# Chapter 37 — The Price of Opportunity
Orion Pictures had never been the biggest studio in Hollywood.
That was precisely why Andrew liked it.
The studio had built its reputation by making films that larger companies sometimes considered too risky, too strange, too adult, or simply too difficult to sell. It had released ambitious dramas, controversial stories, prestige pictures, and genre films that had gone on to become cultural landmarks.
But by the end of the 1980s, the company's reputation was beginning to collide with something far less glamorous.
Money.
Orion had the talent.
It had filmmakers.
It had prestige.
What it did not have was the financial cushion enjoyed by the major studios.
That made every decision more complicated.
And, Andrew suspected, that made people inside Orion more willing to listen to someone who could walk into their building carrying something commercially valuable.
Andrew stepped out of the car and looked up at the Orion Pictures offices.
He adjusted his jacket.
In one hand was a leather briefcase containing his *Sleeping with the Enemy* screenplay.
In the other was a folder containing notes he had prepared the previous night.
The official reason for his visit was simple.
An audition.
The unofficial reason was much more important.
*The Silence of the Lambs.*
Andrew had already read Thomas Harris's novel twice.
He knew what it could become.
He also knew that almost nobody around him knew that yet.
To everyone else, it was simply another difficult literary property.
A dark crime story.
A psychological thriller.
A book with a brilliant villain and a female FBI trainee at its center.
To Andrew, it was something else.
It was an opportunity.
But opportunities in Hollywood rarely arrived with their true value written on them.
Andrew walked inside.
A receptionist looked up.
"Can I help you?"
"Andrew William. I'm here for an audition."
She checked the appointment sheet.
"The Hot Spot?"
"That's right."
She looked at him again.
"You're early."
"I prefer being early."
She smiled faintly.
"That's unusual in this town."
Andrew smiled back.
"I'm still learning."
She handed him a visitor badge.
"Second floor. Casting department."
"Thank you."
Andrew walked toward the elevators.
He had barely taken three steps when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Andrew."
He turned.
Tracy Jacobs was walking toward him, holding a cup of coffee and a thick folder.
She looked him over.
"You're actually early."
"I've been told that's unusual."
"By me."
"Then I'm making progress."
Tracy laughed.
"You're supposed to be auditioning for a supporting role, not negotiating the purchase of the studio."
"I haven't ruled that out."
She stopped.
"Please don't joke about that."
"Why?"
"Because one day you might actually try."
Andrew smiled.
"Would that be so terrible?"
"For my blood pressure? Yes."
She handed him the folder.
"Your audition sides."
Andrew glanced down.
"How much do you know about the role?"
"Enough."
"That's not an answer."
"Because you're going to complain."
"I'm listening."
Tracy sighed.
"It's a supporting role. Orion likes you. They know you've been getting attention because of *Sleepless in Seattle*, *Edward Scissorhands*, and the scripts."
"That sounds promising."
"It isn't."
Andrew raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Because they also know you're twenty."
"So?"
"The character isn't."
Andrew looked at the pages again.
"How old is he supposed to be?"
"Mid-thirties."
Andrew stared at her.
"Then why am I auditioning?"
"Because Hollywood."
"Fair enough."
Tracy lowered her voice.
"And because you're useful."
Andrew smiled.
"I like that word."
"You shouldn't."
"Why?"
"Because useful people get asked to do things."
"That's usually how careers work."
Tracy studied him.
"You really don't care whether you get this role, do you?"
Andrew closed the folder.
"Not particularly."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I said I would come."
"That's it?"
"That's the official answer."
Tracy narrowed her eyes.
"And the unofficial one?"
Andrew smiled.
"You'll find out."
She shook her head.
"You're becoming difficult."
"I've always been difficult."
"No. You've become confident."
Andrew looked toward the elevators.
"There's a difference?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"Confidence gets you into rooms."
She pointed at him.
"Arrogance gets you thrown out of them."
Andrew smiled.
"Then I'll try to stay somewhere in the middle."
"Please do."
The elevator doors opened.
Tracy stepped inside.
Andrew followed.
As the doors closed, she glanced at him.
"One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Don't improvise."
Andrew looked offended.
"I never improvise."
Tracy laughed.
"That's the funniest thing you've said all morning."
---
The audition room was small.
Too small.
A casting associate sat behind a table with two assistants. A camera stood against one wall.
Andrew read the scene once.
Then again.
The casting director watched him carefully.
"Thank you."
Andrew lowered the pages.
"That's it?"
"For now."
He nodded.
"All right."
The casting director looked at him.
"You don't seem disappointed."
"Should I?"
"You came here for the role."
"Yes."
"You don't seem like you want it."
Andrew considered the question.
"I want the right roles."
"And this isn't one?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you implied it."
Andrew smiled.
"I think the character is interesting."
"Interesting?"
"Yes."
"That's a dangerous word for an actor."
"Why?"
"Because it usually means he doesn't want the part."
Andrew laughed softly.
"Maybe I'm still learning how to answer casting directors."
The woman smiled.
"You're certainly different."
"I've heard that before."
"Thank you, Andrew."
He stood.
"Thank you."
He walked out.
The moment the door closed behind him, he knew he hadn't gotten the part.
And he didn't particularly care.
He had come for one reason.
Orion.
He walked through the corridor slowly.
Posters decorated the walls.
*Platoon.*
*Amadeus.*
*The Terminator.*
Films that had changed careers.
Films that had turned relatively small projects into major cultural events.
Andrew stopped for a moment in front of one poster.
Orion had always understood something the bigger studios sometimes forgot.
A good story could be worth more than an enormous marketing department.
He continued walking.
Then he saw her.
Jennifer Connelly.
She was standing near the reception area with another young woman.
Andrew recognized her immediately.
Not because they had ever met.
Because he had seen *Once Upon a Time in America*.
She was younger then.
But the face was unmistakable.
Jennifer noticed him looking.
Andrew smiled politely.
She smiled back.
"Hi."
"Hi."
He stopped.
"Jennifer Connelly?"
She laughed.
"That's me."
"I'm Andrew."
"I know."
Andrew raised an eyebrow.
"You know me?"
"I've seen *Edward Scissorhands*."
"Then I'm sorry."
She laughed.
"Why?"
"Because my role wasn't exactly memorable."
"It was memorable enough."
Andrew smiled.
"That's generous."
She glanced at the folder in his hand.
"Are you auditioning?"
"*The Hot Spot*."
"Me too."
"Really?"
She nodded.
Andrew looked toward the casting room.
"Good luck."
"You too."
"Although I suspect you have a better chance."
"Why?"
"I'm not sure they know what to do with me."
Jennifer laughed.
"That's a strange thing to say before an audition."
"It's an honest thing to say."
She studied him.
"So you're an actor?"
"Among other things."
"Writer?"
"Yes."
"Producer?"
"Sometimes."
She smiled.
"That's a lot."
"I'm still trying to figure out which one I actually am."
Jennifer looked amused.
"Let me know when you figure it out."
"I will."
A voice called her name.
Jennifer looked over.
"That's me."
"Good luck."
"Thanks."
She walked away.
Andrew watched her disappear into the casting room.
He turned toward the elevator.
He had barely reached it when a voice came from behind him.
"Mr. William?"
Andrew turned.
A young Orion assistant stood there.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Medavoy would like to see you."
Andrew paused.
"Mike Medavoy?"
"Yes."
Andrew glanced at his watch.
"What about?"
The assistant smiled.
"He read your screenplay."
Andrew's expression changed slightly.
"*Sleeping with the Enemy*?"
"Yes."
Andrew looked toward the casting room.
Then back at the assistant.
"When?"
"Now."
Andrew nodded.
"Lead the way."
As he followed the assistant, he noticed something else.
Jennifer Connelly had just stepped out of the casting room.
She saw Andrew being escorted toward the executive offices.
She raised an eyebrow.
Andrew gave her a small wave.
She waved back.
A few feet away, Jennifer's agent saw the exchange.
"Who is that?"
Jennifer looked confused.
"Andrew."
"Andrew who?"
"Andrew William."
"You're friends?"
Jennifer laughed.
"No."
Her agent looked toward the hallway.
"You two seemed very comfortable."
"We've spoken for about three minutes."
"Really?"
"Really."
The agent looked skeptical.
"Well, he's being taken upstairs."
Jennifer shrugged.
"I guess he knows somebody."
Her agent watched Andrew disappear.
"Apparently."
---
Mike Medavoy's office was not what Andrew expected.
It wasn't excessively grand.
There was no enormous desk designed to intimidate visitors.
There were bookshelves.
Scripts.
Papers.
A few photographs.
And the unmistakable atmosphere of a room where decisions were made.
Medavoy looked up as Andrew entered.
"Andrew."
"Mr. Medavoy."
"Please. Mike."
Andrew nodded.
"Mike."
Medavoy gestured toward the chair.
"Sit."
Andrew sat.
Medavoy picked up the screenplay.
"I read this."
Andrew glanced at the pages.
"All of it?"
"Most of it."
Andrew smiled.
"That's encouraging."
Medavoy laughed.
"You have a smart mouth."
"I've been told."
"I liked the script."
Andrew leaned back.
"What did you like?"
"The premise."
"That's a good start."
"The woman."
Andrew nodded.
"Sarah."
"She's not a victim."
"No."
"She's frightened."
"Yes."
"But she fights."
"She has to."
Medavoy tapped the script.
"That's what makes it commercial."
Andrew said nothing.
Medavoy continued.
"You have a woman trapped in a marriage. She escapes. Her husband discovers she's alive. He hunts her. She has to confront him."
"Exactly."
"Contained."
"Mostly."
"Strong female lead."
"Very."
"Psychological."
"Yes."
"Thriller."
"Yes."
Medavoy smiled.
"You really don't need me to tell you what your own script is about."
"I assumed you already knew."
Medavoy laughed.
"I like you."
"That's useful."
"Don't push your luck."
Andrew smiled.
Medavoy leaned forward.
"We'd like to buy it."
Andrew remained silent.
Medavoy noticed.
"What?"
"How much?"
"Two hundred and fifty thousand."
Andrew didn't react.
Medavoy studied him.
"That's a lot of money."
"It is."
"And?"
"I expected you to offer something."
Medavoy laughed.
"You're twenty."
"Yes."
"You should be excited."
"I am."
"You don't look excited."
"I'm trying not to look desperate."
"Why?"
"Because you might lower the offer."
Medavoy laughed again.
"You're negotiating before I've even finished the sentence."
"Old habit."
"You've sold scripts before."
"Yes."
"Then you understand how this works."
"I understand how the first offer works."
Medavoy smiled.
"Fair enough."
Andrew looked at the script.
"I'd like to produce it."
Medavoy's expression changed.
"Produce?"
"Yes."
"You're an actor."
"I'm also a writer."
"I know."
"And I've worked on production."
"At your age?"
"Age doesn't make the work easier."
Medavoy leaned back.
"What exactly do you want?"
"Executive producer."
"That's a big ask."
"I wrote it."
"That doesn't automatically make you a producer."
"No."
Andrew looked directly at him.
"But I know the story better than anyone in this room."
Medavoy was quiet.
Then he smiled.
"You're serious."
"Very."
Medavoy picked up the script again.
"Let's assume we give you the producer credit."
"Executive producer."
"Fine."
"And meaningful involvement."
"In what?"
"Casting. Production decisions. Script changes. The director."
"Final cut?"
Andrew didn't hesitate.
"Meaningful consultation."
Medavoy shook his head.
"You're asking for studio-level authority."
"I'm asking for authority proportional to my involvement."
"You want to make the film."
"I want to protect the film."
"Those are not always the same thing."
"I know."
Medavoy looked at him for several seconds.
Then he asked:
"Why?"
Andrew knew exactly what he meant.
Why was he pushing so hard?
Why wasn't he simply taking the $250,000?
Why wasn't he behaving like a twenty-year-old writer who had just received an offer from a respected studio?
Andrew chose his words carefully.
"Because if I sell it completely, it becomes someone else's movie."
Medavoy nodded slowly.
"And you don't like that."
"I don't."
"That's dangerous."
"Maybe."
"You know what happens to writers who become producers?"
"They get blamed for everything."
Medavoy laughed.
"Exactly."
Andrew smiled.
"I'm willing to take the risk."
Medavoy placed the script down.
"All right."
He folded his hands.
"Let's talk about what you really want."
Andrew leaned forward.
"*The Silence of the Lambs*."
The room became quiet.
Medavoy's expression changed.
"You've done your homework."
"I read the book."
"Most people who read it aren't asking me about it."
"I'm not most people."
"No."
Medavoy studied him.
"What do you know about the project?"
"Orion has the adaptation rights."
"Yes."
"There's development happening."
"Yes."
"Ted Tally is involved."
Medavoy nodded.
"There's also a director being considered."
"Jonathan Demme."
Medavoy's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You really did your homework."
"I like the material."
"That's a very dark story."
"So is mine."
"Your story is a thriller."
"So is Harris's."
"*The Silence of the Lambs* is different."
"Because it's harder."
"Because it's expensive."
Andrew nodded.
"And because everyone is afraid they'll make the wrong movie."
Medavoy stared at him.
"You've thought about this."
"Yes."
"What do you want?"
"A development window."
"How long?"
"Three years."
Medavoy laughed.
"Three years?"
"Yes."
"You want us to give you control over a project for three years?"
"Not control. An opportunity."
"That's a very convenient distinction."
Andrew smiled.
"I'm asking for a chance to develop it."
"You're not even producing *Sleeping with the Enemy* yet."
"I will."
"You haven't been offered the producer position."
"We're discussing it."
Medavoy laughed.
"You're impossible."
"Maybe."
Medavoy stood and walked toward the window.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he turned.
"Suppose we did this."
Andrew waited.
"You become executive producer on *Sleeping with the Enemy*."
"All right."
"Orion finances it."
"How much?"
"What's your number?"
"Fifteen million."
Medavoy's eyebrows rose.
"Fifteen?"
"Yes."
"That's substantial."
"Not for the film we're making."
"We haven't even discussed the director."
"I have ideas."
"Of course you do."
Medavoy sat down again.
"Let's say we approve fifteen million."
Andrew nodded.
"You get producer credit."
"Executive producer."
"Yes."
"Creative consultation."
"Within reason."
"Meaning?"
"Studio approval remains."
Andrew considered it.
"Fine."
"North American distribution stays with Orion."
"I expected that."
"Then, if the film is released next year and performs commercially, you get your three-year development window on *The Silence of the Lambs*."
Andrew leaned forward.
"And if it doesn't?"
Medavoy smiled.
"Then we buy *Sleeping with the Enemy* outright for two hundred and fifty thousand."
Andrew frowned.
"And I lose the development window."
"Yes."
Andrew thought about it.
The risk was carefully designed.
Orion wasn't giving away something valuable for free.
They were making him earn it.
That was exactly what Andrew wanted.
"What's the catch?"
Medavoy smiled.
"There's always a catch."
"What is it?"
"You don't get to walk into Orion next year and tell us you're directing it."
Andrew smiled.
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
"And the three-year window?"
"Subject to a formal agreement."
"Development rights?"
"Yes."
"Not ownership."
"Correct."
"Meaning Orion retains the underlying rights."
"Yes."
"And I get the opportunity to develop the project during the window."
"Exactly."
Andrew nodded.
"That's acceptable."
Medavoy looked surprised.
"That easily?"
"I'm not asking you to give me the studio."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Medavoy leaned back.
"You understand what you're betting?"
"My career."
"That's dramatic."
"It's accurate."
"You could take the $250,000 right now."
"I could."
"You could walk away with a quarter of a million dollars."
"I could."
"Instead you're betting your success on one film."
Andrew smiled.
"That's Hollywood."
Medavoy laughed.
"You're learning."
Andrew stood.
"Then we have a framework."
"Not a contract."
"I know."
"Your agent negotiates the details."
"Tracy Jacobs."
"She'll be dealing with our people."
"Good."
Medavoy extended his hand.
Andrew shook it.
"One more thing."
Andrew stopped.
"Yes?"
"The audition."
Andrew smiled.
"*The Hot Spot*?"
"Yes."
"How did I do?"
Medavoy smiled.
"Not well."
Andrew laughed.
"I thought so."
"You didn't want the part."
"It wasn't right for me."
"You know, most actors would never say that."
"Most actors aren't trying to produce movies."
Medavoy shook his head.
"You're arrogant."
"Sometimes."
"But you're also prepared."
"I prefer prepared."
"Don't let Hollywood teach you otherwise."
Andrew nodded.
"I won't."
Medavoy picked up the screenplay again.
"And Andrew?"
"Yes?"
"I really do like the script."
Andrew smiled.
"Thank you."
"Don't make me regret this."
Andrew walked toward the door.
"I'll try."
Medavoy called after him.
"That's not the answer I wanted."
Andrew turned.
"Then I'll make sure the movie is good."
Medavoy smiled.
"Better."
---
Andrew stepped back into the corridor.
Tracy was waiting.
She looked at him.
"Well?"
Andrew handed her the folder.
"How long were you in there?"
"Long enough."
"That's not an answer."
"We have a deal framework."
Tracy stared at him.
"What?"
"*Sleeping with the Enemy*."
"Yes?"
"They want it."
"I know."
"They want me as executive producer."
Tracy blinked.
"That's good."
"And there's more."
"What?"
Andrew smiled.
"Do you remember the book I bought yesterday?"
Tracy stared at him.
"The Thomas Harris book?"
"*The Silence of the Lambs*."
Her eyes widened.
"No."
"Yes."
"What did you do?"
"Asked."
"You asked Orion about it?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"We're negotiating a three-year development window."
Tracy stared at him.
"You're twenty."
"I know."
"You're completely insane."
"Probably."
She opened the folder.
"What's the structure?"
Andrew explained it.
Tracy listened carefully.
When he finished, she closed the folder.
"This isn't bad."
"That's high praise."
"No."
She looked at him seriously.
"This is actually clever."
Andrew smiled.
"Thank you."
"But we need to negotiate the details."
"Of course."
"Credit."
"Executive producer."
"Compensation."
"We'll handle it."
"Creative consultation."
"Meaningful."
"Meaningful isn't a legal term."
"It will be."
Tracy sighed.
"You're going to make my life difficult."
"That's why I pay you."
She laughed.
"You haven't paid me enough."
"I'll fix that."
They began walking toward the elevator.
Tracy glanced at him.
"And the audition?"
Andrew pressed the elevator button.
"I didn't get it."
"You're not disappointed."
"No."
"Why?"
The elevator doors opened.
Andrew stepped inside.
"Because I came here looking for a job."
Tracy entered beside him.
"And now?"
Andrew looked at the folder in her hands.
"Now I'm leaving with a movie."
The doors began to close.
Tracy smiled.
"And possibly another one."
Andrew nodded.
"The Silence of the Lambs."
The doors closed.
For the first time that day, Andrew allowed himself a small smile.
The audition had been irrelevant.
The role had been irrelevant.
Even the two hours of waiting had been irrelevant.
He had walked into Orion as an actor looking for work.
He was leaving as a producer with a screenplay, a potential $15 million production, and a three-year path toward one of the most valuable pieces of intellectual property sitting inside the studio.
But Andrew knew better than anyone that getting an opportunity was only the first step.
The difficult part was turning an opportunity into control.
And that required something Hollywood valued even more than talent.
Leverage.
As the elevator descended, Andrew looked at his reflection in the polished metal doors.
He wasn't interested in being another young actor waiting for someone to give him permission.
He wanted to build.
He wanted to own.
And, eventually, he wanted Hollywood to come to him.
The first piece of that future had just been placed on the board.