By the time Andrew Williams had spent his second night with Winona at the Beverly Wilshire, his life had already begun moving faster than he could comfortably process.
Only a short time earlier, he had been fighting to sell his screenplays.
Now one of those screenplays had been sold to Universal for $470,000, another was waiting for the right opportunity, and *Sleepless in Seattle* had officially become a major studio production with Andrew attached as a producer.
But unlike an actor, who could simply arrive on set when called, Andrew was beginning to understand that producing required something very different.
Responsibility.
There was nowhere to hide when something went wrong.
A delayed location, an unavailable piece of equipment, a missing crew member, an unexpected weather problem, or a budget increase could quickly become the producer's problem.
And Andrew was about to experience that firsthand.
The casting process for Sleepless in Seattle was moving forward rapidly.
Meg Ryan had emerged as the clear choice for the female lead. There had been discussions about several actresses, but Meg's combination of warmth, comedic timing, and emotional appeal made her the strongest candidate.
The male lead was more complicated.
Tom Hanks had received some resistance during the early discussions.
Some people around the production questioned whether he had the conventional leading-man appearance they imagined for Sam Baldwin.
He wasn't the stereotypical handsome Hollywood hero.
But Nora Ephron saw something different.
After watching his audition and discussing the character with him, she became increasingly convinced that Tom was exactly what the role needed.
Sam wasn't supposed to be a glamorous action hero.
He was supposed to feel like an ordinary man carrying genuine emotional pain.
Someone the audience could believe was real.
That was what made Tom Hanks interesting.
Nora wanted him.
And when Nora Ephron wanted something strongly enough, Andrew had already learned that she was difficult to move.
There was still one important piece of casting left.
Sam's son.
Nora decided to travel to New York to finalize the casting for the child role herself.
Andrew didn't question the decision.
A child actor could easily become one of the most important elements in a romantic comedy like this.
The audience needed to believe that Sam was a father first and a romantic protagonist second.
The relationship between father and son would help establish the emotional foundation of the entire story.
While Nora handled the casting, Andrew was given another responsibility.
Seattle.
A few days later, Andrew found himself preparing to leave Los Angeles with a long list of production requirements.
The production team needed to establish the main locations before filming began.
The schedule was tight.
Filming was expected to begin in early November, which meant Andrew had less than a month to help prepare everything.
One of the most important locations was an old hangar at a retired naval facility in northern Seattle.
It wasn't glamorous.
The structure was old, industrial, and far removed from the polished interiors usually associated with Hollywood productions.
But Andrew immediately saw its potential.
With the right production design, lighting, dressing, and camera work, the space could become almost anything.
That was another lesson he was beginning to learn.
A producer didn't necessarily need the perfect location.
He needed to understand how the production could transform an imperfect location into something useful.
The studio arranged a mobile phone for him.
It was bulky by modern standards, more like a small brick of technology than the sleek devices people would eventually carry in their pockets.
Andrew looked at it for several seconds after receiving it.
"So this is mine?"
The production coordinator smiled.
"Until we're finished in Seattle."
Andrew laughed.
"I suppose I'm officially important now."
"Or officially impossible to reach."
Andrew smiled.
"Probably both."
He put the phone away.
Within a few days, he was in Seattle.
The weather immediately reminded him why the city had become such an important part of the story.
Clouds covered the sky.
The air was cool.
Rain had begun appearing more frequently.
Andrew stood outside one of the locations, looking at the wet pavement.
Gary Foster arrived shortly afterward.
He looked at Andrew and then at the location.
"You've been here since morning?"
"Almost."
Gary shook his head with a smile.
"You really don't know how to slow down, do you?"
Andrew shrugged.
"We have less than a month."
Gary laughed.
"That's true."
Andrew looked toward the sky.
"Actually, the weather may help us."
Gary raised an eyebrow.
"How?"
"It's starting to rain naturally."
"So?"
Andrew pointed toward the streets.
"We're shooting a film set in Seattle. Rain is part of the atmosphere."
He continued before Gary could respond.
"If we had come here during an unusually dry period, we'd have to manufacture more of that atmosphere ourselves. Water trucks, rain rigs, additional setup time, lighting adjustments..."
Gary nodded slowly.
"You're thinking about production costs."
"And time."
Andrew smiled.
"If the weather gives us what the story needs, why fight it?"
Gary looked at him for a moment.
Then he laughed.
"You're twenty years old and already talking like a producer."
Andrew smiled.
"I'm learning."
"You are."
Gary looked around the location again.
"You may not be the greatest actor in Hollywood yet, but you've got the instincts for production."
Andrew didn't answer immediately.
That comment stayed with him.
He had never thought of himself as a producer when he first arrived in Hollywood.
Writing had always been the center of his plans.
He wrote because stories came naturally to him.
He wrote because he knew what audiences would eventually want.
He wrote because his knowledge of the future gave him an advantage nobody else possessed.
But producing was different.
Producing meant taking an idea and turning it into something tangible.
It meant people.
Money.
Schedules.
Locations.
Contracts.
Equipment.
Distribution.
And hundreds of decisions that audiences would never know existed.
Nora Ephron arrived later that afternoon.
She looked exhausted but satisfied.
"Good news," she said.
Andrew turned toward her.
"You found him?"
"I think so."
Andrew smiled.
"Then that's one problem solved."
Nora laughed.
"Don't say that too early. Hollywood has a remarkable ability to create three new problems after solving one."
Gary smiled.
"She's right."
Andrew looked between them.
"So when do we start?"
"Early November."
Nora paused.
"And you're going to be busy."
Andrew nodded.
"I know."
Nora looked at him carefully.
"Gary told me you've been handling the Seattle preparation yourself."
"Mostly."
"You don't have to prove anything to us."
"I'm not trying to."
Nora smiled.
"That's exactly why you're doing well."
She looked toward the old hangar.
"You're beginning to understand that filmmaking isn't about waiting for someone to tell you what to do."
Andrew nodded.
"You have to anticipate problems."
"Exactly."
Gary folded his arms.
"There's something else we should discuss."
Andrew looked at him.
"What?"
"Your role in the movie."
Andrew frowned.
"My production role?"
"That too."
Gary smiled.
"We still need someone to play the female lead's boyfriend."
Andrew immediately understood.
"You want me to do it?"
Nora looked amused.
"It's a small role."
Andrew hesitated.
"You already know I'm not interested in becoming an actor."
"We know."
Nora smiled.
"But this isn't about making you the star."
Gary added,
"You'll already be around the production. You're familiar with the script, you're working with the crew, and you have the right appearance for the part."
Andrew looked unconvinced.
Nora continued.
"You've already appeared in Edward Scissorhands. You're not completely inexperienced."
"That was different."
"Of course."
She smiled.
"But you don't need to build an acting career simply because you're appearing in one film."
Andrew thought about it.
He had no interest in becoming known as an actor.
His real ambition was somewhere else.
Writing.
Producing.
Eventually ownership.
Still, a small supporting role wouldn't hurt.
"Fine."
Nora smiled.
"Good."
Andrew sighed.
"But I'm still not acting in American Pie."
Gary laughed.
"I heard about that."
Nora shook her head.
"Everyone has."
Andrew smiled.
"I don't want to be associated with that kind of comedy."
"You wrote it," Gary pointed out.
"I know."
Andrew looked at him.
"That's different."
Gary raised an eyebrow.
"How?"
"I can write something without becoming the face of it."
Andrew paused.
"If I act in it, audiences will associate me directly with the material. And American Pie is deliberately vulgar."
Nora nodded.
"I understand."
Andrew had thought about it carefully.
The screenplay had made him a significant amount of money.
But money wasn't the only thing that mattered anymore.
His career was beginning to take shape.
If American Pie succeeded, people would know him as a screenwriter.
If Sleepless in Seattle succeeded, people would know him as a producer as well.
And if both succeeded, he could begin choosing what kind of career he wanted.
That mattered more than a single acting paycheck.
A few days later, Andrew returned to Los Angeles to pack before going back to Seattle.
He had barely finished putting his clothes away when he decided to visit Winona.
She was staying in West Hollywood before beginning work on Mermaids.
When she opened the door, she smiled immediately.
"You're leaving again?"
"Seattle."
Winona's expression changed.
"For how long?"
"Most of October."
She stepped aside to let him in.
"That's a long time."
"I'll come back when I can."
Winona crossed her arms.
"You're becoming very busy."
Andrew smiled.
"So are you."
"Not yet."
She sat down.
"Mermaids starts next week."
Andrew nodded.
"And after that?"
Winona hesitated.
"I'm still waiting on the audition for The Godfather Part III."
Andrew's expression became thoughtful.
He already knew how important that project could become.
"You should take it seriously."
"I am."
"I mean it."
Winona looked at him.
"You really think I should do it?"
"If you get the role, yes."
She smiled.
"You've become very confident lately."
Andrew laughed.
"Maybe."
Winona studied him.
"How is Sleepless in Seattle?"
"Busy."
"Different from Edward Scissorhands?"
"Very."
Andrew sat beside her.
"Edward Scissorhands relied heavily on constructed environments. The town was almost its own character. We could control a lot of the visual world on a studio set."
He paused.
"Sleepless in Seattle is much more dependent on real locations."
"Seattle?"
"Seattle, New York, recognizable places, streets, buildings."
Winona nodded.
"That sounds more difficult."
"It is."
Andrew smiled.
"But it's also teaching me more."
Winona leaned against him.
"What exactly are you learning?"
"How a movie actually gets made."
She looked at him.
"Didn't you already know?"
"I knew the theory."
Andrew shook his head.
"That's not the same thing."
He thought about the crews, schedules, locations, transportation, weather, permits, equipment, and dozens of other details he had encountered.
"Writing is simple compared with production."
Winona laughed.
"Simple?"
"Relatively."
"You write a screenplay and then someone else has to turn it into a movie."
"Exactly."
Andrew smiled.
"Now I'm seeing what happens after the screenplay."
Winona rested her head against his shoulder.
"You really want to become a producer?"
"I think so."
"Why?"
Andrew looked toward the window.
"Because I don't want to spend my entire career selling ideas to other people."
Winona looked up.
"What do you mean?"
"I want to eventually make my own films."
He paused.
"Not just write them."
Winona smiled.
"That sounds ambitious."
"It is."
"And expensive."
"Very."
She laughed.
Andrew smiled.
"That's the problem."
He had already begun thinking about it seriously.
If he wanted to make independent films himself, he needed capital.
A screenplay could be sold for hundreds of thousands of dollars.
But making a movie required millions.
He needed investors.
A production company.
Distribution relationships.
Actors.
Directors.
And, most importantly, control.
Andrew wasn't interested in becoming rich merely by selling scripts.
He wanted to own something.
That thought had become increasingly important to him.
Winona suddenly asked,
"Why don't you act in American Pie?"
Andrew laughed.
"We've discussed this."
"I know."
"But I'm asking again."
Andrew sighed dramatically.
"Because I don't want my first major association with audiences to be a gross-out comedy."
Winona laughed.
"You wrote the gross-out comedy."
"I know."
"Then what's the difference?"
"I wrote it for money and because I knew it would work."
He looked at her.
"But acting in it is different."
Winona became thoughtful.
"You think it could affect your image?"
"Definitely."
She nodded.
"I understand."
Andrew smiled.
"After American Pie and Sleepless in Seattle are released, people will know what I can do."
"And then?"
"Then maybe I can start producing more seriously."
Winona smiled.
"I think you'd be good at it."
Andrew looked at her.
"You really believe that?"
"Yes."
She touched his arm.
"You notice things other people don't."
Andrew smiled.
"That's probably useful in Hollywood."
"It is."
She leaned closer.
"And you're stubborn."
Andrew laughed.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Sometimes."
The following weeks passed quickly.
October became a blur of airports, production meetings, locations, phone calls, and endless paperwork.
Andrew spent most of the month in Seattle.
He inspected locations.
He worked with production designers.
He discussed transportation.
He coordinated with the local crew.
He helped prepare the old hangar.
He traveled to New York once during the preparation period and returned to Los Angeles several times to report to Nora and Gary.
Every time he came back, he noticed something different.
A production was not one machine.
It was hundreds of smaller machines working together.
If one failed, something else had to compensate.
By the first week of November, the major preparation was finally complete.
The locations were ready.
The crew was assembled.
The production schedule had been finalized.
And the cameras were about to roll.
But while Andrew was preparing for the beginning of filming, Winona had returned from San Francisco.
Mermaids had taken her away from Los Angeles for much of the previous period, and now she was preparing for another major opportunity.
An audition at Paramount.
Andrew accompanied her.
As they approached the studio lot, Andrew couldn't help remembering his own earlier visit to Paramount.
He had once auditioned there for Days of Thunder.
Things had not gone his way.
Winona noticed his expression.
"You're thinking about your audition, aren't you?"
Andrew smiled.
"Maybe."
She laughed.
"They didn't want you then."
"Apparently not."
"And now you're producing a twenty-million-dollar movie."
Andrew shrugged.
"Hollywood changes quickly."
Winona smiled.
"It certainly does."
Jessica James was waiting for them.
Her attitude toward Andrew had changed significantly over the previous months.
When she first met him, he was simply Winona Ryder's boyfriend—a young screenwriter with ambition.
Now things were different.
He had sold two major screenplays.
One had gone to Universal for $420,000.
The other had become the foundation of a $20 million production.
He was no longer simply someone standing beside Winona.
He was becoming a professional in his own right.
Jessica looked at him.
"So you're really a producer now?"
Andrew laughed.
"Apparently."
"What exactly do you do?"
"Mostly whatever Nora and Gary need me to do."
Jessica smiled.
"That's not a very impressive job description."
"It's accurate."
Andrew shrugged.
"I'm not pretending I have final authority over the production."
He paused.
"I'm there to support the director, help with production, solve problems, and learn."
Jessica nodded.
"That's actually a sensible approach."
Andrew smiled.
"I don't want a title without knowing what the job means."
Jessica looked impressed.
"You've changed."
"How?"
"When we first met, you were focused almost entirely on selling your scripts."
"That's still important."
"But now you're thinking about producing."
Andrew nodded.
"Because I don't want to remain dependent on studios forever."
Jessica smiled.
"That is a very ambitious statement."
"I know."
They began walking toward the building.
Andrew glanced at Winona.
"CAA has been important to both of us."
Jessica smiled.
"Especially to Winona."
"Absolutely."
Andrew continued.
"Your agency helped package American Pie. Universal saw the project differently once the right people were attached."
Jessica nodded.
"If the movie succeeds, everyone involved benefits."
"Exactly."
Andrew understood something about Hollywood that many young writers didn't.
Success wasn't created by one person.
It was created by networks.
Agents needed clients.
Studios needed bankable talent.
Producers needed financing.
Directors needed scripts.
Actors needed good material.
Writers needed someone capable of selling their work.
Everyone was connected.
And the people who understood those connections could create enormous leverage.
Andrew looked at Jessica.
"Winona is going to become much more valuable."
Jessica smiled.
"I agree."
"She's beautiful, talented, and distinctive."
Winona rolled her eyes.
"You two are talking about me as if I'm not standing here."
Jessica laughed.
Andrew continued.
"Edward Scissorhands will help her visibility."
He paused.
"Johnny Depp will probably benefit enormously too."
Jessica nodded.
"He's going to attract a lot of attention."
"And Winona will be part of that."
Jessica looked at him.
"You really think so?"
"Yes."
He glanced toward Winona.
"She has something unusual."
Jessica smiled.
"That's why she's my most important artist."
Andrew nodded.
"Then you should think about what kind of projects suit her."
Jessica's expression became more serious.
"That's easier said than done."
"Why?"
"Because most of the scripts we receive are low-budget independent projects."
She sighed.
"CAA doesn't get to choose from an unlimited supply of great studio films."
Andrew understood.
"You get whatever comes through the door."
"More or less."
"And a lot of those projects aren't right for Winona."
"Exactly."
Andrew thought about some of Winona's recent work.
"She has a European quality."
Jessica raised an eyebrow.
"European?"
"Classical. Distinctive. A little unconventional."
He paused.
"Some of the recent low-budget American comedies don't necessarily use that quality."
Jessica understood what he meant.
"You mean projects like Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael and Mermaids?"
"Not necessarily bad films."
Andrew chose his words carefully.
"But I don't think every project should simply be accepted because it's available."
Jessica nodded.
"That's a difficult balance."
"Commercial viability matters too."
Jessica looked at him.
"You sound like an agent."
Andrew laughed.
"I'm learning."
She smiled.
"Do you already have a story for Winona?"
Andrew glanced at Winona.
"Eventually."
Winona smiled.
"Eventually?"
"I don't want to rush it."
Andrew looked at Jessica.
"I want Sleepless in Seattle and American Pie to come out first."
Jessica nodded.
"That's sensible."
"If both films establish me properly, I'll have more leverage."
Jessica smiled.
"He knows how to sell."
Andrew thought about that.
Selling wasn't enough.
Eventually, he wanted to own.
That was the difference.
A writer sold scripts.
An agent represented talent.
A producer assembled a production.
A studio financed and distributed films.
But an owner controlled the assets.
The thought stayed with Andrew as he watched Winona enter the audition.
For years, Hollywood had seemed like an enormous wall surrounding a secret world.
Now he was beginning to understand that the wall wasn't solid.
There were doors.
Agents were doors.
Managers were doors.
Studios were doors.
Producers were doors.
Relationships were doors.
Money was another door.
And Andrew had already opened several of them.
He simply needed to decide which ones to walk through.
When Winona finally returned, she looked tired but hopeful.
Andrew smiled.
"How did it go?"
"I think it went well."
"That's good."
Jessica looked at her watch.
"We should head back."
Andrew nodded.
As they walked away from Paramount, he glanced once more at the studio lot.
Not long ago, he had stood there hoping someone would give him a chance.
Now he was returning as the producer of a major film.
The difference was enormous.
But Andrew knew he wasn't satisfied yet.
He didn't merely want to enter Hollywood.
He wanted to build something inside it.
Something that belonged to him.
Something that could survive beyond one screenplay, one movie, or one successful year.
The first step had been writing.
The second had been selling.
Now he was learning how to produce.
And someday, he intended to own.
For the moment, however, there was still a movie to make.
In Seattle, cameras were waiting.
Nora Ephron was preparing to begin production.
Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan were about to bring Sam and Annie to life.
And Andrew Williams was about to discover what it really meant to stand behind the camera rather than simply write what appeared in front of it.
Hollywood had given him his first opportunity.
He had no intention of wasting it.