342 - Wait and See

"Boss. Boss!"

Ever since Warner's publicity department had called and they had watched the CBS preview, Evan had been lost in thought. Nina had to call him twice before he looked up. Once she had his attention, she crossed to the sofa and switched off the television.

"There's news from Los Angeles too. Pellicano traced the photographs to a paparazzo. Miles Rourke bought them. He's still investigating what happened after that, but he told me to prepare you. A lot of people are picking up the story, and he can't yet tell where it's going."

"He can't?"

Evan gave a short, contemptuous laugh. Since the call, he had gone over the whole thing from the beginning. There was a reason this sequence of disclosures felt familiar to Nina. He had seen the studios use the same approach before.

He thought of the campaign against Marcus Bell. First came relentless coverage through Warner's media connections, enough to make the story impossible to ignore. Then, as public interest peaked, the allegations came out in waves.

Women who had accused the actor began receiving legal assistance they could never have afforded on their own. Reporters kept returning to them for new material. To Evan, the sudden concentration of money, lawyers, and airtime had looked less like coincidence than a coordinated attack.

By the end, Bell had lost his carefully cultivated reputation and support from people close to him. Allegations had become lawsuits, and the settlements had cost him millions. A media conglomerate had the resources to turn a scandal into a siege. Evan had watched it happen from the side that benefited.

"Don't worry about Hollywood's private eye. There are things he won't find, and we don't need proof just to work out who might be involved."

He lit a cigarette, drew on it, and let the smoke drift out slowly.

"Tell me, Nina. How many people would enjoy watching me fall?"

She didn't answer. It wasn't much of a question.

Apart from Warner, he could imagine almost every major studio, along with plenty of smaller companies, welcoming a setback. The market wasn't limitless. Every time his films took a larger share, somebody else's prospects narrowed.

For now, though, suspicion could only take them so far. Whoever was behind this wasn't going to announce themselves before they had finished making their moves.

"Rourke couldn't organize all of this alone," Nina said, adjusting her glasses. "Maybe someone is using him. Or maybe he bought the pictures just to make us miserable, and other people saw an opening. Nami being pregnant with your child is enough to get everyone's attention. A famous director, a rising actress, a baby. The story practically sells itself."

Halfway through her analysis, she opened her briefcase and took out the notebook where she kept track of industry developments. She flipped to the last few pages.

"What we've seen so far won't hurt us much. That's what worries me. I think this is only the beginning. Maybe I'm overthinking it, but we should be ready."

Evan nodded and let her continue. Nina's intelligence wasn't something he underestimated. She had earned her academic record without the unfair advantage of memories from another life.

"Nami's former agent left her old agency. After she told the press two days ago that you were the father, I asked Warner's publicity people to look into her."

She tapped a fresh entry in the notebook.

"It looks as though she's gone to CAA. Jimmy's departure wasn't exactly friendly, remember? And their leadership hasn't got what it wanted from you either, despite all those invitations."

Evan could see the logic. CAA had reasons to resent him. Without an opportunity, they might have left one another alone. Given one, he wouldn't expect them to pass it up.

"That fits."

He drank most of his cold coffee and settled back against the sofa.

"They certainly have the resources to find Katie. If only that were all there was to it."

Nina frowned. Katie alone wasn't much of a threat to someone with his money and position. Whoever had brought her forward would know that. Warner had lawyers who could make an unsupported public accusation ruinously expensive for a woman without resources. The risk seemed wildly out of proportion to anything she stood to gain on her own.

"What do you want to do?" she asked. "Should we have publicity step in? They could steer the coverage, or give the press another story to chase. Anything to get some of the attention off us."

It was a familiar tactic, and one celebrity publicists had used successfully for years. A more interesting scandal could push almost anything off the front page.

"Not yet."

Evan waved the suggestion aside and smiled.

"I'm not Marcus Bell. Smearing me, lining up accusers for the cameras... that doesn't mean they can get what they want. We'll keep making the film. Let's see who else comes forward. I'd like to know what they're actually after."

His smile concealed how tense he was.

Someone was moving against him. That much he believed. Who was involved, what they wanted, and what they intended to do next mattered more than the noise already on television.

After several years in Hollywood, he no longer expected competition to stop at the box office. If he wanted fewer unpleasant surprises in the future, he first needed to know who was planning them.

Shooting continued the next day. The rooftop sequence was coming together, and Brad Pitt and Christian Bale were gradually settling into their characters.

They accumulated usable footage take by take, with plenty of stops along the way. Nicholson's arrival in front of the camera gave Evan something to enjoy. The veteran was assured, comfortable with the character's ugliness, and capable of making it feel effortless.

After they finished an early transitional scene, the crew began packing up to move to the next location. Nicholson approached Evan while Guillermo and a few others looked on.

"I've got an idea for the next scene."

They had been shooting for several days, and he was the first actor to volunteer a suggestion. Evan looked up, interested, though he hoped this wasn't about to become an argument over the story.

"Don't worry," Nicholson said, noticing the attention. "I've got no problem with the script or the character. It's just a thought. If we're showing how far gone Frank Costello is, why not have him snort the powder off the actress's bare backside? Then let it scatter during the sex scene."

Evan leaned back, rubbing the stubble along his chin as he considered it.

"All right. We'll try it. If it works on camera, that's how we'll shoot the sequence."

Whatever he thought of the gleefully disreputable way Nicholson had pitched it, the suggestion made sense for the character. He was willing to see how it played.

This was an American gangster picture, and he didn't want habits carried over from other films to dictate its tone. The Departed shared the central premise of the film he remembered as Infernal Affairs, but the setting had changed far more than the names.

He had made those choices while writing the screenplay. His police were compromised, often ugly figures, and the story wasn't built around a maze of psychological feints. He wanted two moles facing each other in a brutal contest: direct confrontations, profanity, blood, and bullets.

For his version of Costello, the crime boss's rise from the streets had not produced polished restraint. Success had given the man's appetites more room to grow. The discretion and hierarchy of a Hong Kong triad film weren't what Evan wanted here.

Nicholson's suggestion belonged to that particular man and that particular film. Evan had no reason to reject it merely because it hadn't originated with him. In this respect, the older actor's instincts were useful.

When they shot the sequence, the approach worked. The footage Evan chose to establish Frank's excess followed Nicholson's suggestion.