I mentioned Heath Ledger's issue to Mel Gibson in passing. As one of Australia's most promising actors today, Heath's got a special place in Mel's heart. "Dunn, I appreciate you looking out," Mel said. "I'll keep an eye on Heath's situation."
I grinned, pausing for a beat. "Hey, how about introducing me to some Aussie actresses?"
"Miss Portman…" Mel hesitated, glancing toward Nicole Kidman. He clearly didn't want any Aussie talent stirring up trouble between me and Natalie. The Naomi Watts fiasco was still fresh in his mind.
I waved it off casually. "No big deal, just wanna meet some people, make a few friends."
"Alright then," Mel relented, beckoning a blonde over. "Isla, come here a sec."
The blonde practically bounced over, her face lit up with excitement. "Hey, Mel! Hi, Director Walker, so nice to meet you! "
Mel scratched his head, a bit awkward. He's the big brother of the Aussie crew, not some matchmaker. But seeing Isla's giddy vibe, he knew he'd just played Cupid. "Dunn, this is Isla Fisher. She's been acting since she was a kid." Then he bolted with a quick, "Gotta run, you two chat!"
I chuckled, shaking my head. Isla's flirty smile and those captivating eyes felt oddly familiar. "Didn't peg you for a child star," I said.
She caught my gaze lingering and—yep—tugged her dress down a little, smirking when my eyes flickered. "Not really a child star," she laughed. "Just a few TV gigs. Actually… I'm a writer."
A writer? That threw me. I couldn't help but grin at her playful charm—girls seasoned by the entertainment world really know how to work a room. She's younger than Megan Gale from earlier, but way smoother. Then it hit me. I gave her another once-over and bam—Isla Fisher, the sassy second lead from *Wedding Crashers*! She even helped write the script in the original timeline.
"No kidding… that's a surprise!" My shock was real this time.
Isla giggled. "Yeah, well, my mom's a writer too. Guess I picked it up growing up."
I've always had a soft spot for talented actresses. Natalie and Reese are key players by my side. Pure eye-candy types like Jessica Alba, Liv Tyler, Naomi Watts, or Katherine Heigl? They're fun for a few months, but then I lose interest—not even friend material. It's women like Nicole Kidman, Kate Winslet, or Sofia Coppola, the ones with real skill, who stick around in my circle, passion or not.
Isla? She's got that spark.
This isn't some internet age where anyone can scribble a story online. Talent stands out here.
"Thinking about Hollywood?" I asked, locking eyes with her blue-gray gaze, no dodging.
She stepped closer—close enough that we were basically pressed together, her breath warm on my face. "Could I make it?"
I eased back a step, smirking. "Isla, Natalie's watching from over there."
She blinked innocently. "What if she wasn't?"
I coughed lightly. "Isla, I could use a secretary at Dunn Films. Interested?"
"Secretary? Doesn't Miss Witherspoon have that covered?"
"Sounds like you've done your homework."
She flashed a sly smile. "You're an idol to a lot of girls—especially the ones dreaming of Hollywood."
I shook my head. "Reese got hooked on acting and ditched the desk job ages ago."
Dunn Films isn't some corporate machine yet—departments are patchy, projects are simple. I don't need a pro secretary; just someone sharp enough to handle it.
"Alright then! I'll start next week!" Isla practically bounced again, landing right in my arms. She leaned in, whispering, "I know you're into me," and slipped a card into my suit pocket, nipping her lip as she breathed, "Call me anytime."
Once she sashayed off, Mel popped back up, ever the host. "Sorted things with Bruce Willis?"
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Just wanted folks to know I don't take crap."
"That big lug's still got box office pull," Mel said. "This mess might not dent him much." He's gotten plenty of favors from me and seemed eager to return one.
"No worries, a little lesson's enough."
I smirked to myself. Bruce Willis, a draw? Sure, pre-2000s. Post-21st century, Hollywood crowned two kings of flops: Nic Cage and Bruce. One's drowning in debt, the other's just… Bruce. *The Sixth Sense* raked in $60 million for him, but my "Golden Club" exposé wiped out that hype. He's on a downhill slide now—*Die Hard* won't save him.
"By the way, Mel, wanna team up sometime?" I asked with a grin.
"Us? Collaborate?" He blinked, then laughed. "Not another superhero flick, right?"
"Nah," I said. "After *Titanic* and *Star Wars prequels*, everyone's pegged me as a blockbuster guy."
Mel's eyes widened. "You're going artsy?"
"Thinking about it. Just a rough idea so far."
"When?"
"Next year, after *Spider-Man* drops."
He mulled it over. "Get me a script by June. If it clicks, I'll clear my second half of the year."
"Another movie already?" Natalie strolled over arm-in-arm with Nicole, overhearing us, staring at me in shock.
I hugged her with a laugh. "Just a spur-of-the-moment thing."
She frowned. "No *Spider-Man* sequel?"
"I'll kick it off," I said. "If the first one hits, it'll spark hope for Hollywood and the fans. Then I can hand it off to someone else."
She blinked. "You sound pretty sure of yourself."
I pinched her soft cheek, grinning. "You don't believe in me?"
She pouted but stayed quiet.
I glanced at Nicole, who tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Since *My Big Fat Greek Wedding*, I've never doubted you," she said.
I laughed. "Mel, you in? Got faith in me?"
Mel roared with laughter, grabbing four drinks and clinking glasses. "Cheers! To *Spider-Man* killing it at the box office!"
Natalie—vegan, non-smoker, non-drinker—stared at her tiny wine glass, wrinkling her nose. I smiled, downed mine, then grabbed hers and finished it too. "Nat doesn't drink, so I've got her back."
She beamed, hooking her arms around my neck and tiptoeing to whisper, "Honey, I'm the one who believes in you most in this world."
I hugged her tight, breathing in her faint scent, murmuring, "I know, sweetheart."
Mel and Nicole exchanged a look, their expressions… complicated.
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