Jenny Jane signed the acting contract, officially securing the role of Wannita with a payment of five thousand dollars per episode.
It was neither high nor low—roughly equivalent to her monthly salary at the restaurant. Emma Swan had been candid about it: the original offer to Dunst had been nearly $200,000. Now that Jenny Jane had taken the role, the same fee was out of the question. The producer was definitely cutting costs.
Jenny took it in stride. She and Dave had discussed TV pay scales before—for a fresh-faced unknown, five thousand was actually quite generous. Expecting to match the pay of a veteran child star like Dunst? Pure fantasy. She was fortunate to land her debut on CBS. Had it been a smaller network like The WB, she might not have even secured five thousand dollars.
Chen Zhen had kept a close eye on entertainment industry trends in her later life, reading plenty of related news and articles. She understood American TV salaries fairly well—this industry operates on a "no ceiling, but a floor" pay structure, with enormous room for negotiation. The intricacies could fill an entire day's discussion. Ultimately, it boils down to a battle for leverage. Whoever keeps the show alive holds the upper hand, though the actors' personal attitudes also play a role.
Take the currently popular Friends, for instance. All six actors had already achieved stardom and had little further need for the series itself. By the later seasons, after portraying similar characters for seven or eight years, more than half of the six leads had little desire to continue. They collectively demanded a million-dollar-per-episode fee, and Warner Bros., the production company, had no choice but to grit their teeth and pay up. This was because the six-person ensemble functioned as an organic whole, with storylines so intertwined that removing any one member would make the show unsustainable. In contrast, the equally popular sitcom Modern Family featured a larger ensemble cast and a less cohesive narrative that relied heavily on writers' ingenuity for humorous situations and dialogue. Acting skill became less critical. Consequently, despite winning numerous awards and enjoying consistently high ratings, the main cast members showed little inclination or determination to significantly raise their salaries.
Of course, should Modern Family continue its success and its characters become even more beloved, the balance of power between the studio and the actors could shift. In Chen Zhen's view, Hollywood is the most rule-less place imaginable, where the only constant rule is that every negotiation is a game of multiple factors, and every contract is the result of compromise among all parties.
Getting back to the point: for long-running series like CSI, where characters come and go and the cases themselves drive the appeal, maintaining just one or two core actors is sufficient. This makes it difficult for even regular cast members—let alone major stars—to negotiate significant raises. A one-off criminal suspect like Vanita was a minor role easily dismissed for five or six thousand dollars. The previous offer of over a hundred thousand dollars was merely a ploy to boost ratings for the new season by hiring a moderately famous movie star for a guest appearance. Now that Jenny had taken the role, the budget had shrunk to five thousand. Fortunately, CBS never delayed payments; checks arrived punctually. That was the advantage of working with a major network.
With the filming schedule roughly set, Jenny returned to her part-time job at Hollywood Star. Aside from discussing the upcoming gig with Dave, she kept the good news to herself. Jessica assumed she'd failed another audition, while Johnny cheerfully urged her once more to ditch her diet.
Jenny paid little heed to these comments. Once she received the script, she immersed herself in it—her audition performance, and more importantly, her presence. By projecting the aura of a major star, she could easily outshine the competition. After all, everyone could see that star quality on TV, but nailing the imitation wasn't easy. What mattered most during actual filming, however, was that her emotional performance didn't disconnect from her male co-star. Otherwise, a restrained, physical-restraint method actor paired with a fully immersed, experiential actor would create an awkward, laughable disconnect. When such a mismatch occurs, the director will never ask the lead actor to compromise.
That's precisely why she's been studying Nick, the character she primarily shares scenes with, portrayed by George Eder. Having never seen the show before, she doesn't know how CSI will fare or how long George will stay. For now, he comes across as a handsome, sunny guy—a visual treat. As for his acting, first, the first season of CSI didn't offer much room for his skills to shine. Second, his performance style wasn't that of a naturally gifted, intuitive actor; it was more conventionally expressive, with quite restrained emotional delivery. His personal aura also didn't suggest someone who could effortlessly radiate charisma. This meant their scenes together might lack tension, or Nick's presence could be completely overshadowed by Vanita.
Chen Zhen kept experimenting, rehearsing several performance approaches. She even used rehearsal space to work on scenes with Nick repeatedly for an entire episode. By the time she felt there was nothing left to refine, the filming date was fast approaching.
...
Due to the simultaneous filming and airing model, American TV series have exceptionally long production cycles. Actors often spend nine months out of the year on set. Compared to Chinese dramas that shoot 30 to 50 episodes in just three months, American production schedules feel almost extravagantly generous—a luxury afforded by budgets that are similarly lavish compared to their international counterparts. This slow-and-steady approach naturally yields more polished productions and provides TV actors with greater stability than their international counterparts. Landing a recurring role in an American series—even if not a supporting part—is often sufficient for survival in Hollywood. Securing a supporting role is practically equivalent to having a steady job: decent pay and flexible hours.
Many professional supporting actors follow this path: secure a stable supporting role to build up seed money, then run a restaurant or clothing store while auditioning in their spare time. This satisfies their desire to be on screen while also paving the way for the future—networking to ensure a steady stream of supporting roles. Though seemingly obscure, they actually live quite comfortably. Financially, they often outpace semi-newcomers who struggle in the film industry, landing lead roles in one or two low-budget productions.
So when Jenny arrived on set, she didn't sense the palpable tension she often felt on Chinese productions—not that Chinese crews revel in backstabbing, but producers frequently demand work be completed within impossibly tight deadlines. The resulting prolonged overtime creates immense pressure, and that pent-up resentment from working late isn't easily diffused.
Things were much more relaxed in the US. Robust labor protections kept weekly hours relatively fixed; even if the production wanted to push overtime, they couldn't. Work efficiency here was at least three or four times slower than in China. After getting her pass, Jenny headed to makeup and wardrobe. Just these two steps took three hours of deliberation between the makeup artist and costume designer before they settled on her look.
"You look absolutely stunning, dear," makeup artist Anna remarked admiringly—the crew showed no bias toward newcomers; though their demeanor was reserved, it was genuinely friendly. "Rest assured, you're going to be an overnight sensation."
"Thank you," Jenny smiled warmly, though she didn't take the compliment too seriously. She stood up to adjust her hair, but the stylist quickly stopped her. "Don't touch it—I spent ages blow-drying it perfectly."
"Okay, the director should be done with his meeting now," Anna checked her watch. "Let's go show him."
Given the role's importance, the director had insisted on seeing her in person. No wonder they weren't rushing—even if they'd settled things earlier, they'd still have to wait.
Most of CSI's indoor scenes were shot in a fixed studio. As a high-rated new series, they'd rented a large soundstage at Universal Studios for the new season. However, the director wasn't currently on set, so the four of them had to go out and find him—also because the main actors had all completed their new season makeup trials earlier. Jenny was the only one scheduled for a makeup test today. It was the director's sudden whim that prompted this last-minute visit before his pre-shoot meeting.
She wasn't short to begin with, and the heels made her even taller. Surrounded by makeup artists, costume designers, and hairstylists as she walked toward the studio, she truly exuded the aura of a major star, drawing stares from everyone in her path. Jenny suspected her outfit played a part—for a crucial scene where Vanita is abducted during a banquet, the costume designer had chosen a form-fitting evening gown that revealed quite a bit of skin.
Anna seemed to relish the attention, giggling incessantly. Jenny found her behavior odd but didn't take offense—the entertainment industry was always full of eccentrics. The seemingly more normal costume and hair stylists, however, treated her with greater indifference.
Now, dressed in her finery and walking through the Universal Studios backlot, gazing at the towering soundstages and the diverse crowd moving between them—Jenny thought she'd just spotted Harrison Ford—she finally felt like she was beginning to belong in Hollywood. But Jenny knew full well this was merely a warm illusion. In truth, she'd barely dipped a toe into Hollywood's deep waters—such a shallow touch she couldn't even gauge the temperature.
"Wow, it felt like even George Clooney was looking at you just now." Anna suddenly nudged Jenny excitedly. "You look like a real star!"
Jenny was speechless at her exaggeration, offering only a perfunctory smile. "I'm just dressed way too formally."
"After all, you need to be swept off your feet at an awards ceremony," said costume designer Van Buren. "We're here."
The writer, director, and one of the producers—essentially the showrunner role that had gained prominence in recent years—had just wrapped up a meeting. He glanced at Jenny a few times, had her perform a short scene, and then signaled his approval. Jenny spotted Dave's friend smiling at her in the crowd, along with Emma Swan. She wiggled her fingers in greeting.
"Alright, go change now." The director, a red-haired man in his forties, gave Jenny another approving look. "Now I understand why you chose her."
Admiring glances swept over her from the crowd. Jenny could almost foresee how many people would approach her once filming officially began—and she must admit, her mood was quite lifted. After all, she was a perfectly normal young woman; having others appreciate the results of her hard work naturally brought her joy.
Her gaze casually swept over several middle-aged men standing at the far end of the corridor. Those well-dressed passersby, looking rather self-important, all smiled at her in return: in any corner of the world, beauty granted her privilege.
Take, for instance, the overweight man among them. He was clearly mesmerized, his eyes fixed on her with such blatant lust it bordered on comical.
Jenny found his expression amusing and couldn't help but glance back at him a few times before turning and strolling away.
Author's Note:
PS: In reality, CSI was filmed in Santa Clarita. This story contains numerous fictional elements, which will only increase as it progresses. If you're interested, I could specify exactly what parts are made up—or should I just leave it at that?