one
. . .
Stella
Power on a Hollywoodstudio lot looks a lot like riding around in a golf cart, and today, Blair lets me drive.
The electric hum kicks under my palms, quiet and smug, as we zip past a row of grip trucks and a family of tourists who strain to see if we're anyone famous. The air smells like fresh paint, hot concrete, and a hint of sweetness coming from the orange trees planted around the edges of the studio's backlot. Sunlight slices across the façades. New York street to our left, Midwest town square to our right. A sky that is forever California blue above it all.
Blair Bennett, my boss and mentor, sits beside me in oversized sunglasses, her hand resting casually on the curve of her very obvious baby bump. Even nine months pregnant, she manages to look like the sharpest person on the lot in a tailored black dress, heels I wouldn't dare attempt, and her one allotted coffee of the day balanced within easy reach. Blair isn't just my boss; she'stheBlair Bennett, a former power player at The Wynn Agency and now the founder of Tangerine Talent and one of the most respected agents in Hollywood. She's the woman whoplucked me out of USC for an internship and showed me what ambition actually looks like.
We glide to a stop outside the bungalow where Ava St. James holds court. One of those orange trees is artfully planted in a barrel that guards the door, and a PA checks our names like he's protecting state secrets before waving us in. Ava is an icon, the kind who rose to fame in the mid-2000s, claimed an Oscar and a shelf of other awards, and built her reputation on being part of Hollywood's elite. But the industry is shifting with every year, and so are the opportunities. If we're lucky, today might be the day she finally agrees to expand her definition of what success looks like.
Inside, the air is cool, the walls lined with framed black-and-whites of the actors and actresses who built this studio.
“Ladies.” Ava rises from the couch, elegance wrapped in linen and an easy smile. Her eyes drop to Blair's stomach and soften. “Look at you. Glowing. And I say that as someone who loathes that phrase.”
Blair opens her arms. “Trying to make it my brand.”
They hug, and I hang back, trying not to interrupt the moment. This is Blair's final meeting before her scheduled C-section on Monday. Yes, Monday, because that woman is only giving herself a weekend break before she goes on maternity leave. Which means, for the next few months, it'll be me stepping into her shoes.
We sit, and Blair dives right in, giving Ava the news we came to share. “Two offers this week. One's a therapist role, the older-but-wise woman who pushes the protagonist toward her breakthrough. The other is a grandmother in a studio comedy.”
Ava tips her head, her irritation sharp. “I didn't claw my way to an Oscar to be cast in a sitcom as some elderly babysitter.”
Blair leans forward, calm and unbothered. “They're circling you for gravitas. But it's your call. What's your instinct?”
Ava hesitates, then glances at me. “What doyouthink, Stella? Fresh eyes.”
Heat prickles my collar. I'm just here to observe. But Blair gives me the smallest nod, that silent permission slip that says I'm okay to share my thoughts.
“I think…” I start carefully, weighing each word. “The therapist role has more depth than the grandmother. But I also think your audience would grow if you considered options outside traditional films. Streaming series, prestige TV…it's where some of the most layered roles are happening right now.”
Ava studies me, her lips quirking, not offended but not converted, either. “So, you're telling me to trade the silver screen for someone's laptop.”
“Not trade,” I say quickly. “Expand.”
She smiles kindly, though it doesn't reach her eyes. “You're sharp. I like that. But I'm still a movie actress.”
Blair lets the moment settle. “Then let's say yes to the therapist and pass on the grandmother. Stella will keep things moving while I'm out. You'll be in excellent hands.”
Ava turns to me again, her hands cool and elegant around mine. “Well, Stella, it shouldn't be too hard to manage a client whose career's circling the drain.” The smile she adds makes it sound like a joke, though there's steel underneath.
My throat tightens, but I hold her gaze. “I wouldn't call it that. I think people are still lining up to work with you—and they should be.”
Ava's laugh lingers as she turns away, already signaling to her assistant that we're done here. The meeting ends with polite goodbyes, though the weight of her words presses against my chest long after we step into the sun.
It's not that Ava's wrong. In Hollywood, a man in his forties is just hitting his stride, offered leading roles against women twenty years younger. A woman the same age? She's fightingfor scraps, not because she's any less talented, but because the system decides she's less sellable. The stories we tell still belong to men.
Blair slips on her sunglasses as we step into the sunlight. “I didn't spell it out for Ava, but here's the deal—she's yours while I'm out. Think of it as a trial run. If you keep things steady, she'll stay with you permanently.”
My pulse jumps. “Wait, seriously?”
Blair takes a measured sip of coffee. “You've been ready for this. All you have to do now is not fuck it up.”
Words tangle in my throat, and she cuts me off with a look. “Don't overthink it, Stella. Just do what you do best. You'll nail this.”
Blair checks her phone, then tucks it away. “I'm heading over to Building A to see Wyatt and steal him for lunch before my next meeting. Can you get the cart back to the return and make it to the office on your own?”
