Chapter 46: Chapter 46: Hollywood Domination – The Road to Stardom Begins
Not to mention Brantley—when Jenny emerged from the backstage door, she was utterly shocked by the scene. Although she had studied at film school, Chen Zhen had never been one to harbor lofty ambitions for an acting career. In her previous life, she chose film school not out of passion, but out of practicality. Her grades had never been stellar, yet her looks opened a door; she even believed she possessed enough talent to be seen as one of the artistic backbones at school.
In Chen Zhen's eyes, people with brilliant minds belonged in industry or scientific research, those with physical strength in sports or construction, and those blessed with good looks in acting or singing. It was all about leveraging one's strengths—maximizing advantages to make more money and live better. Compared to the grueling effort required to enter a third-rate college (in 2000, getting into college wasn't as easy as it is today—had she aimed for it, Chen Zhen would have had to study for years, something her family circumstances simply couldn't support) and then slog through a clerk's job, film school seemed a more promising path. After all, being an actor sounded glamorous.
Chen Zhen, a native of Hangzhou, had never truly been part of the entertainment industry. It wasn't until she was fortunate enough to be admitted to the Film Academy that she discovered how hard it was to break in. Yes, many film school graduates became famous while still in school, but those individuals were extraordinarily talented and lucky—traits few ordinary people possessed. Though she had been the school beauty in high school, in college she was merely above average. With a mediocre temperament and equally mediocre acting skills, she couldn't stand out on her own. Without connections, she would have to pander relentlessly to find someone willing to promote her; with connections, she still needed influential backers to secure better opportunities.
Despite the darker undercurrents of Hollywood, the market's basic rule remained unchanged: only those with talent, strong acting skills, and striking looks could thrive amid fierce competition. Chen Zhen had never witnessed a female star rise solely through a series of transactions. At best, such strategies might delay her descent into obscurity in Beijing. After several years of struggle, her ambition for an acting career faded. She even considered joining the National Repertory Theatre to secure a fixed salary and hone her skills before exploring other options.
Then, fate intervened. Not long after her passion for acting dimmed, her ex-husband reappeared—young, rich, handsome, tall, and clearly interested in her. Even though she felt nothing for him, Chen Zhen calculated that trading her beauty for financial security was far more advantageous than courting numerous prospects. After a brief yet intense courtship, they married, and she promptly abandoned any further dreams of acting. To her, acting had never been an ideal—it was merely a means of survival, a path she was ready to leave behind.
Yet after her rebirth, everything changed. Now, determined to succeed in the entertainment industry, her motivation wasn't "I want to act" at all. Beyond the desire to return to the stage, she possessed a golden opportunity—a talent so rare it would be a shame to waste. Under the guidance of her bold and unconventional supervisor, Master Cesare Vigeri, Jenny (the new version of Chen Zhen) was thrust into roles that were as unrealistic as they were lucrative. She understood that if she was to capitalize on her unique gift during the pivotal years from 2001 to 2014, she couldn't afford hesitation. Her mantra became simple: "I'm giving it my all, so I'll have no regrets even if I fail." In truth, she never expected to find joy in acting any more than a laborer might enjoy the grueling work of hauling heavy loads.
But tonight, as Jenny saw throngs of people waiting outside, she finally understood why so many from Beijing and Hengdian flocked to the country's film and television centers—and why, on a bitter February night in New York, people waited over two hours just to see her perform. Though her IMDb page boasted dozens of fans, that virtual praise had little impact on her until now. Tonight, the outpouring of support instilled in her an indescribable sense of authority. It affirmed that what she had just accomplished was not only important but also grand and meaningful.
A strange sense of achievement even left her feeling a bit smug—a feeling she had never experienced as a wealthy socialite, despite having once possessed far more money than she did now.
"Hi, Jenny!"Even without much makeup or flashy attire, sharp-eyed fans recognized her immediately. Voices from the door burst into cheerful greetings.
Jenny was exhausted. Yesterday, she had expended energy on the Cesare–James maneuver; today, she'd rehearsed, performed, and attended parties. Still, she wasn't ready to leave. Glancing down the alley, she noticed only a few dozen fans remained waiting. Determined, she resolved to meet their requests for autographs—even if she had to forgo taking photos.
"You really need a manager, dear," remarked Nisha, PR Judy's assistant, her tone softened by a few sips of wine. Even so, she stayed by Jenny's side and offered professional advice. "You're still in the early stages. I suggest you be more approachable with your fans. I know you're tired, but please try to spend at least ten minutes interacting with them."
Now accompanied solely by Nisha—and still reeling from the Dietrich incident that had left her too drained to eat or drink—Jenny's mind raced. "It's a pity I can't take photos tonight, but I'm happy to sign autographs. Nisha, please ask the security guard to block the end of the line so no new fans can join; let the ones waiting get their turn."
"Good idea," Nisha replied, her tipsy state not hindering her efficiency. Soon, a guard was posted at the alley's end, and the fans formed a neat line for Jenny's autographs. Requests for photos were politely declined since she wasn't wearing any makeup.
"You are really beautiful!""I support you—I'll come to see your shows again!""Jennifer, I'm your fan. You're amazing. How long will you be in Chicago?""Jennifer, do you have a personal website? Were you only on CSI? Please, tell me—how old are you and where did you go to school?"
Questions and compliments swirled around her. Along with praise for her beauty, acting, and singing, fans persistently asked, "Who is she?" and "What has she been in?" A few enthusiastic fans even recounted forum debates from earlier, insisting they couldn't believe that Jennifer had once been a waitress or that her only role was in CSI.
Noticing the conversation edging into personal territory, Nisha quickly intervened. Jenny, sensing potential trouble, used the excuse of limited time to steer clear of her past.
Within minutes, Jenny had signed autographs and exchanged a few words with more than fifty people. Soon, a taxi—summoned by the security guard—arrived, and with Nisha's escort, she climbed in. As they drove away, Nisha explained, "We didn't expect you to be such a sensation, dear. Judy anticipated that you wouldn't attract much attention for a few months, so there were details we hadn't yet discussed. Judy likely hopes you won't reveal too much about your background just yet. I'll call her first thing tomorrow to clarify."
Jenny, though utterly exhausted, managed a tired smile. "No problem—you'll see I'm a good partner. Let's head back to the hotel and get some rest."
Back at the hotel, sleep proved elusive. After tossing and turning for hours, Jenny finally dragged herself to the lobby's network center, found a computer, and logged into IMDb to check her actor page.
It had only been a few hours since the performance, so reviews hadn't flooded in yet. Even if critics like Brantley were working on their articles, it would be another day or two before publication. Nevertheless, her IMDb page was already buzzing with activity—at least forty more threads than before. Many new threads asked about Jennifer's personal details, likely generated by fresh users arriving via Yahoo search. There were also posts from longtime fans sharing their impressions. Despite her fatigue, Jenny felt an exhilarating rush as she read each comment.
She smiled at the enthusiastic fangirl remarks, re-reading the long, detailed reviews and well-crafted compliments—comments that resonated deeply with the feelings she had experienced watching her own performance. Even though she prided herself on rationality, at that moment she couldn't help but be moved by the raw adoration.
What pleased her most was that several fans mentioned waiting after the AfterParty, praising her friendliness—compliments without a trace of criticism. Only a few remarked, "She looks different offstage—less radiant, a completely different charm," a subtle nod to her unadorned look. Jenny felt a twinge of embarrassment; to avoid complications, she rarely cared about her appearance and had purposely skipped makeup tonight, leaving fans without photo opportunities. Now, it seemed, this unprofessional appearance was drawing criticism. From tomorrow on, she resolved to at least wear a bit of foundation after removing her stage makeup.
Tossing and turning until three in the morning, Jenny eventually fell asleep. The next day, her alarm blared for nearly three minutes before she managed to wake up. Still low in spirit and groggy, she canceled her morning run and headed straight to the performance space to rest for another three hours. Only then did she feel a flicker of energy, though the faint blue-gray shadows under her eyes testified to her chronic lack of sleep.
It was no wonder that female stars often resorted to cosmetic surgery to maintain their looks. Deep down, Jenny worried—Caucasians aged quickly, and with back-to-back parties, smoking, and drinking, a mere two or three years could make one appear decades older.
She also mused on why people adored acting in films. After last night's premiere, Jenny had sunk into a languid state, as if she'd already accomplished everything and now only needed to wait for the rewards. In a movie, that might be acceptable. But despite having poured her heart into this musical—as if starring in a film—true rest and recovery were still a distant dream. Last night was only the beginning; another performance awaited her that very evening.
"I wonder if the reviews have been published," Jenny thought. After washing up, she went downstairs to grab breakfast and planned to pick up The New Yorker and The New York Times at the newsstand.
Before leaving the hotel, her phone rang. Jenny answered, "Yeah?"
"Are you awake?" Cesare's energetic voice cut through the line—clearly, he'd been up for at least an hour, probably after his morning exercises. "Come to the Upper East Side and find me."
Having once been immersed in the culture of America's elite, Chen Zhen—now Jenny—knew all about the "natural elite theory." In American society, a mere 1% of people led the remaining 99% of civilians. This concept even fueled movements like Occupy Wall Street, yet the hierarchy remained unshakable. How did one join that elite 1%? The prevailing idea was that these individuals were "born with knowledge"—possessing a rare blend of talent, determination, and even physical resilience. They could ace final exams at Harvard or Yale after all-night parties, sleep just three hours after working overtime, and then muster the energy for a full day's work. Cesare was the epitome of this elite. Despite flying from Los Angeles to New York just yesterday—a journey of around six hours—he claimed not to sleep more than five hours a night.
Jenny realized that without such stamina, surviving the entertainment industry was nearly impossible. Based on last night's experience, she figured that anyone needing more than seven hours of sleep wouldn't be able to sustain the grueling social life required for networking. In this industry, connections are everything, forged over parties, dinners, and even golf outings.
The more Jenny learned about the inner workings of show business, the more she understood how naive she had been—and how readily she had accepted Cesare's bold promises. In her previous life, she had once believed that a movie star's life would be easier than that of a restaurant waitress, confident in her ability to juggle dieting and exercise despite long, exhausting days. "I even lost weight," she had boasted. But now, she knew the challenges of stardom were not merely additive—they multiplied exponentially.
Yet she had not lost confidence. Though she once knew nothing, Cesare did—and if he believed in her potential, then perhaps she could succeed after all. Cesare was a master at winning people over, and now Jenny no longer questioned his motives in steering her toward musicals. Deep down, she trusted that every decision Cesare made was ultimately for her career's benefit.
"Good morning," Cesare greeted as he opened the door, now dressed in a crisp shirt and trousers—no tie or suit today. "We're about to have a video conference with Judy."
"Good morning," Jenny and Lillian's mother chorused. "Did you grab the newspapers? Are the reviews out?"
"That's exactly what we need to discuss." Cesare led Jenny into the study. After a few technical adjustments, Judy's face appeared on the LCD screen, though the image occasionally stuttered. "Judy, I believe Nisha has already faxed you this morning's reviews."
"The New Yorker, The New York Times, and The New York Post all ran reviews of last night's show," Judy said, holding up the faxed documents. "Plus, two well-known drama blogs have published their thoughts. I had estimated that of the eight bloggers invited to the premiere, at least five would comment—and possibly up to eleven. Judging from the reviews so far, your approval rating is over 90%. Congratulations, dear. Last night's performance was a tremendous success."
Judy's smile was warmer today, though she still reported directly to Cesare. "Starting at nine this morning, the theater office began forwarding interview requests from three local New York magazines. They aren't very influential, so I haven't responded yet. Cesare, what do you think?"
"Reject them for now," Cesare replied. "We'll continue with our hunger-marketing approach to maintain your mystery. The musical remains the primary platform to showcase you—and it's already having a huge impact at the box office. The troupe called me this morning: since last night, tickets have been selling out online and over the hotline. In fact, one month's worth of box office revenue is sold out, and the theater is even considering offering standing-room tickets."
"Excellent," Judy said as she skimmed her list. "There are about twenty more critics we can invite. Should we start reaching out to Los Angeles critics? If you agree, I'll contact Schubert for tickets. Of course, you'll set the hospitality standards."
"We'll cover the airfare and ticket costs, but we'll only offer preferential discounts on accommodation to preserve the independence of their reviews," Cesare explained. "We can begin inviting LA critics in two weeks. By then, the word-of-mouth effect should have reached Los Angeles."
"No problem—your plan aligns with mine," Judy replied. Turning to Jenny, she added, "Dear Jenny, Nisha and I have briefed you on last night. You performed exceptionally well, but since Cesare and I have decided to keep some personal details confidential until we release them gradually for publicity, please refrain from discussing your background with fans until we say otherwise. Remember, people tend to exaggerate what they don't understand, and maintaining a bit of mystery benefits your image."
Jenny nodded obediently. "No problem."
"Excellent. Last night's decision to sign autographs but not take photos was wise," Judy continued. "For now, we don't want your candid photos circulating online. Even as a precaution, I recommend you wear foundation when you're out—there's a world of difference. With unqualified photographers, the chance of an unflattering shot might be 40% with makeup, but without it, that risk jumps to 80%. Even the most beautiful women aren't immune. In the black-and-white era, celebrity photos could be retouched easily, but today's high-resolution images expose every flaw."
Jenny understood this was a work requirement, and she agreed without resistance. Judy ended the call after several rings—her phone having buzzed repeatedly during the conversation.
After the call, Cesare picked up a few newspapers from the desk and handed them to Jenny. "Brantley from The New York Times called you a freak."
"A freak?" Jenny asked, amused. "Is that a compliment?"
"It's a very high-level compliment," Cesare said with a chuckle. "He said you're the best talent to emerge on Broadway in the past decade, but that you're completely out of place. Your true advantage is on the big screen, not in singing and dancing—it's almost unfair to work alongside you."
Jenny laughed. "That's a bit exaggerated."
"Patric from The New York Post praised your performance as perfect—transforming an 80-point show into a 110-point masterpiece. He even listed Chicago as the must-see musical this spring." Cesare flipped through a few printed documents. "These are all blog posts. You can read them on your way home; I won't keep you."
Normally, Jenny prided herself on her composure around Cesare, but today she couldn't help but eagerly flip through the newspapers. Then Cesare added, his tone laced with amusement, "I have one more piece of good news: I haven't even mentioned the impressive box office numbers, but James called me on his way to Kennedy Airport this morning."
"Where is he headed?" Jenny asked, confused by the rapid-fire news. "Weren't you up late at the party last night? I thought he'd be sleeping now."
"He can sleep on the plane. It takes over ten hours to fly from here to London," Cesare replied mysteriously.
After a moment's pause, Jenny finally realized. "Ah! You mean—congratulations?"
"Exactly," Cesare confirmed. "Jenny, all signs point to you becoming a star."
Jenny couldn't help but smile, though Cesare quickly added, "I think this means you'll be poorer for a while."
Author's Note:The cultural traces of the 1% elite—characters from wealthy families, with straight-A records, athletic prowess, and classic looks—appear frequently in film and television. These figures embody the ruling class's ideal, representing a standard reserve of power. As you read, consider how these symbols compare to similar archetypes in other works. XD