Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Gal Gadot, in a panic, flung open her bedroom door and rushed out.

From Yaron's room next door, strange noises were clearly audible.

She didn't have time to dwell on it. Sprinting to the apartment's main door, she yanked it open.

"Surprise!"

Martin stood there, grinning.

"My God, Martin, are you insane? Yaron's home!" Gal hissed.

"I know, but he doesn't seem to care about you," Martin replied smoothly.

Gal froze, then tilted her head to listen.

"What the—there's a woman in Yaron's room?" she whispered.

"No idea if there's a woman in there," Martin said, stepping closer, "but I know I want a woman right now. Let's go."

"Go where?" Gal asked, still processing.

"Your bedroom, obviously."

"What about Jennifer?"

"She's wiped out, fast asleep."

"You animal!" Gal exclaimed.

"Thanks for the compliment."

"We're… doing this with Yaron right there? He won't catch us?"

"He won't."

"Did you… do something to him?"

"Ever heard of hypnosis?"

"Oh my God, you hypnotized him?"

"Close enough. Here's an idea: since your so-called organization wants you to have a kid, why not have one with me? Look, Yaron and I both have green eyes—mine are nicer, of course—brown hair, even the same blood type…"

Gal's eyes widened, stunned by Martin's audacious plan and her own stirring excitement.

"As long as there's no paternity test, no one would suspect the kid's mine," Martin continued. "Especially since Yaron thinks he's… well, with you right now."

Gal's jaw dropped. "So, because of your hypnosis, whenever he tries to… you know, he starts doing push-ups, but in his head, he thinks he's…"

"Bingo. Wanna see?"

Before Gal could protest, Martin strolled to Yaron's bedroom door and, to her shock, cracked it open.

The odd noises grew louder.

Despite herself, curiosity won out. Gal crept to the door and peeked inside, witnessing a scene she'd never forget.

Her "husband" Yaron was sprawled on the floor, frantically doing push-ups, grunting and muttering encouragements to himself.

"Come on, Yaron!"

"You've got this, Yaron!"

His eyes were glazed, clearly oblivious to what he was actually doing.

"That son of a—!" Gal gasped, blushing furiously.

Martin gently closed the door.

"Let's go, darling. Time for our workout."

"I—mmph—ah!" Gal stammered as Martin swept her off her feet.

…

When Martin, refreshed and smug, returned to his apartment across the street at dusk, Yaron was fast asleep, a faint smile on his face, twitching occasionally as if lost in a pleasant dream.

The next morning, Yaron stretched luxuriously and sat up in bed.

He glanced around. Empty?

She must've slipped back to her room, shy thing.

Chuckling, Yaron didn't mind. A little shyness could spice things up.

He grabbed his phone, about to call the middle-aged Jewish contact, when he wrinkled his nose.

What's that smell?

Hopping out of bed, he threw open the window for fresh air, then dialed.

"Hey, it's done," he said.

"What? Oh, you and Gal?"

"Yup, last night."

"Lucky dog! How was it? Good?"

"…"

"Haha, out-of-this-world good, right?"

"…"

"Haha, I'm jealous, man. You didn't use protection, did you?"

"Nope."

"Did she put up a fight? Spill the details…"

…

When Yaron hung up and stepped out of his room, he found Gal had left him breakfast, complete with a note: "Darling, I'm off to work. Breakfast's ready. Oh, and you were amazing last night!"

Yaron's face split into a wide grin, thrilled that his relationship with Gal had finally taken a step forward. He genuinely liked her.

Meanwhile, Gal was driving, quietly pitying Yaron.

Poor guy, humping a pillow all night.

Martin had explained that, under his hypnosis, any time Yaron got "ideas" about her, he'd slip into a delusion—kissing, hugging, or "rolling in the sheets," all in his head.

She could already picture Yaron making out with thin air or something equally absurd. Talk about awkward.

Best to avoid going out with him too much, lest someone catch on.

What she didn't know was that Martin had already accounted for this. In public, Yaron would always treat her with gentlemanly respect, never entertaining "intimate" thoughts.

…

Martin drove to Century City, home to CAA's headquarters.

On the top floor, in Jeff Raymond's office.

"Hey, old pal, what's up?" Martin greeted.

"Got something to discuss, Martin. Have a seat," Jeff said, pouring Martin a glass of whiskey, then one for himself. They clinked glasses before Jeff got to business.

"You know about last year's merger, right? William Morris acquired Endeavor."

Martin nodded.

The merger of two top-five North American talent agencies was big news in the industry, and Martin was well aware.

William Morris wasn't just any agency. Founded in 1898, it was one of the earliest entertainment agencies, its history intertwined with Hollywood's own evolution.

Its founder, William Morris, started as a top theater agency clerk, climbing to partner. But when the owner died and his widow took over, clashing with Morris, he struck out on his own, establishing the William Morris Agency—a cornerstone of Hollywood's talent management.

Morris became the godfather of the industry, with nearly every first-generation Hollywood agency founder or exec cutting their teeth at his company.

A few examples:

CAA's five founders—Michael Ovitz, Ron Meyer, Martin Baum, William Haber, and Rowland Perkins—quit en masse after a party where they griped about company policies, then launched CAA.

Disney's former chairman and CEO, Michael Eisner, spent years at William Morris, building his network.

And industry titan David Geffen, along with DreamWorks Animation's CEO Jeffrey Katzenberg, also rose from William Morris' mailroom.

In short, half of Hollywood's empire traces its roots to William Morris.