350 - Hollywood: Backlot Emperor (Patreon)

350 - Men Are Like That

"You're right, Adrian," a middle-aged producer said. "Television needs fresh ideas. The genres people come back to don't have to stay separate. We're working on a medical drama built around a mystery."

"A medical mystery?" Frederick asked.

"Exactly." Paul Attanasio nodded. "There's an investigative rhythm to CSI: follow the clues until you find the culprit. Here the culprit would be an illness, and the payoff would be a diagnosis and treatment."

"That could work," Adrian said. He glanced at Todd. "Don't you think?"

Todd hesitated for a beat, then joined in. "If the cases keep their momentum, yes. There's plenty of suspense in not knowing what's wrong."

"How far along is it, Paul?" Adrian asked, suddenly more interested.

"David is finishing the outline." Attanasio touched the shoulder of the man beside him. "A detailed one."

"We're still working through it," David Shore said. "We have the shape of the pilot. Turning it into a script is the next step." He sounded confident, though his expression suggested Attanasio had made their progress sound further along than it was.

"David has written for three series," Attanasio added, "crime stories and science fiction among them. He knows how to build a television script."

"When you have the outline, send it to me," Adrian said before Frederick could answer for him.

Attanasio caught the opening and did not overstay. He and Shore talked for another minute, then moved on.

"Are you serious?" Frederick asked once they were gone. "I know Shore's past shows. None of them set the ratings on fire."

"That tells me how those shows did," Adrian said. "It doesn't tell me what this one could be. We just agreed television needs something new."

"Trust him, Fred," Todd said, clapping his shoulder.

Frederick studied Adrian, half exasperated. "Word about your instincts is spreading. People are coming over to pitch you at parties now."

"Tell me that when the top producers start lining up," Adrian said. He could not quite hide his pleasure.

Hollywood paid attention to the people who made money. Most of the films Adrian had backed had done well, and he had built a company in three years. People wanted him to notice their projects. Some wanted his notice for other reasons too; Jessica came to mind, as did the evening ahead.

"Let me know when they send the outline," Adrian told Todd later. "I have a feeling we should take a close look." He checked the time. "I've done my rounds. I'm leaving."

He embraced his agent and his CEO before heading out.

A medical mystery still interested him on the drive. His instincts had served him well, and there was no harm in reading a proposal. He almost remembered a show built around cases like these. Perhaps the outline would bring it into focus.

Backlot needed successful series as well as films. Profit was one reason; relationships and influence were others. America's Next Top Model ran on UPN, a network tied to the same corporate family as CBS, while Desperate Housewives had ABC. If Backlot could bring shows of similar quality to NBC and Fox, it would be in a much stronger position.

Adrian watched the city through the car window. He needed to keep looking, keep drawing on what he remembered. He was not going home tonight; he had taken a hotel suite instead.

The doorbell rang. He had finished a call home and had been standing at the suite's window for some time. He turned toward the door.

"Who is it?" he asked, already smiling. He had a good idea.

"Your wine, sir," a woman's voice answered. There was a playful note in it.

"And did you bring anything to go with it?" Adrian opened the door.

"Let me in and you'll find out," she said.

Eva Longoria stood in the hall in a loose brown coat, carrying a bottle of wine. Her playful delivery suggested that the costume of a late-night delivery had been her idea.

The hallway light caught her smile as she held out the bottle, waiting to see whether he would let her in.

Adrian stepped aside. Once she had set the bottle on the coffee table, he looked at the coat and smiled. "You seem to have planned this."

"Maybe I did." She met his eyes, amused.

She took off the coat and hung it by the door. Adrian had expected a surprise, but the real surprise was how at ease she seemed making him wait.

He remembered the first time she had come to his room after a television-industry event. That evening had also begun with a performance at the door, and he had been quick to believe he understood what she wanted.

"Is this all right?" Eva asked, still watching him.

"Yes," Adrian said. "This is perfect." He liked that she had made the choice to be there.

She crossed the room with the air of someone who knew she had his attention. He watched her, aware that his power over the show made their easy banter less simple than it sounded.

Eva Longoria was part of the ensemble on Desperate Housewives. Adrian had noticed her confidence from the beginning.

Cherry had not written every housewife as the same age or from the same background. Gabrielle Solis, a former model married to a wealthy man who treated her as an ornament, brought a different energy to the group.

The production also wanted the neighborhood to reflect California's diversity. Adrian had argued for a Black housewife in the ensemble, while Gabrielle was written as Latina. Plenty of performers wanted the role.

Longoria had sent Adrian a note during casting. Many actors tried to reach the investor behind a show, but hers was unusually direct about wanting to talk to him in private.

Curious, he had met her for coffee. Their conversation soon became personal. He later chose to spend more time with her away from the industry crowd, conscious even then that he was involved in the decision that could shape her career.

Eva did not hide what she wanted from the opportunity. Jessica Biel had once tested Adrian's attention more cautiously; the two situations were different, but Adrian still compared them.

He told himself he admired Longoria's nerve. He also knew that his interest in her made a professional decision easier for him to justify than it should have been.

She was shorter than he was, but he had no trouble recognizing when she took command of a room. That was one reason he had believed she could hold her own beside the rest of the cast.

The contrast between their public roles and their private meetings pleased him. He tried to separate that feeling from the casting decision, though he could not honestly say he had succeeded. Longoria got the part.

Now the premiere had made her gamble look wise. If the audience held, the role would bring her the recognition she had sought. Her arrival at his suite also told Adrian she did not intend to let their private connection fade.

He welcomed her. He had already begun to despise the sort of man who confused attention with entitlement; recognizing the danger had not made him immune to it. As long as Backlot prospered and his reputation grew, others would come to him with hopes he could grant or deny.

Hollywood rewarded a lucky wager extravagantly, and Eva had made one. Naomi had spent years holding her ground before her own break. Plenty of others never got that chance. Adrian knew the imbalance was real; he also knew he benefited from it.

He could excuse himself by saying he had never demanded anything in return. But the distinction was convenient. He remembered a line from The Aviator about men as hunters, and disliked how easily it could become an excuse for what he chose to do.