny said. "It sounds less like you misjudged the timing and more like you misjudged Jim's capabilities—though I still can't shake this feeling. You know, an agent's most crucial skill is discernment. We judge people, we judge scripts. Between misjudging Jim's abilities and miscalculating the timing, the former seems like the more serious mistake."
"Ah." Cesare gave a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. In all the time Jenny had known him, she hadn't seen him display any human emotion. "I can tell you're a sharp girl."
The waiter brought white wine and poured a glass for each of them. Jenny raised her glass toward Cesare. "In Hollywood, that's not a bad thing, right?"
"Of course not," Cesare said, making space as the waiter placed a sizable seafood platter on the table. "Given your long-term dietary restrictions, I wouldn't recommend the oysters or the baked scallops with cheese—they'd be too heavy on your stomach. But you could try the baked cuttlefish. It's lighter, lower in calories, and quite tasty."
"Thanks for the recommendation," Jenny said, her mouth suddenly watering. Goodness, the last time she'd eaten to her heart's content felt like a lifetime ago—literally.
They fell silent for a moment, quietly enjoying the appetizers. Jenny found the restaurant's food absolutely delicious. She ate two pieces of baked cuttlefish and a small slice of bread before finally pausing.
Cesare topped up her wine. "By the way, that little dress—it's made from a T-shirt, right? Clever idea."
"Thanks," Jenny replied, feeling a touch smug. "But I didn't have time for makeup, so I just slapped on some lipstick in the elevator."
"With your looks and age, makeup isn't essential," Cesare remarked matter-of-factly, his gaze drifting over her without any hint of lewdness. "In fact, seeing you without makeup makes me even more confident—you're beautiful even without it."
No woman dislikes compliments, and Jenny was no exception. Warmed by the fine food and sweet words, she relaxed considerably and couldn't help but smile back at Cesare. "Thank you for the compliment—but if you think that makes me forget the question you asked earlier, you're mistaken."
"Seems I didn't get away with it," Cesare murmured, sipping his wine. "It was indeed a mistake on my part. Whether it was miscalculating the time or misjudging a colleague—that's for you to decide. You're free to interpret it however you like."
"Then you'll be losing points with me." Jenny wasn't about to let this advantage slip. She fixed Cesare with a serious gaze. "There's another question I'm quite curious about. You're an agent. Let's put it bluntly: agents and pimps essentially do the same job—exchanging one party's labor for another's money. Of course, many agents occasionally moonlight as pimps too."
A polite smile touched Cesare's lips once more. "I won't dispute that."
"Then here's the question, Mr. Vigerie," Jenny asked curiously. "Have you ever seen a pimp as high and mighty as you? I mean, how do you use that face to negotiate deals for your clients? We all know in Hollywood, it's all about connections. Based on your performance today, I find it hard to believe you even have a single friend."
"Excellent question." Cesare remained remarkably composed. "To your questions, three answers: No, most agents do require affability and approachability. Yes, I do have few friends. And no—I don't present this face to studios. When necessary, I can be polite and witty. I simply choose not to expend that energy on the wrong crowd."
"So I'm not worth your pretense," Jenny pressed.
"You are not," Cesare said, his blue eyes deep and sharp as he glanced at her. "Because you don't care about my coldness. Miss Jefferson, on this point, I trust my judgment."
Jenny opened her mouth—then closed it. What could she say? She truly didn't care about Cesare's coldness. As long as he proved himself a good agent, she wouldn't mind if he never spoke to her, communicating solely through emails.
"As for your fourth point, I agree wholeheartedly. In Hollywood, everything hinges on connections. I believe an exceptional agent must possess the following qualities: First, an unerring eye for talent. Second, prescient market analysis. Third, a vast and influential network. Fourth, outstanding control over their clients." Cesare signaled the waiter to clear the appetizer platter. "Miss Jefferson, do you agree with my assessment?"
Jenny nodded. "The first point is debatable—you misjudged Jim. But..." She smiled. "You took a chance on me, even canceling your trip to New York for me. So I choose to believe your eye for talent is pretty sharp. Second, your decision against Jennifer Bell taking 'Pearl Harbor' proves your market analysis is spot-on—that film's box office was disastrous. As for the fourth point, oh Mr. Vijay, you're undeniably a control freak. That much is absolutely true."
"So only the third point remains questionable," Cesare said. " You doubt my networking skills could maintain diverse connections across all walks of life."
Jenny pondered for a moment, then nodded. "That leaves us with just this issue."
The waiter brought steaks and salads, temporarily interrupting their conversation. Jenny sniffed enviously at the aroma wafting from Cesare's plate, noting he ate quickly yet with impeccable grace.
"Back to Julia's story," Cesare said after a sip of wine, setting down his knife and fork. His plate was already half empty. "—Forgive my wolfish eating. If you're curious, I skipped lunch—within three hours, I persuaded Julia to appear radiant at the dinner. And you want to know how I did it."
"Exactly," Jenny admitted, narrowing her eyes in speculation. "You didn't flirt with Julia or something? But even if she agreed to attend, how did you convince the director to let her go? Did you flirt with him too?"
"I didn't need to," Cesare said calmly. "My biological father is MGM's Senior Executive Vice President, my mother is Disney's Head of Production, my stepfather was Time Warner's Head of Acquisitions, and my great-grandfather was Rossy Manson, one of MGM's founders. Julia and Hogan are family friends. That night, I brought Hogan to the dinner too."
He raised his glass, tilting it slightly toward Jenny in a toast. "That's one reason I became a senior agent within five years, Miss Jefferson. I may not boast the most extensive network in all of Hollywood, but I certainly rank among the most well-connected agents."
Jenny was speechless. Who said foreigners kept strictly to business? That they didn't rely on connections? In every corner of the world, connections were the most valuable resource. Compared to the Chinese, foreigners were even less shy about leveraging connections—they took pride in having them.
She raised her glass. "So, you've certainly proven you'll be an excellent agent, and I believe you're quite satisfied with me as well."
She clinked glasses lightly with Cesare. "Does this toast celebrate our agency agreement?"
Cesare shook his head and set his glass down. His sapphire eyes fixed on Jenny. "No, Miss Jefferson. This merely confirms you possess the qualifications and intent to enter into an agreement with me. Before we finalize the contract, I have one final question."
Jenny frowned, suddenly gripped by uncertainty. "What is it?"
"What is your ultimate goal?" Cesare asked. Under his piercing gaze, Jenny felt an overwhelming urge not to lie. "Whatever it is, I won't judge. You can—and must—be completely honest with me."
Jenny's first instinct was still to lie, but before she could speak, Cesare seemed to sense it. He immediately added, "Whether it's becoming an Oscar winner, a genre-specific actress, just wanting to make money, or marrying into wealth—you can honestly say it. I won't judge you. In fact, I can tell you this, Miss Jefferson: no matter how you answer, I'll likely sign you anyway."
"Um..." " Jenny felt that if she didn't tell the truth now, Cesare might see through her and get angry. Reluctantly, she said, "You promise you won't laugh at me?"
"I promise."
"Okay." Jenny shrugged. "What do you think is the highest achievement an actress can reach in Hollywood? Winning multiple awards? Having box office earnings rank in the top ten? A star on the Walk of Fame? Owning your own company, or even having your own cable network like Oprah?"
"Oprah doesn't have a cable network," Cesare corrected. "She has a television production company. But yes, she represents a pinnacle."
Chen Zhen suddenly remembered Oprah's network launched in 2009 and quickly steered the conversation away. "Right, you're right, she represents the pinnacle."
She gestured to indicate the height Oprah had reached, then covered it with her other hand. "Well, my goal is to surpass her. I want to carve my name into Hollywood history—I will, I must dominate Hollywood."
Cesare's movements paused briefly.