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The flight from Tel Aviv climbed through the clouds, bound for Los Angeles.
In first class, Gal Gadot sat with her arms folded and her suspicion aimed squarely at Judy Newhouse.
“You knew I would say yes.”
“I suspected,” Judy said.
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is close enough in my line of work.”
Bar Refaeli, seated beside Gal, leaned forward.
“What did you see in her?”
“Presence,” Judy said.
“Some people walk into a room and the camera starts making plans.”
Gal looked unconvinced.
“You say that to every girl you recruit?”
“No.
To most of them, I say take classes, get better pictures, and stop trusting men with business cards.”
Bar laughed.
Judy had not planned to bring both girls back.
Gal had been the assignment.
Bar had become a complication, then an opportunity.
She was young, beautiful, ambitious, and restless in a way Judy recognized.
Not every model became an actress.
Most did not.
But Hollywood always needed faces that could learn, and Bar wanted a larger stage badly enough to listen.
The important part was keeping the process clean.
Parents, agents, guardians, visas, training, school arrangements, housing, paperwork.
Judy had dragged half a legal checklist across the ocean with her.
Ethan could be reckless with ideas.
She had no intention of letting him be reckless with minors.
“When we arrive,” Judy said, “you will meet Ethan Hawthorne.
He is the reason MGM is interested.
Do not try to flatter him.
Do not panic.
Do not behave like this is already yours.
Impress him with discipline.”
“What is he like?” Gal asked.
“Young,” Judy said.
Gal arched a brow.
“Like me?”
“No.
Like me.
Which means old enough to be dangerous and young enough to believe work can still beat exhaustion.”
Bar smiled.
“That was almost inspiring.”
“I apologize.”
The next day, the plane landed at LAX.
When Gal saw the waiting car and the driver holding an MGM sign, the last of her suspicion weakened.
“So you really are an MGM executive.”
Judy adjusted her sunglasses.
“You thought I flew to Israel as a hobby?”
“I thought maybe Hollywood people were dramatic.”
“We are.
We also expense properly.”
Bar looked toward the city beyond the terminal.
“I did not want to miss the chance.
In Tel Aviv, I might model for years and still never reach anything bigger.”
“Then remember that chance is not the same as promise,” Judy said.
“You will have to earn the rest.”
They drove to the MGM building by way of Sunset, and both girls grew quieter as Los Angeles began announcing itself through billboards, traffic, palm trees, and a kind of sunlight that made ambition look normal.
Daniel Chen intercepted them outside Ethan’s office.
“Judy.
He has someone inside.”
His gaze moved to the two arrivals and softened into professional courtesy.
“You must be Gal Gadot and Bar Refaeli.
Welcome to Los Angeles.”
They shook his hand.
Inside, Warren was giving Ethan the latest AK Films report.
“Keenen Ivory Wayans passed,” Warren said.
“He read the script and said parody and bad movies are not the same animal.”
“Fair.”
“Bema thinks another two million in director fees might change his mind.”
“No.”
“That was also Bema’s conclusion.
Sharknado is low-budget by design.
Paying prestige rates to make a deliberately ridiculous film defeats the point.”
“Then choose a director who can shoot the script, keep the pace up, and not pretend this is Lawrence of Arabia.”
“Already moving.”
Ethan turned to the actor.
“You look young, Mr.
Reynolds.”
Ryan blinked.
“Thank you?”
“It was not an insult.”
“I was hoping not.”
He stood and offered his hand.
“Ryan Reynolds.
Good to meet you, Mr.
Hawthorne.”
Ethan shook it and gestured for him to sit.
Ryan watched him with a quick, assessing expression.
Ethan understood the look.
The actor had seen the newspapers.
He knew the man across from him was younger than most studio executives’ assistants and somehow owned the room anyway.
“Warren said you wanted to talk before signing.”
“I read Sharknado,” Ryan said.
“And I want to be honest.”
“Please.”
“It makes almost no sense.”
“Correct.”
Ryan let out a relieved laugh.
“You know that.”
“I commissioned it.”
“Then I am not sure I understand the plan.”
“The plan is to be remembered.”
Ethan leaned back.
“Hollywood makes thousands of forgettable projects.
Handsome but bland actors disappear.
Competent but faceless movies disappear.
A strange failure can survive longer in the public mind than a careful mediocrity.
Plan 9 from Outer Space is still discussed because it became its own category of bad.”
Ryan nodded slowly.
“So you want Sharknado to be bad on purpose.”
“I want it to be absurd with discipline.
The audience should laugh, but not because the crew gave up.
The movie needs pace, conviction, and the kind of wrongness people tell their friends about.”
“And you think that helps me?”
“It can.
If you carry the movie without acting embarrassed by it, people notice.
Maybe not critics.
Maybe not awards voters.
But producers remember who made ridiculous material watchable.”
Ryan’s humor faded into seriousness.
“Warren said MGM would consider me for future films if I did this.”
“That is true, with a condition.
If the role fits and your work justifies it, you get real consideration.
I will not promise a part I have not cast, but I can tell you this: a strong performance here puts you on my list for a major supporting role down the line.”
That was what Ryan had needed to hear.
Van Wilder had helped.
It had not saved him.
A real path into a studio slate mattered more than pride over whether a shark flew through a tornado.
He exhaled.
“Then I do not see a reason to say no.”
They stood and shook again.
“Welcome to Sharknado.”
“That may be the strangest sentence anyone has ever said to me.”
“Give the business time.”
When Ryan left with Warren, Daniel opened the door and let Judy in with the two girls.
Ethan had already heard the situation by phone, but seeing Gal in person clarified why his memory had caught on her in the first place.
She was still young, still untrained, still unfinished, but the camera would like the contradiction in her: softness over steel, grace with an edge.
Bar was beautiful too.
Hollywood was full of beautiful people.
That did not make her useless.
It made the work harder.
She would need a lane.
“Gal Gadot,” Judy said.
“Bar Refaeli.”
“Welcome to MGM,” Ethan said.
They sat.
The meeting stayed professional because it had to.
They were seventeen.
Their parents and representatives were involved.
Any agreement would go through guardians, counsel, and proper approvals before it became binding.
“The first stage is training,” Ethan said.
“Acting, movement, camera work, dialect coaching where needed, and physical conditioning.
No one gets handed a career because they got on a plane.”
Gal nodded.
“For you,” he said, “the physical work matters more.
If Transformers moves forward the way I expect, the role I have in mind needs athletic screen presence.
Not just beauty.
Strength.
Control.
The audience has to believe you can stand beside machines and not vanish.”
Gal’s posture changed.
That language reached her better than flattery.
“I can train.”
“Good.”
Bar lifted her chin.
“And me?”
“You will train too.
Judy found you for a reason.
I may have a place for you in The Walking Dead’s ensemble development, depending on auditions and what the writers build.
That is not a promise of a lead.
It is an opening.”
Bar looked disappointed for half a second, then hid it.
“An opening is better than nothing.”
“In Hollywood, getting a real opening is half the battle.”
Judy stood before the room could tighten.
“That is enough for today.
They need clothes, phones, food, and a quiet place to panic.”
“Corporate housing is arranged?” Ethan asked.
“Studio-vetted, near me, with a house manager and all the paperwork your lawyers insisted on.”
“Then go.”
Gal smiled as she stood.
“You give many orders.”
“Only the useful ones.”
“We will see.”
After they left, Ethan remained by the window for a moment.
Ryan Reynolds had signed on to a movie about airborne sharks.
Gal Gadot had entered MGM before the world knew to look for her.
The Walking Dead had a clean path to development.
Transformers was moving, if Hasbro did not flinch.
For the first time since the acquisition, Ethan felt less like he was repairing a studio and more like he was loading a cannon.
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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.