Chapter 403: CH : 392 It’s Not An Easy Sell

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"My father spent his life as a psychologist," Nicole said quietly. "I knew from the beginning that wasn’t exactly... welcomed."

A dry laugh escaped her. "I just never imagined it would become something people judged me for."

Pat had represented too many stars not to recognise the pattern.

Hollywood marriages fail every day.

This one felt different.

There were always too many voices around it.

Too many people with influence.

Too many people who seemed invested in steering Tom’s life.

Nicole stared into her coffee.

"I don’t even know who he’s talking to anymore."

She stopped.

Then corrected herself. "No... that’s not true. I know exactly who he’s talking to. I just don’t think they’re telling him to fight for us."

The words lingered between them.

Pat Kingsley’s sharp eyes softened with genuine sympathy.

As the couple’s joint manager, Pat had a front-row seat to the slow-motion car crash of their personal lives. She knew a terrifying amount of secrets kept strictly hidden from the tabloids. This was especially true on Tom’s side; he had an entire subterranean world to hide, compared to Nicole’s fundamentally clean background.

The reality was that Cruise had become chillingly colder toward Nicole ever since her miscarriage. But the marital fracture wasn’t just biological or emotional—it was institutional.

The servants—no longer treated Nicole as the true hostess of the estate. This was partly due to Cruise’s distant attitude, but mostly due to the direct commands of the Church of Scientology. Tom was their golden boy, their ultimate recruitment tool. The Church leadership, specifically David Miscavige, viewed Nicole as an existential threat.

During auditing sessions, Tom had spoken openly about their marriage—about her doubts, her frustrations, her repeated attempts to persuade him to spend less time with the Church. Those conversations, meant to remain private, seemed to return in unexpected ways.

Remarks she had shared only with Tom somehow found their way back into the attitudes of people around them.

It was as though every crack in their marriage had become another lever to drive them farther apart.

More unfamiliar faces began appearing around the estate.

The Church was systematically isolating him, placing their own Sea Org members in the house as staff to monitor Nicole’s every move.

They were turning her husband into a stranger.

Little by little, her own home no longer felt like hers.

And the man she had married was becoming harder to reach with every passing hour.

Though they maintained the flawless marketable image of a power couple in public, they hadn’t truly lived together in any meaningful sense for more than eight months.

They were ghosts haunting the same mansion.

Pat understood Hollywood’s arithmetic.

A hit forgave almost everything.

A flop didn’t.

If *The Others* failed, the narrative would shift overnight. Nicole wouldn’t simply lose a film. She would lose leverage. Scripts would stop arriving. Studio confidence would cool. Producers would quietly move her name to the second page of their lists.

And with the Church’s influence over Tom growing stronger by the day, Pat feared the rest would follow naturally.

Tom might stop encouraging Nicole’s independent career altogether. He wouldn’t need to forbid it. All he had to do was stop fighting for it. Without his support, and with Hollywood already questioning her bankability, the offers would slowly disappear until she found herself relying almost entirely on her husband’s career.

Nicole understood that fear all too well.

Dependence rarely arrived all at once.

It’s happening little by little, one compromise at a time, which she’s already doing.

Pat reached across the table and rested a hand over Nicole’s.

"Whatever happens at home," she said, "don’t let it become your entire world."

Nicole gave her a tired smile. "I’m trying."

Pat nodded toward the folded newspaper sticking out of Nicole’s handbag.

"The reviews are exceptional."

"They are."

"But reviews don’t keep careers alive."

Nicole’s fingers tightened around the cup.

"If *The Others* doesn’t find an audience..."

She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Pat understood.

Both knew how quickly Hollywood could decide someone had become a risk.

And if that happened while her marriage continued drifting apart...

For the first time in years...

She wasn’t certain anyone would be standing beside her when it was over.

"Pat..." Nicole looked down at her coffee, turning the cup slowly between her hands. "Tell me honestly."

She lifted her eyes. "Do you think *The Others* is going to fail?"

Pat didn’t answer immediately. She had spent too many years in Hollywood making promises she couldn’t keep.

Finally, she shook her head. "No."

Nicole searched her face. "I don’t."

Pat leaned back in her chair. "I think it’s the finest work you’ve done in years." She smiled faintly. "*Eyes Wide Shut* asked you for endurance. This one asked for vulnerability. They’re very different things."

"You carried this film from beginning to end."

Nicole let out a quiet breath but said nothing.

"The problem," Pat continued, "is that quality and box office have never been the same conversation."

She tapped the folded newspaper. "A slow-burning gothic ghost story opening in the middle of summer?" She shrugged. "It’s not an easy sell."

Nicole nodded. "I know.

"It could open brilliantly."

"It could disappear after one weekend."

"Nobody knows."

Silence settled between them again.

Then something occurred to Pat.

She looked up. "Actually..."

Nicole raised an eyebrow.

"Why don’t you ask Marvin?"

"Marvin?"

Pat nodded. "Who understands this film better than he does? He wrote it. He has a frightening instinct for audiences."

She laughed softly. "I’ve watched studio executives twice his age ignore him... and then spend months wishing they hadn’t."

Nicole smiled despite herself. "He does have an annoying habit of being right."

"I wouldn’t call it annoying."

"I would." Pat smiled. "If he tells you the film’s in trouble, I’d start worrying."

"And if he isn’t?"

"Then I’d sleep better."

Nicole stared at her phone for several seconds before picking it up.

"I suppose there’s no harm in asking."

She found Marvin’s private number and pressed call.

It rang twice.

"Nicole."

Just hearing him say her name made something tighten in her chest. "Hello, Marvin."

"You sound tired." She laughed quietly. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Only because I’ve heard you when you weren’t."

That caught her off guard.

It wasn’t flirtation.

It was observation.

Somehow that affected her more. "I’ve spent the morning reading reviews," she admitted.

"That’s always dangerous."

"They’re lovely..."

"But?"

"Everyone seems convinced the film won’t make any money."

A brief silence.

"And you’ve started believing them."

Nicole rested her forehead against her fingers. "...I’m trying not to."

"Don’t." The certainty in his voice was almost irritating.

"You always make everything sound easier than it is."

"No." He chuckled softly. "I just don’t like letting strangers decide what I think."

She smiled despite herself. "I wish I were better at that."

"You are."

"You’ve just forgotten."

Another silence settled between them.

Comfortable. Dangerous.

Nicole realised they had slipped into the same rhythm they’d found during filming—the one that made hours disappear without either of them noticing.

"Marvin..."

"Hmm?"

"Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

There was the faint sound of paper being set aside.

"I was supposed to spend the evening with the casting director."

Her heart sank. "Oh..."

"I’ll move it."

She blinked. "You don’t have to."

"I know."

"It’s work."

"So are you."

Nicole closed her eyes.

He probably had no idea what those four words did to her.

Or perhaps he knew exactly.

"Six?" she asked softly.

"Six."

"There’s a little Japanese restaurant in West Hollywood."

"The one with the private rooms?"

She laughed. "You’ve been there?"

"No."

"Then how—"

"People tell me things."

"Of course they do."

She shook her head, smiling. "My treat."

"I was actually planning on arguing over the bill."

"You can try."

"Will I win?"

"Probably not."

He laughed. It was warm. Unforced.

She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed hearing him laugh with her instead of politely at her.

Just before ending the call, neither of them spoke for several seconds.

Nicole found herself remembering another evening.

Another conversation.

The moment she’d almost crossed a line she had spent months pretending didn’t exist.

Sometimes, late at night, she still wondered what would have happened if she’d stopped thinking about consequences for just one more minute.

She had convinced herself she’d done the right thing.

That didn’t mean she’d ever stopped wondering.

"Nicole?"

She realised she’d drifted away. "Sorry."

"Long day?"

"...Very."

His voice softened. "Then let’s make sure it ends better than it started."

Nicole smiled before she could stop herself. "I’ll see you at six."

"I’ll be looking forward to it."

They exchanged their goodbyes, and the line went quiet.

Nicole lowered the phone slowly.

Pat watched her over the rim of her coffee cup. "Well?"

Nicole didn’t answer straight away.

For the first time since she’d opened the morning paper, the tightness in her shoulders had eased.

Pat watched the expression slowly returning to her face.

It wasn’t dramatic.

Just lighter.

As though someone had quietly opened a window in a room she’d forgotten was suffocating.

Nicole couldn’t remember the last time a conversation had left her feeling... seen.

And somehow, that frightened her almost as much as it comforted her.

Nicole took a deep breath, brushing the lingering thoughts aside.

"Marvin and I have dinner tonight," she said. There was a lightness in her voice that hadn’t been there for months. She glanced at Pat. "Would you like to come?"

Pat looked at her for a long moment before answering.

Then she smiled.

Not because of the invitation.

Because Nicole was smiling.

A real smile.

Her womanly instincts noticed it first.

God...

How long had it been since she’d seen one?

Months? Longer?

Ever since the strain in her marriage had begun spilling into every corner of her life, Nicole’s smiles had become carefully rehearsed things—polite enough for photographers, convincing enough for talk shows, but gone the instant the cameras stopped rolling.

This one was different. It reached her eyes.

Pat felt a quiet weight lift from her shoulders. She didn’t know what Marvin had said to her.

Nor did she particularly care.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Nicole looked like herself again.

That alone was worth celebrating.

Of course, Pat was still an agent.

Years in Hollywood had trained her to recognize opportunity almost as quickly as everyone else recognized stars.

Marvin Meyers wasn’t simply another successful young actor anymore.

He was becoming the most aggressively pursued creative talent in Hollywood.

Every studio wanted him. Every producer wanted a meeting.

Every agency wanted him signed before someone else managed it first.

The rumours circulating that morning had only made the feeding frenzy worse.

Four new screenplays quietly registered with the Writers Guild.

Warner Bros. had already secured distribution on one project.

Paramount was still calling. Miramax was hovering.

The town smelled opportunity, and Hollywood never moved faster than when it believed someone might become the next great power broker.

Nicole already had something none of them could manufacture overnight.

His trust.

Pat had no intention of getting in the way of that.

She wasn’t about to turn a genuine dinner into another business meeting filled with contracts and carefully chosen words.

"Absolutely not," Pat said with an amused shake of her head. "The second I walk through that restaurant door, dinner turns into a negotiation."

Nicole laughed softly.

Pat pointed a finger at her.

"So go. Eat. Talk about anything except business if you can manage it."

She paused, the veteran in her surfacing once more.

"And keep getting to know him."

Nicole raised an eyebrow. "Pat..."

"I’m serious." Her tone remained warm, but there was no mistaking the conviction behind it. "Hollywood is changing around that boy. People just haven’t admitted it yet."

She leaned back in her chair. "Studio heads are chasing him. Producers are chasing him. Actors are chasing him. Give it another year and agents will be camping outside his office."

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You don’t have to chase him."

"You already have a seat at his table."

Pat left the rest unsaid on purpose, knowing Nicole would get it.

She didn’t care whether outsiders found their relationship unusual or impropriate.

Hollywood had never operated by ordinary rules.

She’d spent decades watching actresses barely out of school date men old enough to be their grandfathers, studio executives marry women half their age, and relationships blossom between co-stars who had known each other for only a few weeks.

Compared to everything she’d witnessed, Nicole and Marvin sharing a quiet nights hardly registered.

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