Duke Hauser sat in the back of his customized Cadillac Fleetwood, a bottle of sparkling water in his hand, wondering who even bought sparkling water bottles to fill his car fridge.
Tonight was an important industry event, and a Paramount Pictures coronation day.
He looked out the tinted window at the fans pressing against velvet ropes.
Beside him, Lynda was wearing a flowing emerald green, she was noticeably quiet, her energy dampened by the strict diet for her upcoming role. Duke reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
This month marked a year of them dating.
"You look like a million bucks," Duke said, suddenly remembering that time PinkPantheress got told the same compliment reporter.
Lynda offered a faint smile, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I feel a little lightheaded, honestly. This Wonder Woman regimen is no joke. I haven't seen a carbohydrate in what feels like three weeks."
Duke chuckled, he has also been cutting on some food to avoid Lynda seeing him eat delicious food. "It'll be worth it. But tonight, you don't have to worry about any of that. Tonight, you're just a beautiful woman at the Academy Awards, and we're going to celebrate Paramount success."
As the car stopped at the end of the red carpet, the door was pulled open by a white-gloved attendant.
Duke stepped out first, adjusting his tuxedo, then turned to offer Lynda his hand.
The red carpet was a chaos of flashing bulbs, and shouted questions.
Duke navigated it, without a hitch, stopping with Lynda in front of the cameras to let her pictures be taken and wait on a side while Lynda accepted questions. Some reporters wanted to ask Duke question but he just ignored them.
Robert Evans was already near the entrance, in his oversized glasses and an indulgent smile. When Evans spotted Duke, he broke away from a cluster of reporters and practically sprinted over, wrapping Duke in a hug.
"Duke! We're going to absolutely crush the other studios tonight!" Evans shouted over the crowd. "Ten for the Corleones, ten for Cabaret!"
Duke laughed, slapping Evans on the back. "Let's get inside and find our seats."
Stepping into the lobby of the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion once more, he felt way less nervous than any other time, The Godfather was his confidence.
As he and Lynda made their way down the aisles to their front-row seats, Duke made a point to warmly greet people, shaking hands with studio heads and producers with an open demeanor.
He harbored no ill will.
He believed a rising tide lifted all boats, and a reliable Hollywood was good for Paramount.
Of course, Paramount was a dreadnought compared with other studios.
He helped Lynda into her seat, and hummed in a low sound, 'Waterloo' by ABBA as the lights began to dim.
The ceremony began with all the standard pomp.
Paramount had 3 heavy hitters in this year slate.
Cabaret, a Weimar era musical about a love triangle and debauchery where by the end, nazis get in power, that had got 10 nominations. An Academy favorite.
Lady Sings the Blues, a biographical drama about the tragic life and rise of jazz legend Billie Holiday, her struggles with addiction and the racism of her era. An emotional biopic that secured 5 nominations.
The Godfather, a cinematic masterpiece that redefined the crime genre by explaining the corrosive power of legacy, it earned 11 Academy Award nominations but one nomination got disqualified.
The Academy withdrew the nomination after discovering Nino Rota had reused portions of his theme from his own score for the 1958 Italian comedy film Fortunella
As the early technical awards were announced, Cabaret secured wins for Best Art Direction, Best Sound, and Best Cinematography.
Each time a Paramount Film name was called, Duke stood, clapping enthusiastically, his face wearing a grin.
He wasn't just happy for the studio's bottom line, he was happy for the crew who poured their souls into these projects.
As the night progressed, the heavy-hitting categories arrived, and the tension grew.
Bob Fosse's brilliant direction for Cabaret earned him Best Director.
Liza Minnelli won Best Actress. Joel Grey won Best Supporting Actor.
But hovering over all of this was the monumental presence of The Godfather. Francis Ford Coppola had crafted a masterpiece, and the industry knew it.
Duke's mind was focused on Best Actor. He knew Marlon Brando intended to use the platform to make a political statement about the treatment of Native Americans.
Duke respected the cause, but his primary duty was to his studio and ensuring the narrative of the night remained focused on the cinema side, not a chaotic spectacle.
Duke had prepared Evans for this scenario.
They'd wargamed the evening before planning.
When the presenters opened the envelope and read Marlon Brando's name, the Paramount side erupted in a standing ovation.
But Duke's eyes darted to the aisle. He watched, as a young woman in traditional native attire began making her way down the stairs.
Sacheen Littlefeather.
At the exact same moment, Evans moving with agility that most wouldn't expect coming from him, detached himself from his seat and moved fast toward the stage.
A coordinated interception. Duke leaned back, a small smile on his lips, hoping for the plan to work.
Evans quickly bypassed a confused Littlefeather, and got on the stage, receiving the award and thanking the studio.
Littlefeather still went up still not understanding what was happening, she just wanted to give her speech and pointed to the microphone, with Evans right there. The crowd murmured, confused.
Littlefeather held up her hand, refusing to touch the statuette in Evans hand, and began to speak, her voice trembling, explaining Brando's reasons for declining the award.
One of the presenters, tried to take the award while Littlefeather explained her cause, but Evans rejected it, "This Oscar belongs to the studio. Brando doesn't have the right to reject it, without consulting with us."
Later The Godfather finally won Best Picture, and Evans was the loudest person as he celebrated.
Finally the ceremony ended, Duke stood, offering his arm to Lynda.
"We did it," he whispered. "Ten years from now, people will still be talking about this night."
Paramount 3 films, The Godfather, Cabaret, and Lady Sings the Blues earned a combined total of 11 Academy Awards.
Of course that sounded like that meme, about China and Albania.
After all, Lady Sing the Blues didn't won anything.
They made their way through the crowded aisles, accepting a barrage of handshakes, backslaps, and congratulations.
The ballroom of the Beverly Hilton was transformed into a world of floral arrangements, and crystal chandeliers.
As they reached a quieter alcove, Lynda turned to him, her face pale. "Duke," she said, barely a whisper. "I need to go home. The room is spinning, and I don't feel so good, I might pass out right here."
Duke's expression softened into concern. He reached out, gently squezing her hand. "Say no more. Your health is more important than any party."
He signaled to his security, Russel, who materialized instantly. "Get the car ready. Make sure Lynda gets home safely. See if you can buy some broth for her along the way."
He turned back to Lynda, kissing her, ignoring the paparazzi snapping photos. "Go rest, I'll be home as soon as I finish shaking some people's hands."
Lynda smiled, a little tired, and walked out.
Left to his own devices, Duke moved through the room, trying to decide whether to just directly leave or not.
He spotted Bob Evans deep in conversation with a young woman in a far corner.
He approached the main bar to order a scotch, when his path was deliberately blocked by two familiar figures.
Frank Wells, the president of Warner Brothers, and John Calley, Warner's head of production, stood before him, holding champagne, smiling.
"Duke Hauser," Wells said, slightly too loud a little drunk. "Congratulations on a historic night."
"Thank you, Frank. John, a pleasure to see you both." Duke's voice dripped with warm. He took his scotch, and took a slow sip, perfectly comfortable in the silence.
Calley leaned in, eyes scanning the room. "We were just remarking, Duke, how remarkable what you've achieved is. When you took over Paramount, the studio was a rudderless ship. Now? Ten nominations each for two vastly different films? A good year for Paramount."
Duke chuckled. "I simply believe in backing talent and giving them the freedom to execute their vision, John. Basic respect for the art, paired with disciplined financials. And a lot of hard work."
Wells laughed, "Basic respect and discipline. If only it were that easy. But speaking of challenges, how are you feeling about the looming Writers Guild strike? John Furia Jr. is whipping the membership into a frenzy over home video residuals and cable rights."
Duke took another slow sip, his expression calm. "I'm not losing sleep over it. Writers are vital to our industry. If they need to strike to secure their future, we'll sit down, negotiate hard, and find a compromise."
Both Wells and Calley seemed taken aback by Duke's unbothered attitude. Calley exchanged a significant look with Wells before turning back.
"It's that kind of forward-thinking leadership that makes Paramount successful, Duke. Frankly, there are times we wonder what it would be like to operate in that environment. If there's ever an opening on your executive structure, we wouldn't mind joining the Paramount team."
Duke smiled, amused by the blatant courtship. "I'm flattered, gentlemen. Truly. But my team is set for the foreseeable future."
Before Wells or Calley could press further, a new figure smoothly inserted himself into their circle, rescuing Duke from the awkward posturing.
James T. Aubrey the notorious president of MGM, known as the 'Smiling Cobra' for his ruthless budget-slashing and cold demeanor.(actual nickname)
"Frank. John." Aubrey said. "I hope you don't mind, but I must steal the man of the hour. Matters of significant importance to discuss with the Paramount wonder boy."
Wells and Calley, offered tight smiles, congratulated Duke one final time, and melted into the crowd.
Duke deeply disliked Aubrey's philosophy of filmmaking, treating cinema as a disposable commodity, grinding out cheap productions, selling iconic sets for scrap.
But he was a businessman first, and never let personal distaste blind him to opportunity during his working hours.
"James," Duke said, offering a slight nod. "To what do I owe the pleasure on such an ocassion?"
Aubrey didn't bother with pleasantries. "I appreciate directness, Duke. As you may know, MGM desperately needs a competent domestic distribution partner. We're restructuring, and your network is capable of handling our needs."
"Distribution is a complex matter, James." Duke's voice was smooth, playing the slightly detached owner. "That infrastructure falls under Barry Diller, you should have this conversation with him."
Aubrey offered a thin smile, eyes locking onto Duke. "Please, Duke. Don't insult my intelligence. We both know you're the sole owner of Paramount. You make unilateral decisions without consulting anyone. I'm bringing this directly to you."
Duke allowed a slow smile. "Alright, James. I appreciate the directness too. Let's find a quiet table."
Duke guided Aubrey to a small, secluded table behind a massive ice sculpture of the Oscar statuette.
"You're an incredibly young man to be at the forefront of this industry," Aubrey began, his voice taking on a slightly envious tone. "You've achieved success in a short time. Yet, since you arrived, I haven't seen a single hit emerge from my MGM office."
Duke leaned forward, "Well, James, there's a persistent rumor floating around that every project being greenlit at MGM is under a strict maximum budget of one million dollars. Hard to produce a roaring lion on such budget."
Aubrey's smile tightened, a brief flash of irritation on his face, but he didn't deny it. He knew Duke was right, his cost-cutting had balanced the books but destroyed creative output.
"We're in a transitional phase of corporate austerity," Aubrey said. "That's exactly why I need a partner who can maximize revenue from our existing assets while we rebuild. So let me lay out the parameters."
He leaned in, voice becoming a stream of financial data.
"One: Immediate cash. Paramount pays MGM a twenty-million-dollar upfront advance."
"Two: Fee structure. Paramount retains thirty percent distribution fee on domestic rentals, MGM gets seventy."
"Three: Duration. Ten-year exclusive contract covering the US and Canada."
Duke listened, keeping a poker face.
"Four, and this is the best part, Duke. The library. Paramount gains total domestic distribution control over the entire MGM back catalog, over twelve hundred classic feature films, plus hundreds of animated shorts, including the entire Tom and Jerry collection."
"And five: Paramount is legally required to distribute any and all new MGM productions over the next decade, which given our strategy will be strictly limited to six to eight films per year."
Duke sat back, his mind exploding with the magnitude of the offer.
Twenty million was significant, but for exclusive control over the MGM library for a decade? It was a bargain to someone like Duke who possessed future knowledge.
He knew the VHS home video market and the explosion of premium cable were just around the corner. That library was a multi-billion dollar goldmine waiting to be exploited.
Duke looked at Aubrey, carefully maintaining his calm, professional demeanor.
He stood slowly, buttoning his tuxedo jacket with deliberate calm. "It's a bold proposal, James. The immediate cash input is significant, but the structure is interesting."
"I'm an optimist, and I believe in the long-term future of theatrical. I'll sit down with Barry Diller first thing tomorrow. We'll run the numbers, and if the math aligns with Paramount's vision, we'll call you."
He offered his hand. Aubrey shook it firmly.
Duke turned and walked away, exiting the grand ballroom and stepping into the cool Los Angeles night.
___
The headlights of Duke's Cadillac swept across the driveway of his estate.
He loosened his silk tie, tossed his tuxedo jacket over a velvet chair.
He moved toward the living room eager to celebrate with Lynda.
He found her curled up on the sofa, with a Tiffany lamp turned on beside her.
Lynda looked up as he entered, attempting a smile, but the effort clearly strained her. She was pale.
"Hey, how was the party after i left?" she murmured, trying to sound casual as she shifted against the cushions.
Duke saw past the facade.
Duke crossed the room, kneeling beside the sofa, his eyes staring at her face trying to find anything wrong.
He gently took her hand. It was cold, devoid of its usual warmth.
Lynda tried to pull away slightly, embarrassment coloring her pale cheeks. "I'm fine, Duke. Just a little tired from the excitement and the diet. I just need to relax."
Duke shook his head, offering a smile but offering no other choice. "You're not fine, and we're not taking chances, you look like you might faint. I'll get your coat. We're going to the doctor."
Lynda let out a soft sigh, though a hint of relief flickered in her eyes.
Within minutes, she was wrapped in a chinchilla coat, and Duke was carefully helping her into the passenger seat of the Cadillac, with his security following from another car.
He drove toward UCLA Medical Center, and kept one hand firmly over hers as much as he could, heating it up.
When they arrived at the UCLA Medical Center, the late-night quiet was interrupted by Duke's presence. None of the doctors knew who he was, which is understandable considering he didnt do many interviews, and people don't care about movie directors in this era,
They were ushered into a comfortable examination room where an attending physician quickly arrived.
Duke stood by Lynda's side as the doctor asked pointed questions about her recent diet, exercise regimen, and symptoms.
Lynda admitted, to the extreme carbohydrate restriction and grueling daily workouts she'd been enduring to prepare herself for the role of an Amazonian warrior.
The doctor listened intently, nodding with understanding, then ordered a comprehensive blood count test.
The wait for results was brief, the doctor soon returned, holding a white chart, his expression was serious.
"Well, Ms. Carter, the mystery is solved," the doctor announced smoothly. "Your hemoglobin level is currently sitting significantly below twelve. You're essentially dealing with a temporary case of anemia."
The doctor explained the biology.
Hemoglobin is the iron-rich protein in red blood cells responsible for carrying oxygen throughout the body.
A drop below twelve occurs frequently in women due to various factors, natural iron loss from heavy menstruation, pregnancy, or, in Lynda's case, nutritional deficiencies compounded by physical exertion.
This is why, it's reccomended to take women to eat steaks before their period starts.
Lynda looked down, frustration flickering across her face. "I was just trying to work a little more for the role," she explained softly, carrying a tinge of disappointment.
The doctor offered a sympathetic smile. "I understand the pressure of your industry. I'm going to refer you to a top UCLA nutritionist who can design a healthy, sustainable plan."
He closed the chart, looking at Duke. "But for tonight, the prescription is simple and enjoyable. She needs an immediate infusion of dietary iron. Honestly, Mr. Hauser, the best thing you can do for her is feed her a steak."
Duke's face immediately morphed into a smile.
A steak prescription was exactly the kind of medical advice he could endorse.
He thanked the doctor, wrapped his arm protectively around Lynda, and guided her out of the sterile hospital taking care of not putting too much weight on his right leg.
"You heard the man," Duke declared, his voice booming with enthusiasm. "Doctor's absolute orders. We're going to get you the finest piece of meat in Los Angeles."
Lynda laughed. Duke steered the Cadillac directly toward Beverly Boulevard, his mind set on one specific destination, they were going straight to Chasen's.
Chasen's was still bustling. The head waiter practically tripped over himself to secure a prime, secluded booth for the Chairman of Paramount and his beautiful companion.
Luckily, Duke was still recognized in Hollywood, not like in the Hospital.
Once seated, Duke didn't even bother looking at the menu. He immediately ordered their signature dish.
Hobo Steak, swimming in rich juices and accompanied by crisp potatoes, Lynda initially hesitated, her dietary guilt momentarily flaring up.
Duke was having none of it. He began cutting small pieces of the tender beef, placing them deliberately on her plate insisting on her following medical advice.
"Come on." Duke teased gently, popping a savory piece into his mouth and groaning in exaggerated appreciation. "This is basically a steak sized vitamin pill."
Lynda rolled her eyes playfully, but the aroma was tempting.
She took a hesitant bite, and as the rich flavor hit her palate, a visible wave of relief washed over her features.
Duke continued eating the lion's share, but he remained focused on her progress, bullying her into taking another bite every time she slowed down.
As they enjoyed the meal, approaching their booth was Elizabeth Taylor, accompanied by the unmistakable figure of Alfred Hitchcock.
They'd spotted Duke and wanted to come say hi to the youngest mogul in Hollywood.
Duke immediately stood, Taylor offered a smile, her diamonds catching the ambient light. Hitchcock, moving with slow movements, extended a famously soft, plump hand.
"Good evening, Mr. Hauser," Hitchcock intoned, "An absolutely well-deserved triumph for Paramount tonight. I simply had to come over and offer my personal congratulations."
Duke shook the director's hand firmly, completely delighted by the genuine interaction. "Thank you, Mr. Hitchcock. That means the absolute world, coming from a true master of the craft."
Hitchcock's eyes twinkled with amusement. "I was just about to step outside for a brief cigar break. Would you care to join me, Duke? I find the air in here slightly stifling.."
Duke, who did not smoke, didn't hesitate for a second. You simply don't turn down an invitation to step outside with Alfred Hitchcock. "I would be absolutely honored, Alfred."
While the men stepped outside, Elizabeth Taylor gracefully slid into the booth next to Lynda. The legendary actress immediately took Lynda's hand, her eyes sparkling with solidarity, and began whispering about grueling Hollywood diets.
Outside in the cool night air, Hitchcock lit his massive cigar and spoke thoughtfully about his long, productive relationship with Paramount.
He wondered aloud if the studio's massive paradigm shift under Duke's bold leadership since the 1970 acquisition would significantly alter the creative landscape for veteran directors like himself.
Duke smiled broadly, "Well Alfred, you're in luck, I'm a massive fan of your work. The only thing that changed at Paramount is that we're going to give true visionaries like you even larger canvases."
Hitchcock chuckled, deeply pleased by the answer. When Duke finally returned to the cozy leather booth, a truly wonderful sight greeted him.
Lynda was no longer picking at her food. She was laughing at a scandalous story Taylor was telling, and more importantly, she was enthusiastically eating her steak normally. The color had finally returned to her cheeks.
Duke felt a surge of joy. He signaled to the waiter with a flick of his wrist. "Let's combine these tables, shall we?"
The staff scrambled to merge their booths, resulting in a lively impromptu celebration.
Duke sat back, casually wrapping an arm around Lynda, trading witty jokes with Hitchcock and Taylor as they told stories about Old Hollywood.