Sporting a grey tweed jacket and a plaid scarf, Kristoff ushered himself into the studio office. Mr Whitfield was already seated behind his mahogany desk, and Hans swiveled around to face him.
"Ah, Kristoff-" Whitfield announced, beckoning him to take a seat, "on time for once-"
"Lil' early for a meeting isn't it?" Kristoff asked, lighting a cigar.
"This isn't a meeting," Whitfield retorted, "it's a-"
"Discussion," Hans finished his sentence.
Kristoff sank into the leather armchair. Despite the early hour, he considered pouring himself a scotch from the clinking alcohol trolley. Hans and Whitfield appeared to have already begun drinking out of a crystal whiskey decanter, and a thick haze of cigarette smoke filled the office. Rows of awards and autographed movie posters adorned every empty wall and shelf space, and a huge window overlooked the production offices where they edited film reels.
Probably best to remain sober for this part.
"Well, what's for discussion?"
Whitfield held up three envelopes, each adorned with the golden seal of the Motion Picture Academy.
"Brooklyn Dreams received three nominations this year," Whitfield declared, "I didn't even have to lobby for squat. You really outdid yourself here Bjorgman-"
Kristoff scarcely showed any reaction to the news as he continued puffing away, but the sneer on Han's face was evident.
"Tsk, that film is Oscar bait and you know it," Hans scoffed.
"Hey, hey - I don't decide when or where my films get released," Kristoff retorted.
Whitfield held up a hand for silence, before reading off the nominations, "Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Director, Best Supporting Actress-"
"Best Supporting Actress?" Kristoff asked, eyes widening in confusion, "You mean Anna Miller?"
"First two are fine," Whitfield continued, ignoring Kristoff's question, "but the studio has decided to block Anna's nomination."
Kristoff raised an eyebrow, "Why? Because your golden girl didn't get a nomination and some new face outdid her?"
Hans shook his head, but Whitfield spoke first
"Well, yes - we have to be careful about what kind of message we send to the consumers, but there are other reasons."
"Elsa makes us a lot of money," Hans sneered.
"Look all around you," Whitfield pointed at the posters, "for ten years that Sheridan chick has laid a gravy train all the way from Hollywood to North Dakota, no sign of stopping anytime. We can't let this narrative of a bankable A-lister change anytime soon."
"Awards don't make dough anymore, Bjorgman," Hans butted in, "get with the times."
"Well, yes - I respect your point of view Mr Whitfield," Kristoff said, "but shouldn't we consider developing Anna to that level of bankability, given her age and how quickly she made such an impact?"
"That was considered, but it's a no from the studio. First of all, she has red hair, and that hardly sells," Whitfield continued, "Second of all, have you seen the way she performs? The girl's an artist, not an actress. Five films tops and she quits. Or at best she gets so full of herself and becomes ultra-selective and does one film a year. I've been here long enough to know how she's going to turn out."
Kristoff pondered, chin-in-palm, eyes flitting between the posters and awards stacked around the room. He tried to find some semblance of pride towards himself for grooming Anna's talent and pushing her onto a national stage. Instead, Kristoff felt only disappointment at having such a promising candle snuffed out so quickly. A temptation to fight Whitfield's decision seeped into him, but he remembered very well he should be picking his battles.
"Fine," Kristoff relented, stubbing out the rest of his cigar, "but you can't stop me from casting her again if she so chooses."
Whitfield heaved a sigh of relief, before tossing Anna's nomination in the bin, "Great! Now onto the next order of business."
"I thought you said this wasn't a meeting," Kristoff joked.
The leather chair squeaked as Whitfield wheeled himself to a safe. Unlocking it, he muttered, "This one is more for Hans, but it involves you as well."
Whitfield pulled out a stack of photographs and handed them to Hans. The confident, suave demeanour in his eyes was immediately replaced by blinding fury, and Kristoff shifted over to have a closer look.
"I hope you two gentlemen know what's at stake here," Whitfield said, "we can't have shit like this happening anymore between the two of them."