REVIVE: AMERICA 1995

Milo, a former screenwriter with no formal filmmaking experience, had spent countless hours watching movies, TV shows, and reading novels. This had given him a deep understanding of storytelling. Since his "rebirth" into this new life, his memory of these works had become incredibly vivid, almost as if his brain had reorganized itself to accommodate this new information.
Confident in his ability to write compelling scripts, Milo had secluded himself in his Beverly Hills mansion for a month. Between trips to the writers' and directors' guilds and the library, he'd been working tirelessly. Today was the culmination of his efforts.
"Wow, how many is that now?" Julie Delpy asked, marveling at the stack of sealed envelopes.
"Sixteen," Milo replied, "but only three are fully finished scripts. The rest are just outlines."
"You know, Milo, you're really something else," said Catherine Zeta-Jones. "You're writing scripts and novels? I'm sure they're amazing."
Milo smiled. "I've been wasting too much time. Now I want to make the most of every moment."
Over the past month, Milo had managed to keep both Zeta-Jones and her friends, Julie Delpy and Kate Blanchett, at his beck and call. He'd promised Zeta-Jones a leading role in his next film, which was enough to keep her around.
"I hear you're starting your first film next month," Julie said.
"That's right," Milo confirmed. "The script is finished."
Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was Wendy, his assistant. "Bertrand Erwin is here. He's the head of HUP's West Coast operations."
"Great, send him in. I'll meet him in the living room."
Milo turned to the women. "I've got a meeting, but we can hang out later."
"We'll be here," Julie replied with a smile.
As Milo left the room, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He was living the dream.
"Beverly Hills, isn't exactly the kind of place a struggling writer would live," Raul Aleman muttered to himself, surveying the upscale neighborhood. After confirming the address, he approached the imposing mansion and pressed the doorbell.
A beautiful middle-aged woman answered. "May I help you?"
"Yes, I'm here to see Milo Blackburn. I'm Raul Aleman from Macmillan."
"Right this way, Mr. Aleman. Mr. Blackburn has been expecting you."
As Raul stepped inside, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The woman had said "you," plural. A quick glance around the living room confirmed his suspicions. Three other men, all representatives from competing publishing houses, were already seated.
"Well, well, well," said Earl Hakanson from Times Publishing, a man Raul knew fairly well. "We've all been waiting for you, Raul."
Raul was taken aback. Why would Milo have invited all of them at once? It seemed obvious that he was playing them against each other.
"Mr. Blackburn," Raul began, "I believe there's been a misunderstanding. I was under the impression that this was a one-on-one meeting."
Milo smiled. "Not exactly. You see, I've written a novel, and I wasn't sure which publisher would be the best fit. So, I thought I'd let you all take a look."
Raul was incredulous. Here was a completely unknown author, with no track record, trying to pit the biggest publishing houses in the country against each other. It was audacious, to say the least.
Raul glanced at his competitors. They seemed equally surprised but were maintaining a facade of nonchalance. He expected them to join him in a united front against this young upstart, but to his dismay, they seemed content to play along.
"I think we should all leave," Raul suggested, trying to rally his colleagues. "This is a waste of our time."
To his astonishment, none of the others moved. Earl even winked at him.
"I don't think so, Raul," Milo said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I think we can all work something out."