Janet replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: "I'm not picking a Korean name for myself. I just suddenly thought Jenny would suit it perfectly." [TL/N: Ji-an = Intellectual and wise]
The two women had been standing on opposite sides of the long table piled with odds and ends. Now Janet circled around to Jennifer's side still utterly baffled and began whispering in her ear.
Simon caught fragments: Janet instructing Jennifer to keep a close eye on him back in the States, not to let him flirt with women, not to let him overwork himself, all delivered in the tone of a proper wife briefing her husband's favorite maid.
Jennifer had no idea what was going on. She listened to the instructions, cheeks faintly pink, sensing something off but unable to pinpoint it.
The phone on the coffee table rang.
Simon picked up. Anthony Johnston was calling the lunch at the mansion was ready.
With Simon leaving that afternoon, a family meal was inevitable.
Both women overheard the conversation. Janet smoothly hooked her arm through Jennifer's and said, "I've never had you over to my place. Perfect timing, come with us."
Jennifer glanced at Simon, smiled, and shook her head. "You two go ahead. I still have to finish packing these, and someone from the airport is coming for the luggage."
A personal assistant attending a Johnston family lunch might be fine, but given her current relationship with Simon, it would make everyone uncomfortable, herself included.
She didn't want to put Simon in an awkward position. Like Easter the month before, she preferred leaving him with a small pang of guilt.
The Johnston mansion was even livelier today than during Simon's first visit to Australia.
After that lunch, Veronica had stopped deliberately avoiding him; she was present today too. Janet's younger brother David had just returned from England that morning with his girlfriend. Add both Anthony's and Norman's families, and the long dining table was packed.
The only one Simon still hadn't met was Raymond Johnston's younger son, Patrick.
David Johnston was twenty-six, tall and thin like his father, wearing rimless glasses and giving off a scholarly air. He was currently pursuing a PhD in fluid dynamics at Cambridge.
His girlfriend, Leslie Wickett, was a junior at Cambridge, attractive, refined, with brown hair. She introduced herself as an undergraduate in architectural design with a minor in art history; she couldn't be more than twenty-two.
As Janet had once said, David definitely had a bookish streak.
When Simon asked about his research, David earnestly explained using fluid dynamics to model the movement of oil reservoirs thousands of meters underground. a torrent of technical terms that made Raymond Johnston frown.
Everyone else politely pretended to listen since David had brought a girlfriend home for the first time, but the old man had no such restraint. He soon interrupted: "What's the point of studying that? We don't have any oil fields for you to play with."
David clearly feared his father and shut up at once.
The table fell awkwardly silent.
Janet leaned closer to Simon, eyes flicking toward the girl beside David.
Simon understood: the old man wasn't pleased with David's choice.
Though Raymond had been warm toward Simon from the start, private conversations with Anthony, Janet, and the others and their behavior around the patriarch had always made clear that the old man had a temper.
Noticing Leslie Wickett's discomfort, Simon realized she was perceptive too.
Feeling responsible for the tension, he smoothed things over: "Actually, fluid dynamics has wide applications even in movie special effects. With fluid simulation, we can create realistic water and fire using CG, avoiding expensive practical shoots."
Raymond turned to him, tone softening. "When you're back in L.A., stay in touch with Tony. Don't let Janet run wild on her own."
Simon knew exactly what he meant and smiled. "I will. And honestly, Janet's better suited to managing that money than I am."
Raymond glanced at his daughter. "I know her temperament better than any of you. Without someone watching, she'll get into trouble."
Janet, carefully slicing a lamb chop, wrinkled her nose in protest but held her tongue in front of her father.
A few deflective remarks later, the awkwardness dissolved, and the table grew lively again.
Simon readily promised Norman Johnston's eight-year-old son Victor a Batcycle, only warning him not to ride it on real roads; too dangerous.
Under puzzled questioning from his father, the boy let slip that it was actually Anthony's eldest son, Brandon, who wanted one but was too embarrassed to ask Simon himself.
Anthony had married young, Janet said he'd dropped out of college halfway through after getting a girl pregnant. He now had one son and two daughters. Sixteen-year-old Sylvia and nine-year-old Chloe were both here; Brandon, Simon's age, had appeared a few times recently but was absent today.
Everyone now understood why.
Hearing his eldest grandson so "obsessed with toys," Raymond scolded Anthony again though far less harshly than he had David.
Lunch ended, and Simon lingered at the mansion until four before saying goodbye. Anthony and Janet saw him off to Melbourne's western airport, where a Boeing 767 waited on the runway.
Besides Simon and Jennifer, the last remaining Batman crew members in Melbourne were returning too. The film's Australian work was essentially complete.
The local branch staff would settle the tax rebate with the Victorian government roughly five million dollars that Simon planned to reinvest directly in Australian productions, like Jackson's Meet the Feebles.
On the tarmac, moments from parting, Janet clung to Simon and rattled off reminders: "I'll take good care of Cersei Capital, i promise I won't lose money. Whenever I miss you, I'll fly to L.A. You have to miss me too, and surprise visits would be even better, girls love surprises…"
Simon held her patiently, nodding now and then.
A few minutes later she paused, leaned in to nuzzle his cheek. He thought she was finally letting go when she suddenly nipped his earlobe and whispered, "Doesn't my aunt smell wonderful?"
She really was biting his ear.
The words hit him like ice water; he felt her teeth graze his lobe, a chill running down his spine. Afraid she might actually bite a chunk off, he kept his voice steady and smiled. "Yeah. You like it too, don't you?"
Seeing he didn't deny it, Janet released her little white teeth but stayed close, murmuring, "Little bastard. You think I can't tell? Aunt Veronica's uncomfortable around you. Women are sensitive about these things. She doesn't like it but can't really say anything."
"Well," Simon tickled her waist lightly, trying to distract her, "I'm sorry."
"Hmph," Janet squirmed but pressed on. "I warned you a long, long time ago, little bastard. Smelling is fine, absolutely, positively no other ideas."
Cold sweat prickled. Simon shook his head. "I swear to God, no."
Janet gave his waist a final pinch, then stepped back, all sunny smiles again as if the conversation had never happened. She waved. "Go on—everyone's waiting."
Simon watched her retreat, stepped forward, caught her, and kissed her. She responded naturally.
They tangled for several minutes. When they parted again, Janet's cheeks were flushed. Knowing they couldn't delay further, she gave him a gentle push toward the stairs, then returned to Anthony's side. The siblings stood together on the tarmac, watching Simon board the 767 as it taxied and soared into the clouds.
Forward cabin lounge.
Once the flight stabilized, Jennifer unbuckled, moved to Simon's side, noticed the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, and asked with concern, "You okay?"
Simon was still processing the earlier moment.
He'd thought he and Veronica had hidden it perfectly. Turns out Janet had seen through them long ago. Thankfully, she'd only misunderstood.
Still, the misunderstanding felt almost more embarrassing than the truth.
Hearing Jennifer's worry, he snapped out of it, unbuckled, patted his lap with a smile, and said to his assistant, "Come here."
Jennifer shot him a playful glare, but when he reached for her, she settled onto his lap, cheeks pink, body stiff, afraid someone might walk in.
Searching for a distraction, she finally asked, "So… what does 'Ji-an' actually mean?"
"It's Intellectual and wise," Simon said, lowering the tray table, grabbing a pencil, and writing two lines in running script on a blank section of a document. "Very poetic name."
Jennifer waited until he finished, studying the characters. She didn't know the poem but could appreciate the beauty of the calligraphy. "The writing's gorgeous. How do you read it?"
Simon read slowly, circling the characters for "Ji-an." "It's a landscape poem. A small village after early-spring cold rain. The poet rises at dawn—sky still dim, sun not yet up. Walking the countryside, rich flower scent hits him, signaling warming weather. Magpies call through the treetops, as if joyfully announcing a sunny day."
Jennifer leaned against him, fingers tracing the pencil strokes. "Just fourteen characters convey all that?"
Simon nodded. "Yes—that's the hallmark of that country's classical culture."
"I guess I should learn some Korean, or I'll never understand anything when you and Janet talk."
"I'll teach you."
"You have time?"
"Time is made. Look, we can start right now."
"Hehe."
They murmured together. Jennifer had just relaxed into sitting on his lap when the lounge door was knocked. She bolted upright like a startled rabbit.
It was a flight attendant greeting Simon and eagerly asking if he needed anything.
Feeling the woman's blatant gaze, Simon simply requested coffee and sent her away.
The earlier intimacy couldn't resume. Jennifer returned to her seat, lips curved in a smile but ignoring Simon's beckoning glances, pretending to organize documents.
Simon flipped open the file he'd just written on.
It was Ira Deutchman's distribution report on Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains. Ira still reported directly to Simon personally; whether for Gaumont releases or awards-season PR, he sent regular summaries.
Today was Saturday, April 29.
Gaumont's third release of the year, The Fabulous Stains, had opened April 22.
Compared to Working Girl and Mystic Pizza, it launched small: Ira focused promotion in art-house-friendly New York with just thirty-five screens.
Despite mining every possible hook and earning unanimous critical praise, the teen-bullying drama took in only $260,000 its opening weekend—$7,500 per screen.
Many blockbusters hit $60,000–$70,000 per screen in previews. At thirty-five screens and failing to crack $10,000 average, expansion wasn't justified.
At current pace, North American total would hover around one million, well below the three-million budget. Definite loss.
It would be Daenerys's second money-loser this year.
Ira's report concluded the failure stemmed mainly from mismatched subject and audience.
The protagonists were high-schoolers, aimed at teens yet most teens didn't want art-house dramas. Older art-house viewers (eighteen-plus) had little interest in the subject matter.
Those factors doomed it.
The Fabulous Stains was a New World holdover. Ira had done all he could; the flop wasn't on distribution. He also recommended Daenerys avoid similar subjects going forward.