The office at Pangu Pictures had its door wide open.
Wedged right under the door was a little golden statuette.
Everyone going in and out had to carefully step around it. A delivery guy, visiting for the first time, even poked it with his toe out of curiosity and asked if it was real gold.
Band rushed out of the office and nearly tripped over the thing.
"Shit!" he cursed. He didn't even bother picking it up. Clutching a budget spreadsheet, he bolted straight toward Link's office. "Link ! The first payment to Pangu Light & Magic is due! Two million! These guys burn money faster than the Fed prints it!"
Link was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, listening to a phone call.
On the other end was The Mask's director, Chuck Russell, his voice booming like a construction foreman.
"…No! Do it again! Cameron! I need a woman who makes every man in the bank forget how to walk! Not someone who looks like she's here for a secretary interview!"
Link opened his eyes and rubbed his temples.
"I'll come over."
He hung up, grabbed his jacket.
Band panicked. "What about the money?!"
"Let accounting approve it," Link said without looking back. "Tell them this—cut corners anywhere you want, but not on special effects."
---
The Burbank set was hot and stifling.
Inside the massive soundstage, a full-scale bank lobby had been recreated. The lights baked down like an oven, sweat rolling off everyone.
Cameron Diaz stood at the entrance in a tight red dress, nervously gripping a small clutch.
This was the twelfth time she'd stood there today.
"Action!"
She took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and walked into the bank. She straightened her back, imitating the classic femme fatales from old Hollywood films—smoldering eyes, a smile she'd practiced a hundred times.
She leaned forward at the counter, lowering her voice into something soft and sultry.
"Hello… I'd like to open an account."
"Cut!" Chuck Russell slammed the script onto the floor. "Cameron! What are you doing?! Are you playing Marilyn Monroe?! I want Tina Carlyle!"
Cameron's face went pale in an instant. She stood there, fingers digging so hard into her clutch that the leather nearly tore.
Dozens of crew members stared at her, their eyes like spotlights.
Jim Carrey was making faces in the corner, unusually quiet.
Link walked over and patted Chuck on the shoulder.
"Ten-minute break."
He didn't look at Cameron. Instead, he walked into the bank set and sat down on one of the waiting chairs.
Cameron lowered her head and slowly walked over, sitting beside him without daring to look his way.
"I messed it up," she said softly, her voice barely louder than a mosquito.
"Yeah," Link replied.
He didn't comfort her or lecture her. He just asked, "What were you wearing the first time you auditioned?"
Cameron froze for a moment, then answered instinctively, "A white T-shirt. Jeans."
"Why didn't you wear the red dress?"
"Because… that's just how I dress."
"Exactly." Link nodded. "Do you remember why I picked you?"
Cameron stayed silent.
"Not because you could act," Link said, turning to look at her slightly reddened, nervous eyes. "But because you couldn't. That smile you had back then—it was real. Like the California sun. Warm. Bright."
He pointed toward the camera.
"Forget Tina Carlyle. And forget Marilyn Monroe."
"Right now, you're just Cameron Diaz. You're walking into a bank—not to seduce anyone, just to open an account. But you know every man in the room is going to sneak a look at you."
"Because you're beautiful—and you know it."
He stood up.
"Go. Walk through that door your way."
---
Ten minutes later, filming resumed.
Same doorway. Same red dress.
"Action!"
Cameron pushed the door open.
This time, she didn't sway her hips or force that practiced, seductive smile.
She just walked in—light on her feet, a casual smile playing on her lips. Sunlight streamed in from outside, dancing through her blonde hair.
She reached the counter, casually set down her clutch, and blinked at the stunned bank teller.
"Hi," she said, her voice clear and bright. "I'd like to open an account."
The entire set went silent. You could hear your own heartbeat.
Chuck Russell gripped the edge of the monitor, forgetting to yell "Cut."
Jim Carrey stopped clowning around. Watching the girl glowing in front of the camera, he broke into a pure, genuine smile for the first time.
"Cut!" Chuck finally snapped out of it. He jumped up, pumping his fists. "That's it! Hell yes! That's it!"
Cameron let out a long breath. She ignored the director's shouting and the stares around her.
The first thing she did was turn toward the man sitting in the corner.
Link gave her a small nod.
---
That night, after filming wrapped, Link was about to leave when Cameron caught up to him.
She'd changed back into casual clothes, a little makeup still left on her face.
"Link ." She stopped in front of him and took a deep breath.
"That dinner I owe you…"
Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but her eyes were bright as she looked straight at him.
"Are you free tonight?"