Lately, she'd found herself unconsciously paying attention to all sorts of things related to Simon. Courtney Cox listened as Meg Ryan claimed she wasn't interested in Simon's movies, but she quickly recalled the woman's role as the confirmed female lead in When Harry Met Sally.
So she felt a bit of disdain.
If she wasn't interested in his films, why bother starring in When Harry Met Sally? Even though he wasn't directing or writing it himself, he'd definitely be taking on the most powerful producer position.
Jonathan Friedman watched Meg Ryan leave before turning to Courtney and asking, "Have you seen Simon?"
Courtney nodded, her face tinged with regret. "He's a bit busy right now."
Jonathan looked at the girl in front of him, pausing for a moment before speaking in his usual gentle tone. "Well, make sure to find more chances to chat with him later. After all, you two were among the first to meet."
Having worked in this industry for over twenty years, Jonathan had seen too many actors miss out on opportunities. Still, he couldn't help but feel a pang about the twists of fate.
If Courtney had seized her chance back then, things would surely be different now.
Among Jonathan's clients, Sandra Bullock had skyrocketed to fame with Run Lola Run, and Elizabeth Shue had risen to A-list status with The Butterfly Effect. Both women were around the same age and type as Courtney Cox, and now with Nicole Kidman, whom Simon had just recommended, it was clear he wouldn't be investing much more effort in Courtney.
The two chatted a bit more as dusk quietly enveloped everything around them. Lights flickered on, truly illuminating a world of glitz and glamour.
A crisp ding ding ding echoed from the direction of the villa, and everyone at the party quickly fell silent.
Jonathan and Courtney turned toward the sound together. Simon was standing under the eaves of the corridor leading from the villa to the backyard, holding a glass of champagne. Once he'd drawn everyone's attention, he handed the spoon he'd been tapping against the glass to a nearby waiter and began his welcoming speech for the evening's party in a clear voice.
Aside from Final Destination, which was filming far away in New York, the casts and crews of Run Lola Run, The Butterfly Effect, Pulp Fiction, and When Harry Met Sally were all here—leads, supporting actors, behind-the-scenes staff—along with invited personnel from WMA, Orion, Fox, and other companies, plus the guests' companions. In total, over two hundred people were attending the party.
At that moment, hundreds of eyes were fixed on the young man under the eaves, the air thick with a swirl of complex emotions.
Though Run Lola Run and The Butterfly Effect had achieved unexpected box office success one after another, strictly speaking, Simon's influence in Hollywood was still limited compared to his fame. Many viewed the ambitious three-film slate from Daenerys Films as having an uncertain future.
Perhaps by next year, the young man at the center of everyone's gaze would come to realize that no one in Hollywood succeeds forever.
But.
No one could ignore one key fact: Simon Westeros was only nineteen years old.
A nineteen-year-old who, in just one year, had directed and written films that grossed over $300 million at the North American box office—a feat unprecedented in Hollywood history. Moreover, the cinematic talent he'd displayed in those two films surpassed most directors in the industry. No one doubted that, in the long years ahead, Simon had plenty of chances to create more box office miracles like Run Lola Run.
And most importantly.
With just Run Lola Run, while many his age were still clueless about their futures, Simon had already amassed tens of millions in wealth—enough to spark envy and awe in countless people.
The high-salary trend in Hollywood had only surged in recent years, driven by the industry's expansion and the push from agencies. So Simon's haul of over $40 million from Run Lola Run, even after hefty taxes, easily outstripped the total fortunes accumulated over years by most A-list stars.
In the Hollywood rat race, everyone was chasing just two things: fame and fortune.
And this young man had achieved both at nineteen—things that many might chase their whole lives and never attain.
After Simon's brief thank-you speech, the night's revelry officially kicked off.
The open area on the opposite side of the pool from the villa had been turned into a dance floor. The music in the air grew even livelier, and people shuttled back and forth between the villa and the yard, creating a bustling scene.
Simon and Janet made the rounds through the crowd for socializing, and before they knew it, over half an hour had passed.
Back inside the villa, he was sitting on the sofa chatting with Sandra, Nicole, and the others, taking a moment to rest, when Kathryn approached with two more people: Dino De Laurentiis, the boss of De Laurentiis Entertainment, and president Martha Schumacher.
After greetings, Dino De Laurentiis said, "Simon, can we talk privately?"
Simon studied the man's expression, guessing what it might be about, and nodded. "Sure, Dino. Let's go to the study."
Seeing Simon had business, Janet stood up and said to the others, "In that case, everyone, come check out my studio. I've had some good inspiration lately and finished several new paintings."
Dino De Laurentiis noticed Janet was about to lead the group away and added, "Miss Johnston, perhaps you could join us too."
Janet blinked but just smiled. "Simon can handle it. His decision is mine."
With that, Janet led Sandra, Nicole, and the rest away, pulling Catherine along too, heading to her studio in the villa.
Simon took Dino De Laurentiis and Martha Schumacher to the study he usually used for guests.
As Simon had suspected, Dino's goal was the massive profits he and Janet had earned from Run Lola Run.
Since its release on June 19, Near Dark had grossed $11.56 million in its opening week, far exceeding De Laurentiis Entertainment's expectations.
Thanks to Simon's involvement, the film's technical aspects like cinematography were top-notch, but the story was ultimately too mediocre. Based on recent trends, the final box office would likely land between $30 and $40 million.
Compared to the $5 million production cost, that was an impressive result. But even including pre-sales from later distribution channels, the profits wouldn't be enough to pull the blindly overexpanded De Laurentiis Entertainment back from the brink of bankruptcy.
Now in his seventies, Dino De Laurentiis had been a producer since Hollywood's Golden Age and had some reputation in the industry.
In 1983, he reorganized his long-running De Laurentiis Films into De Laurentiis Entertainment Group, riding the wave of North America's booming economy and Reagan-era support for media to expand rapidly.
Since its founding, DEG had acquired other small film companies, built a production base in North Carolina, and pumped out over twenty films in just a few years, including big-budget ones like Arnold Schwarzenegger's Raw Deal and Diane Keaton's Crimes of the Heart, as well as acclaimed works like David Lynch's Blue Velvet.
Yet the highest-grossing among them was Crimes of the Heart with Diane Keaton, pulling in $22 million domestically—but on a $20 million budget. The others mostly earned just a few million.
Orion Pictures, which had produced and distributed hits like The Terminator, First Blood, and Amadeus, had nearly faced takeover last year. One could only imagine the dire straits of DEG, which had invested in over twenty films without a single blockbuster.
Dino De Laurentiis clearly wasn't ready to admit defeat, so he hoped Simon would inject capital into DEG to save it from bankruptcy.
Eighty million dollars for 25% equity.
That was Dino's offer, and he promised to help distribute films from Daenerys Films.
Simon had indeed been thinking about how to build a distribution network for Daenerys Films. Acquiring another company to gain a ready-made team was the best option. But right now, none of Hollywood's second- or third-tier studios appealed to him.
DEG had managed to slot Near Dark into the prime summer season, so its distribution muscle was stronger than upstarts like New Line or Miramax. But there was no way Simon would shell out $80 million for just 25% ownership.
As for the majors, even the struggling MGM would fetch $1.5 billion—way out of his reach.
So lately, Simon had been leaning more toward going it alone.
North American theaters were dominated by the Big Seven, but if Daenerys Films could consistently churn out hits, breaking into the domestic market wouldn't be too hard. Overseas would have to come step by step.
Thus, Simon could only turn down Dino De Laurentiis's partnership proposal.
They talked for about twenty minutes, but seeing he couldn't sway Simon, Dino and Martha Schumacher left disappointed.
Simon walked them out of the study and stopped at the corridor entrance near the living room. He flagged down a waiter, took a glass of wine from the tray, and leaned quietly against the wall, taking in the scene.
Most of the lights in the living room had been turned off, with an old phonograph playing soft music. Guests stood or sat around, while pairs of men and women slow-danced in the center, wrapped in each other's arms.
...
Not liking the noise out back, she'd slipped in here instead. After turning down a few advances, things had finally quieted down.
She sat alone on the sofa in the corner, nursing a glass of red wine, occasionally wondering where he might be right now.
Then she saw him appear.
Leaning at the corridor entrance, half-hidden in the shadows, holding a glass of champagne, looking thoughtful.
Clearly, he hadn't noticed her.
Yeah, I'm just an unremarkable girl like that.
She thought with a touch of melancholy.
So she kept watching him, a mix of worry and hope that he'd spot her.
Minutes passed.
Still unnoticed.
Instead of disappointment, she felt a surge of tenderness.
For some reason, she could sense it clearly: when he was quiet, a profound loneliness enveloped him, as if he were cut off from everything around him—like he was just an observer, not really part of this world.
She'd felt that vibe from him during their first encounter on Venice Beach. But back then, they were strangers; she couldn't just walk up and ask, Hey, are you okay?
Now.
She rose without thinking, approaching him a bit awkwardly, and said softly, "Hey, you... want to dance?"
Simon turned at the voice and saw Jennifer Rebould in a light blue silk evening gown. Today, she hadn't tied her hair in a ponytail; her loose blonde waves covered her graceful neck.
After graduating from Yale in May, Jennifer Rebould had come to Los Angeles to work at George Norman's law firm. Simon had actually seen the girl more than once since then, but mostly for work matters. This was their first private encounter today.
Hearing her, Simon smiled and nodded. "Sure."
He set his glass aside casually, extended his hand to Jennifer, and led her to the dance floor. Mimicking the others, he placed his hands on her slender waist, and she draped her arms over his shoulders, eyes downcast, swaying gently to his lead.
Seeing her shy expression, Simon smiled and broke the ice. "How's your prep for the bar exam going?"
Though she had her JD, Jennifer wasn't a full lawyer yet—she needed to pass the July California bar to get her license.
With his hands on her waist, she felt like a little deer caught in a trap, desperate to flee but stuck. Hearing his question, she lifted her head briefly before dropping it again, murmuring, "I don't know if I can be a good lawyer."
"Of course you can," Simon said without hesitation. "You're a Yale grad. If you can't, then hardly anyone in the country qualifies."
"I mean," she paused, thinking, "I might not be able to treat it purely as a job, like my parents or uncle do."
Simon caught her vague explanation and understood.
In America, lawyers were among the highest-paid professions, with easy paths into politics or business. But to be a top one, you often had to set aside personal justice, fighting solely for your client's interests—whether they were a pedophile or a murderer.
Pondering that, Simon said after a moment, "Jen, how about coming to work for me instead?"
Jennifer paused, suddenly looking up before blushing and dropping her gaze again. "Me? You? What kind of work?"
Simon grinned. "My assistant."
She immediately thought of those recent rumors about him—like making an actress his secretary at the company. Her cheeks flushed deeper, but she couldn't help saying, "I'm not too familiar with Hollywood stuff. I don't know if I'd do well."
Simon kept smiling. "Then it's settled. I've actually been looking for an assistant lately, but no one's been a good fit."
Seeing his eager expression, she felt like a little white rabbit pinned by the big bad wolf—or Little Red Riding Hood tricked by the wolf in grandma's clothes.
Either way, the kind with a pretty grim ending.
Yet strangely, she didn't want to resist.
There was even a bit of anticipation.
So she asked, "Really okay?"
"Of course," Simon nodded. "A lot of Hollywood execs started as lawyers, like Disney's president Frank Wells. Maybe someday you could be president of Daenerys Films."
That eased her mind, and she smiled, glancing up at him. "What about Amy?"
"Amy's due for a promotion."
"And you?"
"I'm the boss. Ideally, I wouldn't have to work at all."
"Truly lazy."
"Heh, remember to remind me to add a clause in the contract: mocking the boss means a pay cut."
"No way I'm reminding you."
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