The Hollywood Playbook Chapter 93 - 93

UPN Headquarters. Los Angeles.

The air conditioning at UPN humd a little louder than at Wald Pictures. Maybe it was the sll of fresh money.

Zane Blackwood walked in, flanked by his head office team. This was Stop Number Two.

Six months ago, this place slled like fear and stale coffee. Now? It buzzed. Arica's Got Talent was the engine, and SpongeBob was the fuel.

"Boss," Alexander said, walking briskly beside Zane. "The new 'Global Perspectives' news segnt. It cracked a 1.5% rating."

Zane raised an eyebrow. 1.5% for news? On UPN? That was a miracle.

Alexander, a sharp guy with Russian heritage, had pitched this two weeks ago. He noticed a gap. A massive, gaping hole in Arican dia.

'Mainstream news is lazy,' Zane thought, glancing at the monitors on the wall. 'CNN ntions Other nations, and what do they do? They send a reporter to Chinatown to interview an elderly lady buying bok choy who doesn't speak English. Then they ask her about international trade tariffs. It's insulting. It's like interviewing a Taco Bell manager about xican foreign policy.'

"You treated them like people, not props," Zane said aloud.

"Exactly," Alexander nodded vigorously. "We interviewed business owners, teachers, students. We sought truth, not stereotypes."

Zane looked at the ratings sheet. It wasn't just "seeking truth." It was seeking a market.

In the year 2000, the demographics of the United States were shifting, and the Big Three networks were blind to it.

The Invisible Market (2000 Census Data):

Asian Aricans: Approx. 10.2 million people (3.6% of the population).

Hispanic/Latino: Approx. 35.3 million people (12.5% of the population).

Black/African Arican: Approx. 34.6 million people (12.3% of the population).

"That is tens of millions of people that NBC and CBS treat like caricatures," Zane murmured, tapping the paper. "You didn't just find a news segnt, Alexander. You found a gold mine."

Alexander bead. He looked like he was ready to run through a wall for the company.

"Good work," Zane said, patting his shoulder. "Keep this up, and your desk might move to the Head Office."

Alexander's eyes widened. The Head Office. The promised land.

The Cash Cow.

They moved to the Advertising Departnt.

The Director of Sales was grinning so hard Zane thought his face might crack.

"Boss!" The Director waved a spreadsheet. "Since AGT launched? Ad rates for the other ti slots are up 60%."

Zane nodded coolly, but inside, his brain was doing a victory dance.

'Sixty percent. That's pure profit. We aren't just selling a talent show; we're selling the eyeballs that stick around afterward.'

He looked over at Donna Langley, the CEO of UPN.

She stood near the window, calm, collected, reviewing a file. She didn't look frantic. She didn't look like she was drowning in debt anymore. She looked like a predator surveying her territory.

'She's scary,' Zane thought with admiration. 'In six months, she turned a sinking ship into a battleship. She's going to run Hollywood one day. I just have to make sure she does it while working for .'

The Clownfish Speech.

Stop Three: Water World Animation.

The vibe here was different. It didn't sll like money; it slled like ozone, energy drinks, and creativity.

Hundreds of faces looked up as Zane entered. So were veterans, but most were new kids—fresh out of CalArts, hungry, and terrified.

Zane stood on a platform overlooking the rows of expensive workstations.

"I am Zane Blackwood," he announced.

Silence. Total reverence.

"You see SpongeBob?" Zane asked, his voice echoing. "3% ratings. Tens of millions of viewers. It is a titan."

He paused for effect. He leaned over the railing.

"But are you satisfied?"

He let the question hang there.

"Because I'm not," Zane barked. "TV is the appetizer. The Main Course is the Cinema."

He pointed to a concept art poster on the wall. A small, orange clownfish lost in a massive blue ocean.

"Finding Nemo."

"This is our future," Zane declared, channeling every ounce of charisma he had. "The first feature-length 3D film from Water World. We aren't just making a cartoon. We are coming for Disney's throat."

"Finish this," Zane said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "and the dollars, the fa, the glory... it all follows."

The room erupted. Cheers. Applause. The new hires looked ready to chain themselves to their desks.

'God, I sound like a cult leader,' Zane thought, keeping his stern expression while internally rolling his eyes. '"Glory follows." Yeah, right. A paycheck follows. But hey, if a pep talk saves a million dollars in overti, I'll give a speech every day.'

He stepped down from the platform, feeling the adrenaline fade.

Victor, his CEO, walked up to him. He wasn't smiling. He was holding a brick-sized mobile phone.

"Boss," Victor said, his voice low. "Great speech. But you need to take this."

"Who is it?" Zane asked, wiping his hands on a towel. "I'm in the middle of a victory lap."

"It's Steve Jobs," Victor whispered. "And he sounds... intense."

Zane froze.

'Jobs?' Zane's internal monologue went from sarcastic to alert in a nanosecond. 'Why is the Apple King calling ? Is this about Pixar? Or... did I accidentally steal one of his engineers?'

Zane took the phone.

"Steve?"

"Zane," Jobs' voice crackled on the line, sharp as a razor. "We need to talk. Now. Before you make a mistake that costs you everything."

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