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Before Julian came to this timeline, he had once watched a later documentary about Playboy while producing a video.
The women in it described themselves as victims of Hugh Hefner’s crimes.
Much of it circled around sexual coercion, manipulation, and moral condemnation.
The accusations mattered, but many were old, difficult to prove, and tangled in the mythology of Hefner’s lifestyle.
Even that had been enough to leave Hefner’s reputation defenseless.
Weinstein was different.
The crimes were clearer, more recent, and far more likely to put him in prison.
Julian did not mind exposing a Hollywood predator to the public.
Taking the man’s film company afterward would simply be an efficient use of the wreckage.
The problem was reputation.
Hefner had been infamous for decades; much of the public already expected ugliness from him.
Weinstein, however, still enjoyed the industry’s respect.
He was the Oscar machine, the awards strategist, the producer whose name turned small films into campaigns.
Hollywood treated him like a kingmaker.
“To bring him down, someone has to fire the first shot,” Julian said.
“That person is me.
Saul, you have to win this case.”
“Even if we win, what then?” Saul asked.
“Weinstein will push a settlement.
Summer either takes a payout or becomes a target.”
“Weinstein is a repeat offender.
Summer is not the only victim.
I am the cavalry charge, but we need reporters who know how to build the battlefield.”
Julian wrote two names on a page.
“Go to New York.
Find Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey.
Kantor is already at The New York Times.
Twohey is not there yet, but she is doing investigative work in the Midwest.
If they do not have anything on Weinstein now, put them in position to start digging.”
In the future, those names would become inseparable from the reporting that exposed him.
If Saul could reach them early, the lawsuit would become much more than one actress’s word against a producer’s power.
“Julian…” Saul said, half laughing.
“You are either not fully human or you are a prophet.”
“A friend mentioned them.
She is a journalist in New York.
Her name is Hadley.”
The lie came easily.
After Saul left, Summer walked in with the coffee and set it on Julian’s desk.
“You need a uniform,” he said, looking at her brown leather jacket.
“If you want me in a Bunny outfit, you pay extra,” Summer said darkly.
She really was direct.
The Bunny uniform had begun as club attire and became one of the company’s most recognizable images, spreading far beyond the magazine itself.
“Two thousand,” Julian said.
“Per week.”
“Deal.”
Half an hour later, Summer returned in a transformed state.
She planted both hands on her waist and struck a pose.
“It is cooler than I expected,” she said.
“But the size is too small, and the heels are tight.”
As a former college volleyball player, she was tall, probably a little taller than Taylor, and carried the healthy strength of an athlete.
Compared with Gabriela, Summer looked less delicate and more physical.
The cuffs on her wrists, the bow tie at her throat, the rabbit-ear headband, the tail at the back, the black bodice and stockings together made the classic uniform instantly recognizable.
“That was the largest size we had,” Julian said.
“I will have one made to your measurements.”
“Good.”
“Of course, custom work costs extra.
Materials, labor, fittings.
A few thousand dollars should cover it.”
“A few thousand?” Summer stared at him.
“Are you kidding?”
Julian smiled.
“I am clear about debts and favors.
You help me, I help you.
But if you try to be clever with me, I can make sure the cost lands exactly where it should.”
His tone turned so cold that Summer’s shoulders stiffened.
She heard the warning beneath the words.
“You cannot survive in Hollywood now,” Julian said.
“Weinstein will close every door he can reach.
I can help you.
I can clear your name, make you famous, and put a settlement in your hands.
But only if your work attitude is worth my time.
I will not waste effort on someone too foolish to know her own situation.
Do you understand?”
“I…”
“Answer me.”
“Yes, sir,” Summer said quickly.
“I understand.
I will work properly.
The way you expect.”
No magazine wanted Summer for a cover now.
In Hollywood, she was marginal enough that a powerful man could erase her.
She knew it.
“Good.
I need women young enough, beautiful enough, and recognizable enough to sell this campaign.
Single is preferable.
Your job is to explain the offer and bring them to Chicago.
I will handle the rest.”
He gestured to the chair across from him.
Summer did not sit.
She stood beside him and began searching her memory.
“I can contact Dita Von Teese.
Every man on earth loses his mind over her, right?”
“Too expensive.”
Dita had once worked with the company, but by now she had become the undisputed queen of burlesque, an old-Hollywood fantasy with a global name.
Playboy could not afford her for this project.
“Then the South African diamond.
Charlize Theron?”
Julian choked on the coffee.
“We are trying to sell books, Summer.
We are not financing an A-list studio picture.”
“Paris Hilton?”
Julian simply looked at her.
“Fine.
Practical.” Summer thought for a moment.
“Kira Bowden.
Former Cyber model from Southern California.
Dutch father, mother with English and Cherokee ancestry, beautiful, very popular with readers.
She went into business afterward and opened a clothing factory.”
“Would she take the job?”
“Worth a try.
She complained to me a few days ago that the business was bleeding money.”
Summer continued.
“Stephanie Glasson.
Before modeling, she was a licensed real estate agent.
A scout found her by chance.
She appeared in the magazine three years ago and lives in Virginia now.”
“Tamara Witmer is twenty-two.
She has done a lot of magazine covers, appeared during the Lingerie Bowl around the Super Bowl, and was in an Eminem music video.”
“Amanda Paige, also twenty-two.
Studied sociology at the University of Virginia, models in Los Angeles now, and was a cheerleader in high school in Fayetteville.
I saw her at a party not long ago.
She will come.”
“Marketa Janska is from the Czech Republic.
She has done a lot of television commercials.
Her name means pearl.
She’s luminous, exactly the kind of face the campaign needs.”
“Krista Nicole is good too.
Psychology at Kent State, national bikini competitions, Hawaiian Tropic, promotional work for Pete’s Wicked Ale.
I hear the company is not doing well, so she may answer the phone.”
Summer’s network was better than Julian had hoped.
As she spoke, he searched the names online and checked the public traces one by one.
She knew what he wanted.
The women she named had enough recognition to matter, but not enough leverage to charge impossible rates.
They fit the project.
“Good,” Julian said.
“For the next few days, your job is to schedule interviews here.
Your workstation will be outside my office.
I will have a separate desk set up, and my direct line will forward through you.
You will also handle visitors.
After work, you come home with me and manage domestic matters there.”
“I am living with you?” Summer’s voice jumped.
Julian looked at her as if she were overreacting.
“The company’s budget is tight.
I happen to have many empty rooms.
You and these women will all be staying there.
Is there a problem?
Do not worry about disturbing me.
Sacrificing a little private space for the company is part of my responsibility.”
Summer’s mouth tightened.
‘You really are shameless.’
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I hope this chapter drew you further into the story.
Stick around, because there’s still a lot waiting just ahead.