Daenerys Entertainnt Headquarters.
Simon reached his office to find six people already waiting in the outer lounge: three won and three n. The won were tall, striking, and the exact three he had selected as contenders for Wonder Woman; the n were clearly their agents.
As soon as he appeared, one of the won raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, Simon."
He stepped closer, studying Helena Christensen, whom he had not seen in over six months and smiled. "How have Cindy and the others been?"
"They're great," Helena replied, a hint of playful resentnt in her eyes. "I was starting to think you'd completely forgotten about us."
At his twentieth-birthday party earlier that year, Simon had run into several supermodels he rembered from his original tiline: Cindy Crawford, Helena Christensen, Paulina Porizkova, and Stephanie Seymour.
He had exchanged contact details with them at the ti. But the worlds they moved in were simply too far apart. After an initial flurry of calls, Simon had not pursued things further, and the won perceptive as they were, had tactfully stopped reaching out.
Had this opportunity not arisen, he would not have contacted them on his own.
"Of course I haven't forgotten," he said lightly. "I have an excellent mory."
Smiling, he greeted the others.
Besides Helena, the remaining Wonder Woman candidates were Famke Janssen and Erica Anderson.
Famke Janssen had played the first-generation Jean Grey/Phoenix in the original X-n films and a Bond villainess in GoldenEye.
Of the three, Simon leaned toward Famke. In many ways she rivaled Gal Gadot, and her Phoenix presence in X-n had arguably surpassed Gadot's.
Famke was twenty-three, from a Dutch acting family.
Simon planned to begin production on Wonder Woman in three years and release within five—limited by the standard five-year rights agreent. At twenty-eight when the film released, after several years of grooming, her beauty and aura would be at their peak.
Erica Anderson was equally stunning, though less known. Simon recalled her most famous role as the lead in the erotic thriller Zandalee opposite Nicolas Cage a few years later.
He had chosen her based on a fitness-oriented audition tape she submitted.
Helena Christensen brought a healthy, wild Nordic vitality. At twenty—the youngest of the three—she would be a perfect twenty-five in five years if selected.
The six followed Simon into his office, which suddenly felt crowded. The seating area had one long sofa and two single chairs--room for five. The two agents who drew the short straw pulled over extra chairs.
Once everyone was settled, Simon looked at the three won squeezed onto the long sofa. "First, nothing we discuss today leaves this room. Anyone who can't keep quiet is out."
Until now, the agencies had submitted candidates based only on Daenerys's general casting requirents. They had guessed, but nothing had been confird.
Simon's serious tone sharpened everyone's attention.
It also signaled how rare this opportunity was. The three agents, all well-connected in the industry, had already put the pieces together: Daenerys had only recently announced acquiring the Wonder Woman rights.
Yet as they glanced at their clients, the sa regretful thought occurred to all three agents: Not much up top.
Both the comics and Lynda Carter--the iconic seventies Wonder Woman--were famously well-endowed. The three won before them did not share that attribute.
Had they guessed wrong?
Or did Simon Westeros simply prefer this type?
The minds of the powerful were hard to read.
Simon, of course, rembered Lynda Carter's portrayal. But even without Gal Gadot as reference, he had no interest in casting a buxom figurehead.
When everyone nodded, he continued. "You've probably guessed already. Yes, I'm looking for Wonder Woman." Before excitent could fully register, he added, "But Daenerys has no plans to shoot in the near future. You'd be waiting three years. If we reach an agreent today, the studio will arrange opportunities over those three years to develop your acting skills. Frankly, none of you have much acting experience right now."
All three were accomplished models with strong screen presence. Many Hollywood actresses began by juggling modeling and acting. But modeling poise and acting ability were entirely different things.
The won smiled politely, though confirmation of the role sparked more excitent than anything else.
Given the choice between modeling and acting, they--and most won in their circle--would choose acting without hesitation.
Modeling was a young woman's ga. Aside from the rare few who beca supermodels, most retired before thirty, marrying well or pivoting to another career.
Acting offered longevity.
Even a steady career in supporting roles paid far better than most modeling gigs, and the fa extended a woman's runway lifespan.
The pay gap was stark.
That was why so many models tried to break into Hollywood.
Last year's The Secret of My Success had featured cao walk-ons by Cindy Crawford and other top models--silent, fleeting appearances. A-list actresses would never stoop to modeling caos.
After a brief overview, Simon moved to specifics. "If that works for you, we can sign agreents soon. For the next few years you'll follow Daenerys's arrangents."
The three won hesitated. It was Erica Anderson--the quietest until now--who spoke. "Simon, what if, after three years, we don't get the part?"
"Even if you don't play Diana Prince, Wonder Woman will need plenty of Amazon warriors. And after three years of work assuming you apply yourselves, you'll have a solid foothold in Hollywood. Returning to fashion would be easy too." Rembering sothing, he turned to Erica. "Didn't you just book a role in New Line's A Nightmare on Elm Street 5?"
Erica nodded, surprised he knew.
"Turn it down," Simon said. "The Elm Street franchise isn't high-end, and it's not the lead. Appearing in sothing like that does you no good."
It was only a small supporting role best friend to the lead, with a grueso death, but Erica had fought for it. She glanced at her agent.
The agent was decisive. "Mr. Westeros, we'll contact New Line and withdraw as soon as this eting ends."
He shot Erica a brief, disappointed look, 'small-minded'
But the choice was obvious.
Compared to what Simon Westeros was offering, even the lead in Elm Street 5 was not worth considering.
Simon simply nodded and discussed further details before dismissing them.
As they left, Jennifer entered carrying a cardboard box filled with scripts and several VHS tapes. "Boss, these are from Mr. Deutchman, projects and indie samples he's been reviewing."
Simon casually set down a business card Helena Christensen had slipped him, noticing Jennifer's eyes flick to it before darting away. Smiling, he pulled a script from the box, flipped it open, and tapped the spot to his right. "Co here."
Jennifer stood across the desk, cheeks faintly pink. "No."
"Should I co to you?"
"I have work to do."
She took a small step back, then suddenly forward. Simon looked up, expecting sothing across the desk, but she was already heading out.
He glanced around, puzzled, and realized the business card had vanished.
He only smiled and returned to the script.
Monts later, as he beca absorbed, the door opened again. Amy Pascal entered.
By now comfortable with each other, Simon simply nodded and asked, "How did it go with Wes?"
Amy sat opposite him and shook her head. "Paramount offered six million base plus ten percent of profits. I spoke with Wes—he wants the sa for the Scream sequels."
For the original Scream, Wes Craven had commanded a top-tier five-million-dollar fee, half the entire budget. The cast had been paid newcor rates.
Simon had budgeted for the sequels to double. But even without details on the profit share, ten percent was an imdiate no.
Assuming the first Scream earned one hundred million dostically, full-channel revenue--overseas, video, television--would yield Daenerys at least one hundred million in profit. Ten percent of that alone was ten million. With the base salary, Wes would earn sixteen million--equivalent to the budget of an entire additional horror film.
If Wes were irreplaceable, Simon would pay. The studio would still profit handsoly.
But for a formulaic teen slasher, Wes Craven was not essential. Simon would not hand over sixteen million.
After a mont's thought, he said, "Fifteen million for both sequels. That's our offer. Talk to him again. If he doesn't want it, we move on."
Seven-point-five million per sequel--a fifty percent raise from the original--was generous for a horror director.
Horror films could punch above their weight, but failures far outnumbered successes. One or two breakouts a year was exceptional; hundreds of low-budget horrors went unnoticed or straight to video.
Amy shared Simon's view.
Wes Craven was not indispensable to Scream. Years earlier he had created A Nightmare on Elm Street for New Line, directing only the first. When sequel negotiations stalled, he walked away--yet the franchise thrived, each installnt outperforming the last.
Paramount's offer sounded rich against Scream's numbers, but beyond it? Wes's best prior gross was the original Elm Street at just over twenty-five million. His others hovered below twenty million--the limitation of the genre.
At that level, profit-share clauses rarely paid out. A twenty-million-dollar budget breaking even at twenty million ant no profit at all.
Simon's fifteen million across two guaranteed sequels was far more concrete—and sincere.
The only question was whether Wes Craven would be wise enough to see it. If he took Paramount's deal and the next project flopped, his value would plumt again--and Daenerys would not wait for him to return to Scream.
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