Inside the dimly lit car, the city lights outside casting flickering shadows, Martin studied Léa Seydoux's face with a thoughtful intensity. Her features, like those of many distinguished actors, held a distinct, unmistakable charm. She reminded Martin of other European film icons, such as Eva Green, who had left indelible marks on the canvas of cinema through their profound artistic contributions.
As he gazed at her, memories swirled in his mind, conjuring images of a character with striking short blue hair – a vivid portrayal from a quintessentially French film, celebrated for its spirited audacity. Such artistic masterpieces, Martin mused, leave deep, enduring impressions.
He sighed inwardly. Recognizing someone based solely on physical attributes like body shape or hair color was fraught with the risk of error. Yet, Martin masked his doubts, his face betraying a flicker of surprise instead. Gently lifting Léa's chin with his fingers, he remarked with a hint of admiration, "You are much more enchanting than Huppert."
Martin hadn't forgotten the name concealed in his hand. Unfolding his palm, he revealed, "The person is even more beautiful than I imagined."
Léa, with a graceful gesture, took Martin's hand, opening it to find Eva Green's name written within. Responding not with words but with a tender action, Martin gently pinched her chin, drawing her closer.
Their masks removed, they shared a kiss, a moment of connection unshielded and sincere.
They arrived at the hotel and entered Martin's room together. Martin, seasoned yet unhurried, behaved with the poise of a true gentleman. "Care for a drink?" he offered.
"Okay," Leya agreed.
Martin fetched two wine glasses, uncorked a bottle of red wine, and asked nonchalantly, "Did you recognize me back at the party?"
Léa, clinking her glass against his, replied, "I had my suspicions, but I didn't dare believe them." Raising her glass, she toasted, "To fortuitous luck, for bringing us together."
Martin smiled knowingly, "Because you met me?"
Taking a sip, Leya said, "I saw you several times at the Cannes Film Festival. Your distinct presence was memorable, though it's a shame our paths didn't cross."
"That's my loss," Martin conceded. "Had I noticed you, it could have been a beautiful encounter."
"I did think of approaching you," Léa confessed, her words weaving a dance of half-truths. "But the timing wasn't right, and I feared complications."
"Am I that intimidating?" Martin asked, a touch of surprise in his tone.
Léa, playful and teasing, replied, "How would I know without trying?" She then shifted back to their earlier conversation, "It was my film crew that made it challenging. I was with the 'Inglourious Basterds' team, and the producer and director aren't your biggest fans."
Upon hearing the film's title, images of Quentin and Harbin Wei flashed through Martin's mind. His expression remained unchanged as he noted, "That's no secret in Hollywood."
"It was because of them I couldn't approach you," Léa admitted.
"You were in 'Inglourious Basterds'?" Martin inquired, recalling the film's prominent female leads, Diane Kruger and another French actor.
Léa shrugged playfully, "Just a background character – the farmer's daughter in the opening scene."
"Sorry, I didn't notice," Martin admitted truthfully.
In the softly lit ambiance of Martin's hotel room, Léa Seydoux's voice carried a mix of frustration and relief as she opened up about her past. "Not many people do notice," she began, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "I was initially in talks for Mélanie Laurent's role, but after meeting with Harvey, I was relegated to a minor part."
Martin leaned in, sensing the gravity of her words. "Did something unpleasant happen during that process?"
Léa nodded, her expression hardening. "It seems you're somewhat familiar with Harvey's reputation."
Martin replied with a careful blend of honesty and evasion, "Even you're aware that I don't exactly see eye to eye with him. In Hollywood, it's hard not to cross paths with such figures."
Léa paused, gathering her thoughts before revealing, "It was a very, very unpleasant experience. I went to Los Angeles for an audition. Never having dealt with Harvey before, I was unaware of his... methods. His assistant led me to his hotel room, under the guise of it being a makeshift office."
Martin wasn't surprised; he had heard similar stories about Harvey's notorious behavior.
Léa, her voice tinged with disgust, continued, "I heard Harvey openly berating you at Cannes. I'm not worried about him hearing this. Holding back these memories has been suffocating." She shook her head in disdain. "That monster Weinstein made no effort to conceal his intentions. He blatantly suggested that a role would be mine if I... complied with his demands. But I refused."
Her tone shifted to one of candid defiance. "Martin, if it were someone like you, charming and sophisticated, I might not have hesitated. But Weinstein..." She made a gagging gesture, her face twisted in revulsion. "Just the thought of him makes me sick, not to mention his blatant discrimination!"
Martin listened intently, understanding her need to unburden these long-held secrets.
Léa, visibly frustrated, continued, "Can you believe it? He even mocked my appearance, criticized my body, and claimed I'd need to lose weight to succeed in Hollywood."
"That man's delusions of grandeur are well-known. He thinks he's untouchable," Martin commented, his voice laced with contempt.
Léa's smile carried a bitter edge. "He boasted about controlling the industry, making it seem like escaping his influence in Hollywood was impossible." She paused, a shadow crossing her face. "He was so overbearing, I couldn't push him away. But my sheer disgust saved me – I vomited right then and there."
"You're fortunate to have escaped," Martin remarked, his tone sympathetic.
Léa added with a sigh, "Lucky in that regard, perhaps, but not with the role. Weinstein nearly fired me." She continued, "My grandfather was the head of the French EMI Film Company. Through his connections and an investor in 'Inglourious Basterds', Weinstein had to offer me a role, however insignificant."
Martin reflected on their shared experiences. "It seems we have similar stories with Harvey. Did you know he originally wanted me for the lead in 'Inglourious Basterds'? I refused."
He mixed truth with fiction seamlessly. "He threatened to ruin my career completely."
Léa, recalling rumors from the set, asked, "Weren't you worried?"
Martin responded, blending reality with lies, "Warner Brothers had my back. Harvey wields power in the indie scene, but he's nothing compared to the major studios. I don't rely solely on indie films."
Léa concluded, "I escaped Weinstein's clutches partly because of my family's influence. It's frightening to think what happens to actresses without such connections."
As Léa Seydoux broached the subject of Harvey, the atmosphere in Martin's hotel room shifted palpably. The frivolities of masked parties and casual flings were momentarily cast aside, giving way to a more serious, urgent discourse. Harvey's misdeeds had suddenly become the focal point of their conversation.
Martin, his expression grim, acknowledged the gravity of the situation. "I've heard countless rumors about Harvey, and I'm convinced at least 80% are true. Even the most hardened figures in Hollywood despise his actions."
Léa, her thoughts aligning with Martin's, pondered aloud, "With so many victims, so many targeted, why hasn't anyone come forward?"
"Harvey isn't just anybody. Without solid proof, who could possibly stand against him?" Martin replied, his tone reflecting the challenge of confronting such a powerful figure.
"Is there any evidence?" Léa inquired, a hint of hope in her voice.
Martin had once discreetly encouraged journalists at the News of the World to unearth damning evidence against Harvey, but their efforts had yielded nothing concrete.
He turned to Léa, curiosity in his eyes. "Do you have any evidence?"
Léa nodded, her response measured yet decisive. "I secretly recorded our encounter and stored it in a safe at an apartment my mother bought."
Martin studied her intently, searching for signs of deceit. Yet, even with his knowledge of acting, he couldn't detect any falsehood in Léa's demeanor.
"Can you tell me more about it?" he asked, genuinely intrigued.
Léa recounted her ordeal. "After that first encounter, Weinstein never ceased his harassment. He would always find a way to corner me at work, making threatening remarks. I felt like I was being watched constantly, it made me physically ill."
"Our experiences are shockingly similar," Martin remarked, offering a semblance of camaraderie.
Léa managed a weak smile. "I'm not naive or inexperienced. I was prepared. I carried a voice recorder and captured Harvey's threats. Anticipating his actions, I even had a photographer friend modify a bag to conceal a camera."
She sighed, the weight of her memories evident. "As expected, he barged into my room in Los Angeles. He was relentless, ignoring my protests until I threatened to call the police."
Martin's face hardened. "If I had been there, I would have dealt with that scoundrel just like I did with those Russian spies!"
Léa's admiration was evident. "That's what I find most compelling about you. A true hero."
She then shared the disheartening response she had received from her circle. "You know, when I confided in my agent and a friend, they just laughed it off. They said these things are rampant in the industry and advised me not to dwell on it."
Léa's laughter was tinged with helplessness, reflecting the pervasive resignation within the industry.
Martin grasped her hand, his voice firm. "It's precisely this attitude that allows monsters like Harvey Weinstein to act with impunity. Without irrefutable proof, even someone like me hesitates to take a stand."
Léa's laughter ceased, replaced by a solemn gaze. "Do you really intend to confront Harvey?"
Martin nodded, his resolve clear. "In Hollywood, there's the 'foot gang' and the 'face gang', and the rivalry between Harvey and me is no secret. You can ask around; many know about our conflicts."
Léa, cautious yet determined, stepped out onto the balcony. Illuminated by the soft glow of the city lights, she made several phone calls to her contacts in Hollywood. Coming from a family of French actors, she had a network to tap into. She knew about Martin's clashes with Harvey's faction, especially after Martin had snagged Wes Craven's new project, a topic of much discussion in the industry.