The First Plan

She spent the entire afternoon confirming that the story outlines in her hands had not yet been registered with the Writers Guild.

Afterward, she headed to the largest bookstore in West Hollywood. After a careful search, she found no trace of her target works, which was undoubtedly good news—it meant she could save a significant sum on copyright expenses.

However, she still had no concept of film investment costs; she might eventually need to ask Francis for advice.

Returning to the estate in the evening, she sat in her room after dinner with her family, sorting through her backup plans. Before she could make any sense of them, she received a call from a close friend.

"Hi, honey! It's me!" It was Brit. Her breathing sounded a bit rapid, and the faint beat of a piano could be heard in the background.

"I've been calling you all afternoon, but your aunt said you were out. Why don't you carry your phone? How was the graduation ceremony yesterday? I'm so sorry I couldn't make it, you aren't mad at me, are you? Did you get the gift? Were you happy yesterday? Tell me everything!"

"Slow down, Brit. I was happy yesterday, and I got the gift. It's a piano ornament that plays music; it's beautiful, and I love it. But it would have been even better if you could have been there."

"I know, I know," Brit's voice dropped, tinged with guilt. "I'm sorry, honey. I really thought I could get time off, you know how I am."

Before she could finish, the voice cut off. After two seconds, someone else's urging came from the other end: "30 seconds, Brit!"

"Hello, Brit? Are you still there?"

"Yes, yes! Every day is like a death sentence—either vocal training, dancing, or rehearsals, over and over again. My legs are about to break!" Brit complained loudly on the other end, though a hint of sweetness hid within her tone.

A thought suddenly flashed through Irene's mind: "Is the company releasing a song for you because things have been so tough lately?"

"Ah! How did you know!" Brit's voice was instantly ignited. "Irene, you're a genius! The record label said if everything goes smoothly, by next year—maybe in the spring!—I'll have my own album!"

Irene tapped her own head. It was all because she had been so focused on making movies that she had completely forgotten: Brit's debut album was set to take the world by storm next January, launching her onto the pedestal of stardom. But for now, she had to pretend she knew nothing.

"Oh my god! Really! Brit! That's amazing, you're going to be a big star!" She could almost imagine the girl jumping for joy on the other end of the line.

Brit suddenly lowered her voice, carrying that sense of mystery and excitement they shared when swapping secrets as children: "Hey, listen, once I'm actually famous and make my first big paycheck, we're going to make that plan happen. Remember?"

"Which one?" Irene laughed, playing along. "The Hawaii surfing trip?"

"Oh, please~ of course not! It's driving to Las Vegas and hiring a whole squad of male models! Making them dance that kind of... colorful dance around us!" Brit's voice was full of longing and excitement.

"Honey, I hate to be the one to say it... but I don't want to dampen your spirits, though I think you'll have to wait a few years before you can openly hire male models for entertainment." She teased her on purpose.

"Hey, don't pour cold water on me. Seriously, Irene, I need you," Brit's tone held a trace of imperceptible reliance and vulnerability. "This world... it's a little scary, but it's also so exciting! We couldn't graduate together, but we can conquer the world together, how about that?"

Irene's heart softened into a mess. She loved her so much; after learning about her experiences in her past life while lying in a hospital bed, she had taken the initiative to befriend her early on in this life. She had never dared to make any big moves, fearing she might interfere with her path to fame, until now, when the girl had finally secured her debut.

"I'll always be here, Brit." Her voice was soft, yet exceptionally firm. "You will definitely succeed, I know it. I'll buy ten of your albums—no, a hundred!"

The laughter from the other end of the line stopped abruptly, turning hurried: "Oh, shoot! I really have to go! Love you! Remember our male model plan!"

Beep—beep—beep—

The busy signal rang out.

Irene slowly put down the receiver, suddenly thinking of a plan better than just making a movie—one that would allow her to face the public sooner: directing the music video for Brit's debut album.

She remembered that in her past life, Baby One More Time had caused a phenomenal sensation the moment it was released. The girl with the blonde pigtails, wearing a modified school uniform and miniskirt, had instantly become a trend icon that teenagers worldwide scrambled to imitate. As long as she cut out the kneeling and suggestive movements in the music video to reduce negative controversy, she might even be able to help Brit win the Best New Artist award she had missed out on back then.

But she didn't know anyone at Jive, so how could she convince them to use a novice like her?

Her gaze fell upon that business card.

"Hi, hello, this is Shelly Ovitz. I am currently unable to answer your call. If you have an urgent matter, please leave a message after the tone, and I will reply as soon as possible."

"Hello, Mr. Ovitz, this is Irene Coppola. I am very sorry to disturb you so late. My father said that I could contact you when I had a need, and I think I have found that 'need.' If you hear this message, I hope to receive your reply as soon as possible. Thank you."

Outside of Brit, she had almost no connections in the music industry within her social circle. Even if she had the idea to shoot a music video, she lacked the channels for a referral; the people at Jive wouldn't look twice at an unknown "Coppola."

How had she not thought of this good path sooner? Many famous Hollywood directors started out shooting music videos: the famous "explosion fanatic" Michael Bay and Zack Snyder, who stunned the film industry with his oil-painting aesthetic, both started by shooting commercials and music videos.

Once they shot enough, people naturally invited them to direct mainstream films; she could absolutely start from here.

Furthermore, Michael Bay was already making a name for himself, and next year's Armageddon would surely bring him huge prestige, allowing more people to see the potential of music video directors. She could just happen to catch this tailwind.

By the next day, she still hadn't received a callback from Ovitz. She decided not to put all her eggs in one basket, so she left the estate with Francis, who was heading out to meet friends, and traveled to Century City in Beverly Hills.

She knew Brit was training at a studio nearby and hoped to learn some specific details about Jive from her.

At this moment, she missed the "Baidu" of her past life immensely. Although computers existed now, that old machine was painfully slow, and she couldn't get used to it at all. With Google still some time away from its official founding, all of this made it incredibly difficult for her to look up information in advance.