The audition at Paramount had been a silent battle of wills. Anastasia stood in the center of Stage 14, a space so vast it felt like a cathedral built of wood and light. She didn't "perform" for James L. Brooks; she simply became the character, stripping away the polish of a child actor to reveal something raw and uncomfortable. When she finished, Shirley MacLaine—a woman whose presence was like a sharpened diamond—had leaned back in her chair and whispered, "Where on earth did you find this one?"
Three days later, the phone in the Jones' kitchen rang. Anastasia had secured the role.
The Deal of a LifetimeRobin Pareto arrived at the house an hour later, her face flushed with the kind of adrenaline only a historic deal could provide. She laid the contract on the kitchen table with a heavy thud.
"This is it, Stasia," Robin breathed. "Because of the success of The Glass Horizon, and because James L. Brooks insisted that no one else could play this part, Paramount opened the vault."
Anastasia looked at the figures. For her work on Terms of Endearment, she was being offered a guaranteed salary of $150,000.
"That's fifteen times what you made on your first movie," Robin said, her voice trembling. "But that's not the best part. I pushed them on the 'Success Clause.' Because you're a minor, they were hesitant, but we settled on a $50,000 bonus if the film crosses $50 million at the box office, and another $50,000 if it hits $100 million."
In 1981, a $250,000 total payout for a fourteen-year-old was almost unheard of. It moved her out of the category of "child actor" and into the realm of a genuine high-earner.
The Invitation to the FeastTo celebrate the casting, a private dinner was held at Chasen's, the legendary Hollywood haunt where the booths were deep red leather and the air smelled of expensive cigars and history.
Anastasia arrived with Robin. She wore a simple, elegant black dress with a cream-colored collar—sophisticated enough to belong in the room, but modest enough to remind everyone she was still fourteen. As they were led to a large circular table in the back, Anastasia saw them: the giants.
Shirley MacLaine sat at the head of the table, her eyes sharp and observant. Next to her was Jack Nicholson, leaning back with a predatory, mischievous grin, his trademark sunglasses tucked into his shirt pocket. Across from them sat James L. Brooks and Danny DeVito.
"The girl of the hour," James L. Brooks said, standing up to greet her. "Everyone, this is Anastasia Jones. The girl who's making the studio accountants sweat."
Anastasia walked forward, her hand extended. She didn't wait for them to speak first. "It's an honor to meet all of you. I've admired your work for a long time—especially The Apartment, Ms. MacLaine. I've always been fascinated by how you handled the transition between the comedy and the drama in the final act."
Shirley MacLaine's eyebrows shot up. She exchanged a look with Jack Nicholson. "She's studying transitions, has she? Most kids your age are studying how to get out of doing their homework."
"I find the work more interesting than the excuses," Anastasia replied smoothly, taking her seat.
The Titan's TestJack Nicholson let out a low, raspy chuckle. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his eyes narrowing behind the candlelight. "I saw that garage movie of yours, kid. You were very quiet. Very still. People in this town get nervous when an actor is that still. They think you're hiding something."
"I am," Anastasia said, her green eyes locking onto his with a level of confidence that made Robin Pareto hold her breath. "I'm hiding the fact that I'm the most prepared person at this table."
The table went silent for a beat, then Nicholson roared with laughter, slapping the table so hard the silver rattled. "I like her! She's got the teeth for this business! Jimmy, she's not a kid—she's a gunslinger in a velvet dress."
A Seat at the TableAs the dinner progressed, Anastasia held her own. She didn't use her Radiant Aura; she relied on her clinical understanding of the craft. She discussed character motivation with Shirley and traded a few witty barbs with Jack, never once sounding like a child trying to "act" grown-up. She was simply a peer.
As the night drew to a close and they stepped out into the cool California night, Anastasia looked toward the Paramount gates just down the street.
In her first life, she had been a spectator to greatness. In this life, she was being paid a fortune to define it. She was fourteen years old, a quarter-of-a-million-dollar actress, and she hadn't just been invited to the table—she had conquered it.
"You did it, Stasia," Robin whispered as their car pulled up. "They're not just impressed. They're intrigued."
"Good," Anastasia said, her auburn hair glowing under the streetlamps. "Intrigue is better than a paycheck. It means they'll be watching me on the first day of filming."