Kingfisher Pictures? Joey had literally never heard of this company in her life. Jack explained it was one of those private, rich-guy vanity studios: some oil-or-real-estate billionaire got bored, decided to play Hollywood for a few years, and bought himself a movie company to mess around with.
The dude clearly had more money than taste; they'd only put out a handful of forgettable flicks; but somehow he'd managed to snag the rights to the new Terminator sequel. Go figure.
What Joey absolutely did not expect when she walked in was that the rich guy, realizing he knew jack about picking winners, had hired his old buddy as a consultant.
That buddy? James freaking Cameron.
The tyrant king of Hollywood himself.
The man is infamous for being a volcanic perfectionist. After Titanic, Kate Winslet straight-up told the world, "I'd only work with him again for a insane paycheck; the talent is undeniable, but the temper is brutal."
Cameron's only a part-time "advisor" here, basically doing his pal a solid. He barely shows up. But today he happened to swing by the office, overheard distribution talking about a new submission, and got curious.
The title card popped up on the screening-room projector: Juno.
He smirked. Chick flick. Teen comedy. Whatever.
Ninety minutes later he was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, actually impressed.
It was sharp, funny as hell, and completely alive. A perfect script. A lead with real spine. A movie that took a whole family of screw-ups and somehow made you root for every single one of them. It felt… new. Like it was flipping the bird at every polished, fake "family values" movie Hollywood had been cranking out.
And the director: Joey Grant.
He'd heard the name. Wunderkind debut, then the town chewed her up and spit her out. Kept herself afloat for a few years riding the Redstone grandson's coattails, got dumped, and vanished into has-been land.
Apparently the talent hadn't died.
No stars, microscopic budget, and she still pulled off something this fresh and confident. Color him surprised.
When Joey walked into the meeting room and saw James Cameron sitting across the table, she almost fell off her chair.
James. Frigging. Cameron.
Normal humans do not get face-to-face time with the guy who yelled "I'm the king of the world!" on global television.
He's one of her heroes; temper and all; because he's living proof you can start with nothing and conquer Hollywood through sheer will.
Thirty years ago he was exactly where she is now: broke, hungry, driving trucks, scraping by. Then The Terminator at age thirty turned six million into eighty million overnight. Titanic at forty-three swept the Oscars. Avatar at fifty-five rewrote the box-office record books after twelve years away.
Classic American Dream, extra-strength edition.
Joey managed to stammer, "Mr. Cameron… I really didn't expect to see you here."
Cameron has that permanent half-lidded, slightly superior stare. He's not Spielberg; he doesn't do warm and fuzzy. "Grant. I watched Juno. It's good. Really good. The actors are solid too."
Joey actually blushed. Getting praise from James Cameron felt like getting knighted. "Thank you. I mean… I would've killed to cast Lindsay Lohan or Hilary Duff; total teen queens back then; but my budget was basically couch change."
Cameron didn't smile; he rarely does. "You shot in the Valley?"
"Yep," she grinned. "Hey, Hollywood and the adult industry are basically cousins anyway."
That got a tiny eyebrow raise. "How's that?"
She realized she'd opened her big mouth and now had to commit. "Uh… well… take the whole HD-DVD versus Blu-ray war everyone's screaming about right now. All the big studios are picking sides like it's their decision. Truth is, the studios don't decide who wins; the game companies and the… adult-video companies do."
She scratched the back of her neck, dying inside. "Whoever gets porn on their format first wins the war. Ancient saying: he who hath the porn hath the world."
Crickets.
Dead silence. She wanted to evaporate.
Then Cameron actually cracked the tiniest smile known to man. "You're a weird kid. You entertain yourself; that's a survival skill around here."
Back to business. "What's your number?"
Joey opened her mouth, but Jack jumped in first. "Mr. Cameron, we're not gonna play games with you. We're thinking six million. You saw the budget; barely five; but we gotta eat too, right?"
Joey admired the balls on Jack; straight-up lying to James Cameron's face.
Cameron ignored him completely and locked eyes with Joey. "You that broke? Otherwise you wouldn't be shopping it to a place that'll take most of the pie."
She just went for honesty. "Yeah. I owe the bank three million."
He gave a short, mocking little laugh. "So poor, so desperate, and still chasing movies?"
Joey met his stare. "Why wouldn't I? Movies are the fairest dream in the world. Anyone with a camera can make one; rich, poor, doesn't matter."
Cameron narrowed his eyes. "That's your take? The barrier's that low?"
"Not low," she said evenly. "Just not high enough to stop the people who really want it. Mr. Cameron, 1979; you're twenty-two, driving trucks in Orange County. You see Alien, something clicks, and seven years later you turn around and make Aliens the biggest action movie on the planet. Hollywood's walls didn't stop you."
Cameron let out a low, amused huff. "You've done your homework. So you wanna follow my path?"
She shook her head hard. No way she was flexing on this guy. "Nope. I wanna be an indie director who actually gets final cut. I'm tired of studios forcing actors on me, cramming in product placement, taking the edit away. Indie's where the soul is."
He studied her for a long second. "You think indie's the future?"
"Hell yes," she said, getting fired up. "Big FX blockbusters give people a two-hour sugar rush; they walk out and forget the story five minutes later. Indie sticks in your head. You chew on it for days."
Cameron's icy tone didn't match the faint respect in his eyes. He didn't care about gossip or her past; he only cared what was on screen.
"Good," he said; rare praise from the king. "Kid, whatever mess you've been through, I hope there's a real place for you in this town going forward."
Then he added, almost casually, "One condition. If we do this deal, you release it under a pseudonym at first. Keeps the tabloid vultures off long enough for people to actually see the movie. Those assholes will try to bury it just because it's you."
Joey thought about it for two seconds and nodded. She was sick of reporters anyway.
"Smart. I'm in."
He slid a contract across the table. "Cool. Kingfisher wants worldwide rights, all of them. No negotiations. Write your number."
Just… blank-check, take-it-or-leave-it energy.
This man really did proclaim himself king of the world on live television.
Joey's hand shook as she reached for the pen. Was this actually happening?
Jack, bless him, snatched the pen first. "Seven million work for you?"
Cameron didn't even blink. "If I like it, seven's fair."
Jack scribbled 7,000,000 like it was nothing.
Joey sat there stunned. Seven million. Full buyout. Done.
Cameron stood up, already halfway out the door; meeting over. Jack and the distribution exec started hashing out the fine print, but Joey was floating.
It was real. Juno was actually getting released.
First step of clawing her life back, and it just crash-landed in her lap like a miracle.
Maybe; just maybe; this time everything was going to be different.