“Sure, let’s say we find a director.” An EP leans forward, his tone skeptical. “We don’t have the budget to pay them.”
“I do,” I state, confidently. “I want to be a producer.”
The room stills again. Worse this time.
I know the movie has a one-hundred-fifty-million-dollar budget. If the other executive producers don’t pull their funding,I’ll probably need to invest ten, maybe twenty million dollars. It can’t be more than that. Doubts creep into my mind, but I push them away. I can panic later.
Heather adjusts her glasses. “Executive producer.”
There’s a big difference.
A producer handles logistics, and onset operations. An executive producer secures financing, negotiates contracts, and makes the high-level decisions that keep a film alive.
“Yes.” I smile down at Heather, glad to see she has my back. Maybe her warning me back in June against taking this role was because she didn’t want us to be sitting here in this exact position. “I’ll pay the director’s fee,” I continue. “I’ll forgo my salary, except for what’s contractually required to go to my team, and I’ll cover an extra month of filming.”
A producer exhales sharply. “That’s going to be a pretty penny.”
“I stand by what I said.”
And I do. The public assumes we actors are all living glamorous, expensive lives. But thanks to a few successful product launches in my early twenties—Reese’s Peach lip gloss and perfume—and my own frugal nature, I’ve made money, and I’ve been smart with it. Aside from my house in LA, which I bought years ago, and a summer home in Italy, I keep my spending minimal. Most of my designer wardrobe comes from sponsorships, and my glam team’s expenses are covered in my contracts.
It’s time to invest in myself.
“And I want production profit shares as well.” The studio execs, the investors, the all-male crew of executive producers all stare at me. “Or there’s no movie.”
“Reese, if you can fund this film and find a director to start filming immediately, I’d let you tattoo your own name on my fucking ass—pardon the language,” the producer exclaims.
I feel so out of my element, but another idea strikes me—a little farfetched and impossible, but perfect. Dante watches me like I’ve turned into someone else. Maybe I have.
I hope our telepathic conversations work past the comfort of set.
I need a favor.
He raises a brow.Anything.
With that, I don’t hesitate. “We have an in with Amara Bellamy.”
“Miss Sinclair is right.” Dante straightens in his chair. “She’s a longtime friend who owes me a favor, and I have an inkling she’d love to work with Reese.”
TheAmara Bellamy. My heart soars with possibility as my nerves dance.
The executives practically pounce on him.
“Can you make it happen?”
“We need this, Dante.”
“Whatever it takes.”
His voice remains steady despite the weight of hundreds of careers hanging on his words. “No promises, but I’ll try.”
This could actually work, or it could all come crashing down around us. Either way, there’s no turning back now.
“If we can get Amara on this project stat, we have a chance to finish filming by Christmas and keep the July release date. I’m willing to put in the hours and extra work to get this done,” I say.
After discussing the logistics of Amara’s potential involvement, the studio’s marketing strategist clears his throat. “Everyone but media damage control, take thirty.”
Dante and I move to leave, but Geraldine cuts in, “You two stay.”
