After a brief exchange, Mel Gibson excused himself. Terry Semel watched him go and said, "Simon, did you watch those copies I sent over of Mel's films?"
Simon did not answer directly. "Terry, I've already told you—I have no intention of casting an A-list star as Bruce Wayne."
Lately Simon had begun auditioning actors for Batman.
As the project's primary stakeholder, Warner was deeply invested and had proactively recommended their top choice for the role: last year's Lethal Weapon star, Mel Gibson.
Terry Semel took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and gestured for Simon and Janet to help themselves. "Simon, a lot of directors start out thinking exactly like you—no stars, fresh faces, real talent, and so on. Then, when the agencies actually send over the people they've been praising, the director's reaction is usually 'Who are these people?' and they end up going with a star anyway."
"I'm not opposed to stars in principle," Simon replied, shaking his head. "But you're overlooking one thing: Batman himself is already a massive 'star,' just like Superman. Before the original Superman films, no one knew Christopher Reeve, yet that didn't hurt the box office at all. On the contrary, the huge fees paid to Marlon Brando and others added little discernible boost."
"But without a star, how do we market it?" Semel pressed earnestly. "Simon, we need an entry point."
"If Warner insists," Simon said, pointing to himself, "how about Westeros? Winner of the Academy Award for Best Film Editing."
Semel could not help a wry smile and shake of his head. "All right—how about this: I'll arrange a meeting between you and Mel. You two can talk it through. Compared to the production budget you're planning, his asking price isn't high. I honestly don't understand why you're so resistant to stars."
Simon hesitated, then said, "Terry, Warner will find out eventually, so I might as well tell you now. I intend to sign the actor who plays Batman to a long-term contract—one in which Daenerys holds full control, with no risk of holdouts or exorbitant demands for sequels. Gibson would never agree to those terms."
Semel considered this. "Like the deal you just signed with Julia Roberts?"
Simon was unsurprised that Semel knew; among studio heads, Hollywood held few secrets. "Exactly, Terry. Five films. Anyone who wants to play Bruce Wayne has to commit to five."
"Simon, I'm impressed by your confidence. Apart from the Bond series, Hollywood rarely sustains a franchise beyond a trilogy—everyone accepts the 'trilogy curse.' Are you certain Batman can reach five?"
"No one can guarantee the future, Terry," Simon said, shaking his head. "But I believe Batman has the potential to become a long-running series. Since that possibility is strong, I want to prepare thoroughly in advance."
Semel's expression shifted for a moment before he gave a rueful smile. "It seems Warner has little chance of ever regaining the Batman rights. And I assume you have the same plan for Superman?"
"Correct." With both Superman and Batman firmly in hand, Simon saw no need to hide it. "When the time is right, I'll put Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent onscreen together. Batman v Superman, Terry—what do you think?"
Semel looked at him steadily. "I think we need to renegotiate our contracts."
Simon smiled. "Maybe. But right now the priority is making the first Batman great. And on that note, I have to be honest again, Terry—Batman won't make next summer. I've realized that realizing certain ideas will require six months or more to solve technical challenges. We'll start shooting early next year, and post-production will take considerably longer than most films."
"Simon, I'm beginning to feel I made a very big mistake."
Simon adopted an innocent expression. "I can only say I'm sorry, Terry."
As time passed, more guests arrived, and soon Simon and Semel parted to mingle separately.
Half an hour later, while Simon was talking with Sandra and several key creatives from Dangerous Liaisons, Terry Semel returned with a couple. Simon immediately recognized the tall, silver-haired man as Warner's current chairman and CEO, Steve Ross.
Without waiting for introductions, Ross extended his hand with an open smile. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Simon. Tonight I finally get the chance. And congratulations on the Oscar—Best Editing may seem modest, but it's actually the rarest achievement. Few directors in Hollywood can prove themselves in editing. Best Director, I'm sure, will be yours in due course."
"Thank you, Mr. Ross. I'm delighted to meet you as well. Warner has always been a company I greatly admire."
After mutual compliments, the others tactfully withdrew. Janet joined Ross's wife, Courtney, elsewhere, leaving Simon and Ross to settle into a booth.
Once drinks arrived, Ross continued, "Terry just told me some of your ideas for Superman and Batman. Even though you've got the rights locked up, Warner very much wants these films to succeed. My question is—are you still interested in DC?"
Simon nodded. "Of course, Steve. If Warner is willing to sell DC to me, I can offer a very attractive price."
"No, no, no," Ross said at once, shaking his head. "Simon, I hate selling company assets. To this day I regret selling MTV to Viacom during a moment of difficulty. Its growth since has only underlined my mistake. So I'm not selling DC to you—but we could trade."
"Warner wants a stake in Daenerys Films?"
"Exactly." Ross acknowledged it openly. "I've reviewed your company's materials, Simon. What Daenerys lacks most right now is a powerful distributor, and Warner can provide that. You have substantial capital, but in Hollywood distribution channels aren't something money alone can solve."
"What's the specific proposal?"
"You want DC—I'll give it to you, valued at fifty million dollars," Ross said. "In exchange, I value Daenerys at two hundred million. Including DC, Warner invests an additional one hundred twenty-five million for seventy percent of the merged entity. The new company remains under your sole operational control, and you agree not to leave Daenerys to start something new for five years."
Though Daenerys had numerous projects underway, strictly speaking only When Harry Met Sally had proven itself a clear success; last year's Final Destination was still considered a Fox title.
Thus, for Ross—who had no knowledge of the true commercial potential of Rain Man, Dead Poets Society, or the vast library of properties Daenerys held—a two-hundred-million valuation was remarkably generous. It also meant Warner would share the roughly one hundred million in debt Daenerys carried.
Valuing DC at fifty million was equally fair; Simon's own recent feeler to Time Warner had been exactly that figure.
Moreover, Simon had never intended to keep Daenerys private indefinitely. If necessary, he would bring in investors or take it public.
But not now.
He had labored to build Daenerys's foundation; he would not surrender seventy percent just as the first flowers bloomed.
When Ross finished, Simon shook his head. "I'm sorry, Steve. I'm not opposed to partnering with others in principle, but not at this stage. In two or three years, perhaps, I could let Warner become a shareholder."
"I understand your thinking," Ross said with regret but comprehension. "Then how about this: we sign a package distribution deal. Warner handles worldwide distribution for all Daenerys productions over the next three years. In exchange, Daenerys agrees to allow Warner to co-finance select projects."
Simon caught the sharp glint in Ross's eyes and realized this was likely the man's true objective tonight.
Anyone with sense knew that, given Simon's current wealth, he would not sell Daenerys now.
Yet after When Harry Met Sally's success, the majors had clearly begun reassessing the potential of Daenerys's slate.
Roughly half the studio's announced films already had distribution partners. The remaining half—should even one more break one hundred million domestically—would make securing the entire package worthwhile for any major.
In this era, the industry averaged fewer than seven domestic hundred-million grossers per year—one per major, if they were lucky—yet those films generated the bulk of studio profits.
Ross's strategy was transparent.
The renowned dealmaker had opened with a generous but certain-to-be-refused offer. Once rejected—as it inevitably would be—he smoothly pivoted to another apparently generous proposal.
Having turned down the first, a second refusal would make Simon seem ungracious, even arrogant.
But Simon was not, in truth, the inexperienced twenty-year-old he appeared.
He shook his head again without hesitation. "I can only apologize again, Steve. Daenerys wants to try building its own distribution capability. We both know relying entirely on others for distribution is unwise."
Ross showed mild surprise at the swift refusal but kept his composure. "Very well. It seems we won't reach a deal tonight. But if you change your mind, call me anytime." He handed Simon a business card, then added, "Or call Terry. For now, let me introduce you to a few friends. Steven should be here—you two will have plenty to talk about."
Ross and Steven Spielberg were close; Spielberg would later dedicate Schindler's List, his Best Director winner, to Ross.
Simon's face lit with genuine interest. "Of course. I'd love to speak with Mr. Spielberg."
They rose as if the negotiation had never happened and, like old friends, plunged back into the party together.
Simon and Janet did not leave until nearly midnight.
Sandra unapologetically hitched a ride, so the limousine first detoured to Beverly Hills to drop her off before heading onto Sunset Boulevard.
Though Simon had purchased the Palisades mansion, he no longer stayed there. He and Janet returned instead to Malibu.
It was late, but the thirty-odd kilometers passed quickly. When the limousine stopped outside the Dume Point estate just after one a.m., Janet—flushed from several drinks at the party, whether genuinely tipsy or merely playful—clung to Simon like a child. He carried her princess-style from the car into the villa.
Setting her on the sofa, Simon smiled at the sight of her cuddling the Oscar, eyes heavy-lidded. "Want to take a shower first?"
"No," Janet said, waving the statuette at him before setting it aside and opening her arms. "Simon."
Unguarded, he leaned in with a smile. She pulled him close, and just as he moved to kiss her, her small white teeth sank into his shoulder.