An Unexpected Proposition

Ethan had no useful theory for what Judy had just told him. He knew enough about her history to know that an old label could not answer the question for her. What mattered was what she meant now, and whether she was sure.

"Judy, where is this coming from?" he asked. "I don't want you making a decision because the last few months were awful."

"I haven't suddenly forgotten who I am. I just don't find you as irritating as I used to."

"That's a stirring declaration."

"It's a start." She sat up. "Your life isn't exactly uncomplicated. There are six people under your roof."

"And you know more about my life than almost anyone."

"I do. Most men still wouldn't interest me. You happen to meet more of my standards than the men my family keeps introducing."

They were educated, well connected, and already climbing through companies or public office. When she had first graduated, earning a comfortable salary for herself, she might have admired those prospects. She had not wanted them then. Now she had built a fortune of her own, and their conversations felt narrower than the life she lived.

"At a party last year, one of them spent half the evening boasting that he'd made a million dollars," she said. "I couldn't even tell him why it wasn't impressive without sounding unbearable."

Ethan smiled. "You are a little unbearable."

"I know. I also want someone I can talk to. Someone I respect. Looking good wouldn't hurt."

"How good?"

"Have you seen the Twilight footage? Henry Cavill sets a fair minimum."

"A fair minimum for a casting director with a very small applicant pool."

The joke did not hide his calculation. Judy was asking for wealth, judgment, ambition, and a face that belonged on a movie poster. Men who met every condition would be rare; men willing to share power with her rarer still.

"Maybe you're looking for the wrong kind of partner," he said. "Two people who need to win every argument could wear each other out."

Judy caught his shoulders. "Or I could choose the one person I know who can keep up."

"You know I have girlfriends. More than the ones at home."

"I know. That doesn't make you less interesting."

"It does make this sound like a negotiation."

"We negotiate because neither of us is willing to pretend there are no costs. Tell me honestly: do you want me?"

He tried to answer with their friendship. They had shared university years, bad decisions, and information he trusted to almost no one else. Judy did not let him hide behind any of it.

"I don't know," he finally said.

She kissed him. He drew back when she reached for her shirt.

"Wait. Not tonight."

She stopped. "Because you don't want me?"

"Because I have an appointment tomorrow. And because I need us both to understand what we're doing before we take this further."

"An appointment?"

"With a doctor. Han recommended him. You can come if you don't believe me."

Judy searched his face. The answer did not settle everything between them, but she left her shirt alone. They had time to speak in the morning.

* * *

Ethan started the next day at the factory. The expansion would make room for roughly twelve thousand workers, perhaps fifteen thousand at the absolute limit. There was no space to push it much farther. He pressed the managers on safety procedures before leaving for Eastern MGM. A production target would mean nothing if the plant hurt the people meeting it.

In the studio screening room, The Meg ran for about 110 minutes. By the end, Jason Statham's character had killed the shark, and the lights came up to reveal everyone watching Ethan.

The film followed his screenplay closely. Some dialogue had changed, but its commercial purpose was intact: a large creature, people trapped with it, and enough spectacle to make the danger worth seeing on a big screen. That did not make the film flawless. Ethan thought Xu Jinglei had worked hard in the lead role, yet the character needed a firmer presence. He could not replace her now without dismantling the picture. Statham's action scenes, especially underwater, carried the stretches that needed it most.

"The effects need one more pass," Ethan said. "After that, I think it's ready."

Han exhaled. "That's what I wanted to hear. What else?"

Ethan gave the team several practical notes. The director and co-writer wrote down every word, even when he considered a point minor. His recent hits had made casual remarks sound like orders.

"Huang Bo's good," Ethan added. "He finds humor even in a small part, and his death scene will stay with people."

"You recommended him," Han said. "I saw why. He'd make a convincing thief or street hustler."

"Don't trap him in that category. He can play the ordinary man in the crowd, and make us care what happens to him. Try him for those parts too."

Han turned to Chen Ou. "You've seen it. Any changes your office will require?"

"Nothing that calls for a cut at this stage," Chen said. "It can go forward through the normal review."

"I'll remember you said that."

The filmmakers left to work through the notes. Over tea, Chen asked Ethan to join a forum on how domestic films could compete at the Academy Awards. Ethan expected another discussion of budgets, effects, and regulation, but Chen had invited filmmakers including Zhang Yimou, Chen Kaige, and Feng Xiaogang.

After Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, several Chinese directors had tried to reach the same international audience. Hero had received a Foreign Language Film nomination; House of Flying Daggers had drawn recognition for its cinematography. Other expensive productions had found less traction. They wanted to hear from someone whose own films were winning in Hollywood.

Ethan doubted a two-hour panel could solve a question each filmmaker had to answer in the work itself. He also worried that chasing a single Oscar model would make their films more alike, not better. Han promised the forum would end in time for his trip south. Ethan agreed, reluctantly.

Han drove him and Judy through a web of narrow streets to a courtyard house. The elderly practitioner inside recognized Han and asked Ethan to sit. He took Ethan's pulse, asked about his habits, and told him that he looked generally fit but was pushing himself too hard.

Ethan had come because he was tired and wanted an assessment, not because a bottle of tonic could replace sleep or an ordinary medical examination. Han's acquaintance offered a short course of herbal preparations and a recorded set of gentle exercises. He also told Ethan to rest and moderate the pace of his life. Ethan listened, though he intended to check any medication with his physician before taking it.

Judy watched him put the instructions away. "Is the great Ethan Hawthorne finally going to follow advice?"

"I can try," he said. "Does the advice come with a rule against staying up late?"

"That depends on why you're awake."

He glanced at the practitioner, then thought better of asking him to referee the conversation.