Daenerys Entertainment Headquarters.
Simon reached his office to find six people already waiting in the outer lounge: three women and three men. The women were tall, striking, and the exact three he had selected as contenders for Wonder Woman; the men were clearly their agents.
As soon as he appeared, one of the women raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, Simon."
He stepped closer, studying Helena Christensen, whom he had not seen in over six months and smiled. "How have Cindy and the others been?"
"They're great," Helena replied, a hint of playful resentment in her eyes. "I was starting to think you'd completely forgotten about us."
At his twentieth-birthday party earlier that year, Simon had run into several supermodels he remembered from his original timeline: Cindy Crawford, Helena Christensen, Paulina Porizkova, and Stephanie Seymour.
He had exchanged contact details with them at the time. But the worlds they moved in were simply too far apart. After an initial flurry of calls, Simon had not pursued things further, and the women perceptive as they were, had tactfully stopped reaching out.
Had this opportunity not arisen, he would not have contacted them on his own.
"Of course I haven't forgotten," he said lightly. "I have an excellent memory."
Smiling, he greeted the others.
Besides Helena, the remaining Wonder Woman candidates were Famke Janssen and Erica Anderson.
Famke Janssen had played the first-generation Jean Grey/Phoenix in the original X-Men films and a Bond villainess in GoldenEye.
Of the three, Simon leaned toward Famke. In many ways she rivaled Gal Gadot, and her Phoenix presence in X-Men had arguably surpassed Gadot's.
Famke was twenty-three, from a Dutch acting family.
Simon planned to begin production on Wonder Woman in three years and release within five—limited by the standard five-year rights agreement. At twenty-eight when the film released, after several years of grooming, her beauty and aura would be at their peak.
Erica Anderson was equally stunning, though less known. Simon recalled her most famous role as the lead in the erotic thriller Zandalee opposite Nicolas Cage a few years later.
He had chosen her based on a fitness-oriented audition tape she submitted.
Helena Christensen brought a healthy, wild Nordic vitality. At twenty—the youngest of the three—she would be a perfect twenty-five in five years if selected.
The six followed Simon into his office, which suddenly felt crowded. The seating area had one long sofa and two single chairs--room for five. The two agents who drew the short straw pulled over extra chairs.
Once everyone was settled, Simon looked at the three women squeezed onto the long sofa. "First, nothing we discuss today leaves this room. Anyone who can't keep quiet is out."
Until now, the agencies had submitted candidates based only on Daenerys's general casting requirements. They had guessed, but nothing had been confirmed.
Simon's serious tone sharpened everyone's attention.
It also signaled how rare this opportunity was. The three agents, all well-connected in the industry, had already put the pieces together: Daenerys had only recently announced acquiring the Wonder Woman rights.
Yet as they glanced at their clients, the same regretful thought occurred to all three agents: Not much up top.
Both the comics and Lynda Carter--the iconic seventies Wonder Woman--were famously well-endowed. The three women before them did not share that attribute.
Had they guessed wrong?
Or did Simon Westeros simply prefer this type?
The minds of the powerful were hard to read.
Simon, of course, remembered Lynda Carter's portrayal. But even without Gal Gadot as reference, he had no interest in casting a buxom figurehead.
When everyone nodded, he continued. "You've probably guessed already. Yes, I'm looking for Wonder Woman." Before excitement could fully register, he added, "But Daenerys has no plans to shoot in the near future. You'd be waiting three years. If we reach an agreement today, the studio will arrange opportunities over those three years to develop your acting skills. Frankly, none of you have much acting experience right now."
All three were accomplished models with strong screen presence. Many Hollywood actresses began by juggling modeling and acting. But modeling poise and acting ability were entirely different things.
The women smiled politely, though confirmation of the role sparked more excitement than anything else.
Given the choice between modeling and acting, they--and most women in their circle--would choose acting without hesitation.
Modeling was a young woman's game. Aside from the rare few who became supermodels, most retired before thirty, marrying well or pivoting to another career.
Acting offered longevity.
Even a steady career in supporting roles paid far better than most modeling gigs, and the fame extended a woman's runway lifespan.
The pay gap was stark.
That was why so many models tried to break into Hollywood.
Last year's The Secret of My Success had featured cameo walk-ons by Cindy Crawford and other top models--silent, fleeting appearances. A-list actresses would never stoop to modeling cameos.
After a brief overview, Simon moved to specifics. "If that works for you, we can sign agreements soon. For the next few years you'll follow Daenerys's arrangements."
The three women hesitated. It was Erica Anderson--the quietest until now--who spoke. "Simon, what if, after three years, we don't get the part?"
"Even if you don't play Diana Prince, Wonder Woman will need plenty of Amazon warriors. And after three years of work assuming you apply yourselves, you'll have a solid foothold in Hollywood. Returning to fashion would be easy too." Remembering something, he turned to Erica. "Didn't you just book a role in New Line's A Nightmare on Elm Street 5?"
Erica nodded, surprised he knew.
"Turn it down," Simon said. "The Elm Street franchise isn't high-end, and it's not the lead. Appearing in something like that does you no good."
It was only a small supporting role best friend to the lead, with a gruesome death, but Erica had fought for it. She glanced at her agent.
The agent was decisive. "Mr. Westeros, we'll contact New Line and withdraw as soon as this meeting ends."
He shot Erica a brief, disappointed look, 'small-minded'
But the choice was obvious.
Compared to what Simon Westeros was offering, even the lead in Elm Street 5 was not worth considering.
Simon simply nodded and discussed further details before dismissing them.
As they left, Jennifer entered carrying a cardboard box filled with scripts and several VHS tapes. "Boss, these are from Mr. Deutchman, projects and indie samples he's been reviewing."
Simon casually set down a business card Helena Christensen had slipped him, noticing Jennifer's eyes flick to it before darting away. Smiling, he pulled a script from the box, flipped it open, and tapped the spot to his right. "Come here."
Jennifer stood across the desk, cheeks faintly pink. "No."
"Should I come to you?"
"I have work to do."
She took a small step back, then suddenly forward. Simon looked up, expecting something across the desk, but she was already heading out.
He glanced around, puzzled, and realized the business card had vanished.
He only smiled and returned to the script.
Moments later, as he became absorbed, the door opened again. Amy Pascal entered.
By now comfortable with each other, Simon simply nodded and asked, "How did it go with Wes?"
Amy sat opposite him and shook her head. "Paramount offered six million base plus ten percent of profits. I spoke with Wes—he wants the same for the Scream sequels."
For the original Scream, Wes Craven had commanded a top-tier five-million-dollar fee, half the entire budget. The cast had been paid newcomer rates.
Simon had budgeted for the sequels to double. But even without details on the profit share, ten percent was an immediate no.
Assuming the first Scream earned one hundred million domestically, full-channel revenue--overseas, video, television--would yield Daenerys at least one hundred million in profit. Ten percent of that alone was ten million. With the base salary, Wes would earn sixteen million--equivalent to the budget of an entire additional horror film.
If Wes were irreplaceable, Simon would pay. The studio would still profit handsomely.
But for a formulaic teen slasher, Wes Craven was not essential. Simon would not hand over sixteen million.
After a moment's thought, he said, "Fifteen million for both sequels. That's our offer. Talk to him again. If he doesn't want it, we move on."
Seven-point-five million per sequel--a fifty percent raise from the original--was generous for a horror director.
Horror films could punch above their weight, but failures far outnumbered successes. One or two breakouts a year was exceptional; hundreds of low-budget horrors went unnoticed or straight to video.
Amy shared Simon's view.
Wes Craven was not indispensable to Scream. Years earlier he had created A Nightmare on Elm Street for New Line, directing only the first. When sequel negotiations stalled, he walked away--yet the franchise thrived, each installment outperforming the last.
Paramount's offer sounded rich against Scream's numbers, but beyond it? Wes's best prior gross was the original Elm Street at just over twenty-five million. His others hovered below twenty million--the limitation of the genre.
At that level, profit-share clauses rarely paid out. A twenty-million-dollar budget breaking even at twenty million meant no profit at all.
Simon's fifteen million across two guaranteed sequels was far more concrete—and sincere.
The only question was whether Wes Craven would be wise enough to see it. If he took Paramount's deal and the next project flopped, his value would plummet again--and Daenerys would not wait for him to return to Scream.