Chapter 25: Two Goddamn Awful Pieces of News
"Mother fxxk!"
As soon as Wayne and his group stepped out of the hotel, his face was thunderously dark. Luke and Jimmy exchanged worried glances but didn't dare speak.
This roller-coaster negotiation had completely shaken Wayne's composure. He was just shy of 21, and even his usually level head had been overtaken by frustration.
When Jimmy saw Wayne furiously kick a trash can on the sidewalk, he rushed forward, grabbed Wayne by the shoulders, and gave him a rough shake.
"Wayne! Listen to me—this is Hollywood. Don't let anger cloud your judgment. We still have other options. We can reopen talks with Touchstone. The festival isn't over yet. There's still time."
"Okay, Jimmy. Okay!" Wayne shrugged off his arms and rubbed his face hard with both hands. "Let's head back. Jimmy, help me get in touch with Touchstone. Tell them I'm open to considering their offer."
He forced himself to suppress the fury burning inside him and gave Luke a strained, bitter smile when he noticed the concern in his eyes.
Just when everyone thought he'd gotten himself under control and was about to flag a cab, Wayne suddenly turned back toward the trash can and kicked it again with all his might.
"MOTHER FXXKER!!!"
"…Alright, I'm good now. Let's go. Jimmy, try to find out what happened with Castle Rock. Why did they pull out of the deal so suddenly?"
Wayne yanked open the cab door and climbed in. Even as the car pulled away, his mind was spinning furiously, trying to understand why they would walk away from a deal that could easily make them money.
Meanwhile, Luke opened the screening room doors and went in to prepare for the next showing. The unexpected turn of events had even him—usually the calmest one—feeling dispirited.
They were this close to a breakthrough after nearly half a year of hard work. And now, this damn disaster.
All they could do now was keep screening the film and hope some other potential buyer showed up.
Wayne sat by the theater entrance, a cigarette hanging from his lips, watching tourists trickle in and out of the various screening halls. Starting the next day, word-of-mouth had started to work in his favor.
Now, about half the seats filled up for every showing.
He knew the reason clearly: among all the indie films screening on this street, his movie was the only one with commercial appeal.
Just look at the so-called "artistic" indie directors. Most of their films had vague themes, overlong tracking shots, nauseating shaky cam, and the mandatory dose of sexual excess.
It was as if without those, it didn't count as "cinema." Wayne didn't deny that some true masters could turn slow-paced films into genuine art. But such people were rare.
His professor had always been right—cinema was fundamentally mass entertainment, not some narcissistic director's playground. Professor Anderson had warned him early on: don't get trapped chasing "style" and "art" at the cost of storytelling.
Take Happy Death Day, for example—the very film now screening behind him. He'd kept changes minimal to play it safe, but the black comedy elements still stood out.
Distributors could see through it instantly. Sure, the budget was modest and some of his directorial style showed through, but at its core, this was a full-blown commercial film. Almost every shot served to hold the audience's attention.
When Jimmy came jogging over, Wayne snuffed out his cigarette on the pavement and immediately asked:
"How did it go? Did you find anything out?"
"Two updates," Jimmy said, dropping onto the curb and taking two long swigs of water. "Both absolute shit."
"I just got off the phone with Tom from Castle Rock. He has no clue why the company suddenly shut down the deal. All he knows is the order came directly from Los Angeles. Edward was told to pull the plug, no discussion. Even Tom couldn't ask why."
Jimmy's expression darkened. "Then I contacted James from Touchstone. Told him we were ready to revisit their offer. He said Mr. Mason already declined. Touchstone is out too."
Both bombs dropped at once. Jimmy watched Wayne nervously, unsure how he'd react. He was confused himself—none of it made sense.
These studios usually didn't go to such lengths to screw over small-time indie directors. Wayne was a nobody. If they didn't want the film, they just wouldn't bid. This kind of coordinated ghosting wasn't normal.
"Jimmy, where do you think the problem is?" Wayne lit another cigarette, trying to clear his mind. "I'm all over the place right now. But I can feel it—something's wrong. There has to be some common factor that made both companies back off like this."
"I'll make a few calls," Jimmy said, finishing his water and standing up. "Let's see what other distributors are still around. Shouldn't be hard to get contact info. Don't stress—we're in Hollywood. There's no shortage of studios."
This was also Jimmy's opportunity—and he wasn't about to let it slip away.
He'd been out of the CAA mailroom for two years now, but his client list was still just bit-part actors. Anyone with real promise wouldn't pick a rookie agent like him.
Even the small-fry clients he did manage were usually shared with one or two other agents.
But Wayne… Wayne was different. Jimmy saw real potential in him. If Wayne succeeded, so would he. His whole career could change.
He wasn't going to let this golden chance vanish.
Jimmy had joined CAA straight out of Harvard's economics program, enduring ridicule from friends and classmates as he took a job fetching coffee and sorting mail. Three years later, they were all climbing corporate ladders on Wall Street—while he was still scraping by, a Harvard grad living off a tiny agent's salary.
Sure, when he first helped Wayne put together the crew and casting, it was just to squeeze out a commission.
But now?
Now Jimmy wasn't doing this for commission.
He was doing it for hope.
Wayne didn't even notice when Jimmy had left. Right now, all he could think about was figuring out where it had all gone wrong.
"Could it be that fat bastard Harvey Weinstein behind this?"
The thought suddenly popped into his mind. That overweight Jewish mogul… But no, Wayne quickly dismissed it. Harvey wasn't yet the kingmaker he would become—the infamous Oscar puppet master. Even at his peak, Harvey Weinstein never had enough pull to make mid-sized studios bow and scrape for him.
Smack!
Wayne slapped his thigh hard. Of course—Miramax.
Maybe it was time to see if they had changed their tune. Maybe it was worth another try.
In Hollywood, pride was the most useless currency. Wayne had long accepted that there was no shame in thickening his skin. In this business, face value meant nothing when compared to cold, hard cash.
After quickly checking in with Luke in the screening room, Wayne rushed back to the motel and grabbed the phone. He dialed the number given to him by Tali, a screener for Miramax.
"Hello? This is Wayne Garfield. Ms. Tali, I'd like to request another meeting with Mr. Weinstein. Yes, still about the film. Perfect, I'll be right there!"
He hung up, heart pounding. Something about this was off—if everyone else had passed on the movie, but Miramax hadn't, then it was worth digging deeper. He had to see what they knew that he didn't.
This time, Tali led him directly into Harvey Weinstein's suite.
Wayne's stomach twisted at the sight of the man. Sitting there in a tailored suit, stuffing the room with his sheer presence, Harvey made Wayne deeply uncomfortable. He knew exactly what kind of person he was dealing with, even if the world hadn't yet caught on.
"Mr. Weinstein, I'd like to revisit the distribution rights for my film. I truly believe Happy Death Day has real commercial value. It could generate solid returns for Miramax—and for you personally."
Sitting across from the mountain of a man, Wayne spoke with a rehearsed smile, hiding his true thoughts. In reality, Miramax was the last resort. He had no desire to hand the movie over to this man—he just wanted to dig up any scrap of information Harvey might let slip.
Harvey's piggy eyes locked on him.
"Listen, Garfield. I wasn't going to see you again, but your film still has some value," he said, lifting his glass lazily. "So here's the deal. One shot. $800,000 for full global rights. I'll guarantee it gets a theatrical release."
Among all the execs Wayne had met in the past few days, Harvey had the sharpest instincts. No one else even came close. Wayne knew if the first Happy Death Day made any noise, there was sequel potential. Big time.
Harvey had built Miramax into a mid-tier powerhouse through nothing but instinct and risk. He might look crude and unrefined, but beneath the surface, he was a ruthlessly shrewd businessman.
Wayne narrowed his eyes.
"No, Mr. Weinstein. At $800,000, I wouldn't even recover my production costs. I'd rather keep the film on a shelf at home than sell it at a loss."
He was seething inside, cursing the greedy pig across from him.
But Harvey didn't flinch. He raised his glass and gave a knowing smirk.
"You'll come around. Maybe not today, but you will," he said smoothly. "You don't have a choice. Trust me—sooner or later, you'll be back at my door."
He leaned in slightly.
"Look at me, kid. Only I, Harvey Weinstein, can get your film into theaters. You think anyone else is going to do that? Think again. Next time you come back, the offer will be $500K. Take it or leave it."
Wayne studied him carefully. That confidence… It wasn't just arrogance. Harvey knew something—something Wayne didn't. That explained the smirk, the certainty, the smugness. But there was no way to get him to talk. Playing mind games with a veteran like Harvey was a lost cause.
"Alright. I'll think about it. Thank you for your time, Mr. Weinstein."
Wayne stood up, deciding not to waste another minute in this lion's den. He hadn't gotten a deal, but he had gotten clarity: the root of the problem wasn't this oversized pig. At least not directly.