Chapter 6: Be Professional
William said nothing in response to Nancy's promise—he simply told the two actors to get ready.
Once they were in position—
"Action!"
At William's call, Jamal began to move.
The camera locked onto him.
He stood up, glanced at Nancy beside him, and delivered his lines according to the script. When the dialogue ended, he pulled off his T-shirt, revealing a well-defined set of six-pack abs.
Jamal was an actor William had selected deliberately—average looks, but a powerful, well-trained physique.
For its time, this film was actually a little unconventional.
As someone reborn with future knowledge, William knew very well that this particular pairing would sell explosively.
He didn't pretend to understand the audience's psychology.
If it made money, that was enough.
The rest didn't concern him.
Nancy froze for a moment at the sight of Jamal's body, then unconsciously reached out and touched his abs.
Almost instantly, she remembered that this wasn't in the script.
She pulled her hand back in panic and instinctively looked toward William, terrified she'd made another mistake.
"Fuck! What are you doing!?
Nancy! Who told you to look at the camera!?
As long as I haven't called Cut, your performance does not stop—
not stop—
not stop!"
Seeing her lapse back into amateur habits, William exploded.
The irony was that her instinctive reaction had actually been good—real, natural, and effective.
But she'd broken the moment halfway through.
That was unforgivable.
William's outburst startled everyone on set.
"Jesus… fuck."
He took a deep breath and walked over to Nancy.
"Just now—when you looked at his abs," he said firmly,
"do you remember that look in your eyes?"
Nancy nodded, frightened but attentive.
"Good. Remember that feeling. Use that look next time—but don't forget what comes after."
He leaned closer, his tone sharp and precise.
"You pull back. The key is guilt.
Guilt.
Do you understand?"
To Nancy, his words were honestly too abstract.
At least, she didn't really understand yet.
But she didn't dare say that—she simply nodded.
"Five-minute break."
William returned to his seat behind the camera.
---
Five minutes later—
"Action!"
The camera rolled again.
This time, Nancy didn't make any mistakes. Her performance wasn't outstanding, but it passed.
Serviceable.
Then came the most critical part.
Under California law, explicit filming was prohibited—but simulated framing was allowed.
As long as no explicit details were shown, there was no legal issue.
William had no intention of crossing that line anyway.
The reason was simple: it would require extra pay.
Right now, he wanted to stretch every dollar to its limit.
And besides—this film wasn't meant to rely on shock value alone.
So he opted entirely for implied staging.
"Yes—good! Hazy eyes!"
"Jamal, move your finger along Nancy's lips—just the edge!"
"Breathe deeply—close your eyes—there needs to be a sense of surrender!"
"Good! Very good!"
"Jamal! You need to show tension—like every muscle in your body is working at once! You hear me?"
William carried the camera himself now, shooting close-ups nonstop.
Then suddenly—
"I can't—Director! I can't hold it!"
Jamal abruptly called for a stop.
William frowned.
"What's wrong?"
"Wasn't it going well?"
As he spoke, he checked the playback on the camera.
The footage from moments ago—
Was excellent.
In this era, this kind of suggestive, restrained filming technique would sell far better than crude, purely physical productions.
"Uh… Director, Can we do it for real?" Jamal blurted out.
William's temple twitched.
"Yeah, Director… I'm having a hard time holding back too,"
Nancy added, her cheeks flushed as she looked at him.
This experience was completely different from anything she'd known before.
Especially the way William had broken down her movements and emotions—filtered through his so-called "artistic direction"—it left her whole body buzzing with restless energy.
Even Carl, along with the lighting and sound guys standing nearby, were flushed and awkwardly averting their eyes.
"Fuck! Can you all be more professional!?" William snapped.
"This is art—not pornography! I absolutely will not allow anything real! That would be a desecration of art!"
He kept his face stern as he glared at everyone.
In reality, of course, he just didn't want to pay the extra fees.
If things went "all the way," Jamal and Nancy's pay would each have to increase by at least five hundred dollars.
That was an extra one thousand dollars—
and to William right now, that was no small sum.
Even if Nancy's pay might not ultimately be an issue, five hundred dollars was still five hundred dollars.
However, in the relatively innocent early '90s, this impassioned speech earned him genuine respect from the crew.
"Sorry, Director. We were wrong."
Jamal and Nancy both apologized, and the way they looked at William subtly changed.
They had assumed that directors who made low-budget films had no artistic standards.
They hadn't expected William to be someone who actually cared about craft.
That realization shifted their mindset completely.
"All right! Keep rolling! Take this seriously!"
"This is work—not child's play!"
William maintained his stern expression as he addressed the crew.
This time, everyone adopted the attitude of shooting a proper film.
Before long, the kitchen scenes were finished.
What followed was the storyline of the housewife's moral decline—
her secret involvement with her neighbor unfolding across different parts of the house.
William compressed an entire morning and afternoon of shooting into a single day.
His post-rebirth experience with modern set management pushed efficiency to at least twice that of typical crews from this era.
By now, everyone except Nancy was looking at William with open admiration.
In their minds, they'd already written him a backstory:
A genius director, crushed by capital, forced to scrape by making low-budget films.
What a tragic figure.
"All right, everyone—come over. Time to settle payment."
Normally this would be handled by a production accountant.
But William was broke, so he did it himself.
Payday was always popular.
Both the lighting technician and the sound engineer gave William their personal numbers, telling him to call them again if he made another film.
Jamal felt the same way.
Even without seeing the final cut, he had a strong feeling—
This film would probably leave its mark.
Not for anything explicit, but because William's ideas simply hadn't existed in this genre before.
Once everyone had been paid, William—helped by Carl—loaded the camera equipment and exposed film reels into his car.
And just like that—
The first film William made after his rebirth
was officially wrapped.