Duke's taxi ride kicked up a cloud of reddish dust as it crunched to a halt on the outskirts of the Easy Rider set, a temporary encampment of trailers and trucks huddled against the vast, indifferent swamp.
He found Peter Fonda alone at a rickety picnic table scarred with cigarette burns, pushing a congealed mass of scrambled eggs around a paper plate with a plastic fork.
The tension around Fonda was a visible force field, heavy on the air.
He didn't look up as Duke's shadow fell over the table.
"Hey man, he's difficult, I know," Fonda said, the words sounding rehearsed, a mantra he'd been repeating to himself and anyone who would listen.
"A fucking nightmare on two legs some days." He finally gestured with his fork for Duke to sit. "But this film… it's not just in his head, no one else could make it. It has to be Dennis. It has to be."
Duke sat, his posture relaxed but alert. He said nothing, letting Fonda fill the silence.
"If he goes over schedule," Fonda continued, his eyes fixed on his plate, "I'll cover it. My share. If he fights with the crew, I'll smooth it over. But this is his picture. You have to understand that. You also send another producer here and that kid Spielberg has defied on set several times too."
Duke listened, his expression a mask of neutral assessment. "And what about the Rip Torn situation?" he asked, his voice even, referring to the acclaimed actor who had stormed off set after a physical altercation with Hopper.
Fonda let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire production. "Disappointing. A professional of his caliber should be able to… handle Dennis. Navigate the storm. But in a way, it's a blessing. Jack Nicholson is stepping in. You'll meet him. He gets it." He finally lifted his gaze to meet Duke's.
The weariness in his eyes was profound. "The crew is in problems, I know, but they'll hold. They have to. Dennis can handle them."
He took a sip of cold coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly, the conversation shifting from explanation to something more nuanced, a subtle testing of boundaries.
"You know, my father… he's been in this business a long time. He's seen a lot of people come and go. He says Hollywood eats the young, especially the ones who come in thinking they can change the rules overnight."
He let the comment hang, a not-so-subtle reminder of his own lineage and Duke's status as a man who had just barely joined the industry. "It's a town built on relationships. On knowing who to trust, who can deliver."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping, although there was no one else around to hear.
"Also Roger Corman… called me. Just to check in. He's always admired this project. Said if for any reason our current distribution plan… faltered… he'd be more than happy to step in."
Duke didn't react with anger or bluster. He didn't feel the need to assert his authority with volume. He simply held Fonda's gaze, his blue eyes calm and impossibly steady.
"Peter," he said, his voice a low, measured counterpoint to Fonda's anxious energy. "I didn't buy a script., I bough a vision, I trust that vision resided with you and Dennis,"
He paused, letting the words settle. "I am paying a considerable premium on the performance of this crew, and of Dennis and whether i send one, two or even 15 producers to this set, that's none of your problem. Control your friend or I will enforce the contract, I don't care about the conections you or your father have in this industry. A contract is a contract."
"Also, from what i have heard Roger Corman is a fine filmmaker, but he wouldn't have invested even half of what I gave this production for budget. Now, I suggest we all focus on finishing this production."
He didn't wait for a reply, standing up from the table. "The schedule is the schedule. The budget is the budget. I'll go meet my producers."
Later, as the sun climbed higher, Duke found Mark Jensen and Steven Spielberg huddled in the scant shade of a camera truck, a makeshift oasis far away from the epicenter of Hopper's frenetic direction.
Spielberg, looked tired, his clothes damp with sweat and his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and surprised as he saw him approaching.
Jensen just looked furious, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"He's burning film," Jensen muttered as Duke approached, his voice tight. "Twenty-five takes for a simple shot of them just riding down the road. He's chasing a specific shot, and he's burning a hundred thousand dollars of our money to do it. There's no shot list, no storyboard."
Spielberg nodded vigorously, his words tumbling out in a rushed, hushed whisper. "The coverage is… it's insane. There's no plan. How do you build a movie like this? Even if we take the shots away, how do we cut this together?"
Duke observed Hopper across the clearing, a whirlwind of gesticulating arms and shouted commands, the crew scrambling around him like nervous ants.
He turned back to his two producers.
"Your job," Duke said, his voice low and firm, cutting through their frustration, "is not to like his style. Your job is not to replicate it. Your job is to ensure the production stays within the budgetary and scheduling."
"Peter has chosen to provide the cover for hopper. So just be on the lookout to avoid Hooper getting out of control again."
He looked at Spielberg. "Watch and learn what not to do. And you," he said to Jensen, "you keep the log of every dollar, every day. You are my boots on the ground accountants."
---
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Duke's office as he came back from his trip from Louisiana the day after being on set.
David Chen stood before his desk waiting for his arrival, his posture as impeccably composed as ever.
"The response from Martin Goodman arrived via courier twenty minutes ago," Chen stated, his voice devoid of inflection.
He placed the letter on the polished wood before Duke. "The Marvel board has formally and unanimously rejected our offer of three-point-eight million for a fifty-one percent controlling interest."
Duke didn't reach for the letter. His eyes remained fixed on Chen. "Their counter-proposal?"
"There was none," Chen replied. "It was a flat, absolute refusal. The language is… dismissive. Goodman asserts that Marvel Comics is not for sale, particularly not to what he termed, and I quote, 'a Hollywood dilettante with more money than sense.'."
Duke leaned back, the leather of his chair sighing softly. "Such a weird rejection, why would someone reject an acquisition offer so rudely. What is their vulnerability?"
Chen allowed a ghost of a smile to touch his lips.
"Their shareholder structure is their primary weakness. Ownership is highly fragmented. A significant portion is held by small, individual investors doctors, lawyers, retirees who bought in during the comic boom of the early sixties and have watched their investment stagnate."
"The board's resistance, I suspect, is not universally shared by those who actually hold their private stock certificates."
He paused, letting the analysis settle before delivering his recommendation.
"I propose we bypass the fortress walls entirely. We launch a tender offer. We go directly to the shareholders with a public offer to purchase their shares at a significant premium to the current market price let's propose a twenty-five percent premium."
"Our goal remains the same: a controlling fifty-one percent stake. We make the offer contingent on achieving that threshold."
He met Duke's gaze squarely. "It is a hostile maneuver. It will be perceived on Wall Street and in the industry as a direct, aggressive attack. It will burn any possibility of a friendly relationship with the current management."
"There will be negative press, accusations of corporate raiding. But it is, I believe, the most direct and likely path to our objective. We appeal not to the board's reason, but to the shareholders' greed."
Duke considered the implications. A hostile takeover was more than a business transaction; it was a public spectacle.
He thought of the Marvel characters Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, the X-Men, all machines to make money.
"Do it," Duke authorized, his voice low and absolute, leaving no room for second thoughts. "Prepare the tender offer. Structure it to be as compelling as possible for the small investor."
"Let's see how committed Martin Goodman's shareholders are to his principles when they are presented with a twenty-five percent return on a stagnant asset. It's time to see who really owns Marvel."
He stood, turning to look out the window at the sprawling city. "I want more than just the tender offer prepared. I want a dive into Goodman's motivations. Find out if there are other players. If he's promised the company to someone else. I want to know it."
Chen gave a sharp, approving nod. "Understood."
---
This week has gone horrible. Lets hope my luck improves next week. Just came back from taking my dog to the vet.(He's fine now)