The Second Marilyn Monroe

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"After extensive discussions with Mr. Hefner and his family, we've reached an agreement. I will lead the effort to take Playboy Enterprises private. Once the transaction closes, the Hefner family will step away from day-to-day management."

Julian spoke smoothly into the cameras.

More than a dozen microphones crowded the space in front of him. ABC, NBC, CBS, CNN, Fox, The New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, Newsweek, Time, and nearly every major American outlet had shown up.

The dust had settled. Everyone understood that this unfamiliar young man was about to become the new leader of a vast entertainment and media group.

When Julian's dark eyes swept over the press line, more than one female reporter felt her thoughts drift in a dangerous direction. He was young, rich, controlled, and useful. If one of them could get close to him, she would gain a powerful source, the kind that could make a career.

Unfortunately for them, someone else had moved first.

Hadley Gamble, a young television correspondent, pushed her microphone forward.

"The public knows very little about you. Could you introduce yourself? And what is your future strategy for the company?"

She was twenty-five, a University of Miami graduate. Years later, she would become known for making interviews with powerful men feel conspicuously charged. In short, Hadley knew exactly how to use her looks.

She was also Julian's chosen amplifier. She had helped place the first scandal leaks, and their mutually useful arrangement was already well underway.

Julian followed the question as if it had come naturally.

"Julian Moretti, from Utah," he said. "Founder of Haven Home Financial. At the moment, the company is facing serious controversy. I intend to turn that situation around."

"Some people say you acquired Playboy because you admire and want to imitate Hugh Hefner. How do you respond?"

"Whether Mr. Hefner committed any crime is for prosecutors to determine," Julian said. "My job is to put this company back on track."

Everything he had done before this had been about lowering the price. Still, the legendary American entertainment brand he was in the process of acquiring was in worse shape than most people understood.

Calling its condition disappointing would be generous. It was dying. Even if Julian had not taken it, the company would have faced delisting soon enough.

For him, Playboy was less a company than a ticket, a ticket into the real arena of fame, money, and influence.

"As for imitation," Julian continued, "I don't intend to imitate anyone."

He let that settle before adding the line that would dominate every headline that night.

"I am also making one important decision. Playboy magazine will return to the mainstream and will no longer publish nude pictorials. The company's adult-video division will also be shut down."

As Julian and his legal counsel drove away, the protesters outside the mansion burst into cheers.

"This is a great victory!"

To Hadley, watching the taillights disappear, it looked more like the oldest story in the world: the dragon slayer becoming the dragon.

She took out her phone.

In the spacious back seat, Julian loosened his tie and only then realized that his hands were trembling.

'Holy shit. That was insane.'

In front of the cameras, he had looked calm enough to host a charity gala. In reality, his nerves were screaming, and so was his bladder.

"Pull over," he told the driver.

The car stopped along a quiet stretch near Sunset Boulevard. Julian pushed the door open, stepped beneath a palm tree, and relieved himself right there, drawing lazy figure eights into the dirt.

Several women passing by shrieked and hurried away.

Life had become absurd enough to feel unreal.

Three months ago, he had been a video essayist with no team. He chose the topics, gathered the sources, wrote the scripts, recorded the narration, edited the footage, and handled postproduction himself. Most of his work covered the rise and fall of famous international brands, including a long video on Playboy. When he needed traffic, he made profiles of Hollywood actresses, heiresses, models, and every beautiful woman the algorithm decided to reward.

He worked day and night until content farms began stealing his research and platform revenue kept shrinking. His income, unsurprisingly, was cut in half.

He remembered working late one night, feeling a sudden pain in his chest, and then opening his eyes in late 2006 as the owner of a mortgage lender in Utah.

Was waking up in another life new? Not really. The internet had already beaten that trope to death.

All he could say was that it had finally been his turn.

The good news: he was worth more than a hundred million dollars.

The bad news: in a few months, he would be left with nothing.

So Julian spent his days drinking, sleeping around, and using what he knew from his other life to plan his future.

After two months of relentless work, he had finally taken the first solid step.

This was not the end. It was not even the beginning of the end. It was the end of the beginning.

Looking back at 2007 from fifteen years in the future, every major field was sitting at the edge of a generational shift.

Apple had unveiled the first iPhone only weeks earlier, though the device would not reach stores for months. Facebook had opened registration to everyone the previous year. Twitter was still not its own company. Elon Musk was entering one of the darkest stretches of his life, and solar startups were about to face brutal pressure from cheaper Asian manufacturing. Bill Gates was still the richest man in the world.

In entertainment, eighteen-year-old Taylor Swift was in Nashville preparing her first album. Gal Gadot was still on the edge of Hollywood. In a few months, Megan Fox would explode into the public eye through Transformers.

Marvel had pledged film rights as collateral and was pouring every resource it had into Iron Man. Christopher Nolan was gearing up for The Dark Knight. Netflix's streaming experiment was barely taking its first steps. Electronic dance music had not yet conquered the mainstream.

Opportunity was everywhere.

And as Julian had told the reporters, his first job was to get Playboy's businesses back on track.

Saul was still in the car, having watched his boss's roadside performance with a stunned expression. He looked as if Julian had just decided to advertise one of his more private advantages.

"Saul, fly to Chicago immediately and start the takeover process," Julian ordered. "I'll send William with you."

"You're not coming with us?" Saul asked, suspicious. "We just announced the deal."

"My adoptive mother's birthday is today. I fly to Nashville every year for the party and stay there for a few days."

It sounded filial enough.

In reality, Julian did not want anyone to discover that he knew almost nothing about running a company.

Since graduation, he had not worked a real job for a single day. His last serious business experience had been selling things from a folding table on campus.

'I'll handle the cameras. The hard parts can go to the people I pay.'

Perfectly reasonable.

Once the formal takeover began, he would find a way to contact Steven Spielberg. Spielberg was producing the live-action Transformers film, which was already in postproduction and only months away from becoming a phenomenon. The film would also make Megan Fox a global sex symbol.

She had the look: sharp features, dark hair, and a presence the camera would love. Later, a series of bad career turns would derail her rise. But if Julian backed her, shaped her career, and used Playboy to amplify her image, she might become the second Marilyn Monroe.

Half a century earlier, Playboy's first issue had fed the Marilyn myth. Julian intended to see whether the machine could do it again.

In the other seat, Saul had fallen into deep thought.

At a moment this important, Julian was hiding in Nashville?

No matter how he looked at it, that made no sense.

Saul did not believe the birthday-party excuse for a second, just as he had not believed Julian months earlier when he first said he wanted to buy Playboy.

There had to be a reason.

Saul was a clever man. The more he watched his boss, the more convinced he became that Julian's casual moves always concealed another layer.

Was Julian sending him and the ever-obedient William into Chicago first, letting them flush out any resistance before he stepped in to finish the job?

It was exactly the same rhythm he had used to take Playboy.

Brilliant.

"Smart move, boss," Saul said, snapping his fingers.

Julian ignored the flattery.

His BlackBerry buzzed in his jacket pocket. Apple's iPhone had only been announced and would not reach stores for months.

The message was from Hadley.

Congratulations, Mr. New President. Now that you're celebrating, shouldn't you fulfill your earlier promise?

They had made a gentleman's agreement. Once Julian secured the Hefner family's agreement, he would give her a steady stream of valuable access.

Julian thought for a moment and replied:

I did make a promise. But that promise is void now. You'll need to bring something new to the table.

Gentleman's agreements were for gentlemen.

What did that have to do with him?

He was now poised to control America's most famous adult-entertainment brand. Why should he hand over an exclusive interview unless she gave him something useful in return?

More favorable coverage, for example. More promotion for the company's coming moves. More airtime that made Playboy look like a reborn media empire rather than a corpse.

Julian expected her to negotiate down.

Instead, a few seconds later, her reply went in a much more direct direction.

How about we move the interview to a hotel suite? Noon. We still have two hours to prepare. I'll come alone, and we can talk it through properly.

Talk it through.

Or feel it out.

The meaning was obvious.

With enough leverage on the table, almost anything could be negotiated.

Julian was beginning to enjoy the game.

"Saul," he said, putting the phone away, "sorry. You'll have to take a cab to the airport."

Two hours later, Hadley stepped out of the bathroom, slipped out of her robe, and began putting her suit back on.

"You know what you are?" she said, biting her lower lip as she looked at Julian in the chair. "A lizard monster exposed to nuclear radiation."

His young body was packed with hard muscle, almost sculptural.

"I'm talking to you, Mr. Godzilla."

Julian looked up from his phone. He noticed the red marks on Hadley's arms, then the loose strands of honey-brown hair scattered across the bed.

"Honestly," he said, "I lost control a little."

Hadley was a talented cure for bad nerves.

"But it was fun, wasn't it?" she said, blinking at him.

Good God. A college linebacker would have looked less dangerous.

Hadley felt that several old crude jokes about size and regret needed to be updated.

Julian had noticed the same thing in himself. Since waking in this body, his appetite had risen sharply. His stamina and raw physical strength had both increased. Add the rest of him to that equation, and it was no wonder Hadley had called him Godzilla.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. The photographer for the interview had arrived.

"Damn it." Hadley hurriedly straightened her clothes, grabbed the blanket from the floor, and threw it over the bed.

When she opened the door, three men came in: a tall photographer and two assistants in baseball caps.

The interview itself was calm and forgettable. After about forty minutes, it was over.

"Hadley," the photographer said, "I'll wait downstairs and drive you back to the office."

Hadley shook her head. "Go ahead. Mr. Moretti and I still have something to discuss."

"It's fine. I'll wait..." The photographer suddenly sniffed.

"There's a smell in here."

He followed it with his eyes until his gaze landed on the bed.

"Jack, you should leave," Hadley said quickly.

Instead, the photographer stepped forward and yanked the blanket back.

"Fuck," Hadley muttered.

Under the blanket, the bed was wrecked. A large damp stain spread across the sheets like a map. Strands of hair lay scattered across the fabric, the same color as Hadley's.

Watching the photographer leave as if his soul had come loose, Julian sighed.

"Some men need the evidence right in front of them before the truth finally lands."

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