The restaurant on Saturday was livelier than usual, tucked away in a discreet corner of Beverly Hills. This was said to be one of George Lucas' favorite places to eat, and so, it now served as the venue for a pivotal meeting.
Ben Gosling sat at the table bouncing his knee, trying to suppress the giddy energy coursing through him.
"You need to calm down," Amanda said, sipping her iced tea, raising one eyebrow at his jittery leg. "He's just a director."
"He's the director," Ben whispered, eyes shining. "This is George Lucas. The man made Star Wars... and American Graffiti. He basically invented blockbuster filmmaking."
Amanda rolled her eyes and muttered, "You're going to pass out before he even gets here."
Helen sighed from across the table, straightening the tablecloth unnecessarily. "I swear, you've stirred up more noise today than when Jessica Chastain walked into our office. Can we try not to embarrass ourselves before he even arrives?"
Before either of them could respond, a calm, familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation. "I hope I'm not late."
George Lucas entered, dressed exactly as expected—casual plaid shirt, khaki pants, and his signature sneakers. There was an instant aura shift in the room.
Helen stood immediately. "Uncle George. Glad you could make it."
"Helen," George smiled, giving her a warm hug. Then he turned to Amanda. "And Amanda Newhouse. Still keeping Helen in check?"
Amanda smirked. "Someone has to."
George laughed. "I figured. You two still running Star Talent together?"
"Sixty-forty split," Amanda said with mock pride. "She gets more of the company, I get more of the headaches."
"The Newhouse family helped us get off the ground," Helen added. "They were... generous."
George nodded. "I always liked your family. Sharp people."
Finally, George turned to Ben, who stood up so fast he nearly knocked his chair over.
"Mr. Lucas, it's—"
George raised a hand and took a step back dramatically. "No shoving tapes at me, Ben. I came unarmed."
Ben flushed with embarrassment and gave a dry chuckle. "I've... learned my lesson. It's truly an honor to meet you, sir."
George grinned. "Well, clearly Buried got buried under your tape-shoving campaign. Still, I'm glad it finally dug its way out. That film had soul."
"Thank you very much for the praise sir" Ben jumped in eagerly, unable to contain himself. "And I just have to say, Mr. Lucas... your stand against the Oscars? Legendary. I mean, to walk away from all that pomp and say, 'No thanks'? That was punk rock, sir. Pure rebellion."
George laughed, clearly amused. "Well, I didn't exactly flip any tables, but yeah—someone had to shake up the old boys' club. I figured if they couldn't recognize Star Wars, they didn't deserve the pleasure of my company."
"Exactly!" Ben nodded enthusiastically. "You showed them a filmmaker doesn't need golden statues to make history. That was the moment I knew Hollywood needed more people like you."
Amanda snorted into her drink and gave Ben a sharp, wide-eyed glare. Helen gave Ben a look like he'd just poured coffee into her handbag. "Is that the reason you like him? Seriously?"
"That's just part of the reason," Ben mumbled, still beaming.
"You've got good taste, Helen," George said, chuckling. "He likes me for all the right reasons—because I flipped off the Oscars."
After a round of chuckles and a few more pleasantries, Ben and Amanda passed a manila folder across the table. "This is the script for our next project," Ben said, trying to keep his voice level.
George opened it and started to read. He flipped through the first few pages, his brows drawing together. Then deeper into the script, his expression began to shift.
"Wait a minute," he said. "What the hell is this? You made Buried—something raw, artistic, and visceral. And now you're giving me... this?"
He looked up sharply, eyes narrowing at Helen.
Helen didn't say anything. She simply slid another folder across the table, this one with a crisp white cover labeled in clean serif font: Marketing Campaign: The Blair Witch Project.
George hesitated. "Helen..."
"Just look at it before you make any decisions."
At that moment, lunch was served—his favorites, as always: grilled sea bass, roasted garlic potatoes, and a glass of vintage chardonnay.
George sighed and gave in. "Fine."
He opened the folder. His eyes flicked over the first page, then slowed. By the second page, he was leaning forward. By the third, he had forgotten all about his food.
Charts, data, media timelines, regional rollout strategies, fabricated legends about the Blair Witch mythos, other haunted stories and a comprehensive pre-movie buzz strategy lay before him. He turned each page like it was a mystery novel.
Helen and Amanda exchanged knowing glances. Ben, meanwhile, sat still, watching George Lucas absorb the campaign like it was a sacred text.
By the time George put the folder down, the sea bass had gone cold.
He leaned back and let out a slow whistle. "Okay... now that is smart."
Ben couldn't help but grin. George pointed at Helen. "You weren't kidding. This isn't just a movie. It's a movement."
Helen shrugged, playing it cool. "We hope so."
George looked around the table. "You're still crazy for betting your own money on this. But maybe... just maybe... you're crazy like a fox."
Ben was practically vibrating with excitement. George Lucas—the George Lucas—had just called his idea smart.
"Alright," George said, pushing his untouched plate aside. "Tell me more about how you're going to pull this off."
And just like that, lunch turned into a strategy session—one that would change the trajectory of Ben Gosling's career.
Helen leaned in. "We want to take this to Fox. But not just as another indie horror flick. We want to negotiate a $1 million dollar buy-out plus a tiered global box office share."
George tilted his head. "Alright. I'm listening."
Amanda continued. "The deal would look like this: Fox pays $1 million up front to secure North American and global distribution rights. Then they get 1% of global box office up to $50 million. For every additional $10 million in box office, they get an extra 1% — capped at 20%. No sharing of the copyright but they have the right to buy the sequel."
"Interesting..." George raised an eyebrow. George rubbed his chin. "That's a bold ask. But what do I get out of this?"
Helen leaned in. "You get in on the ground floor of what could be the most profitable indie horror film ever made. Your name brings weight. Your leverage seals the deal."
Amanda smiled. "Normally, studios take 30% of the box office. We're capping ours at 20%. Fox won't complain about giving a flat 5% of that to you. You get 5% of the global box office in exchange for helping us close the deal."
Ben added, "With your backing, Fox doesn't just see this as a wild idea. They see it as a project George Lucas believes in."
George looked at the three of them. "And you'll take the first meeting to pitch this?"
Helen nodded. "We handle the pitch. You just need to make the intro and nod at the right time."
George chuckled. "You really are a bunch of schemers."
Amanda grinned. "We prefer the term visionaries."
George took a final sip of his wine. "Alright. I'm in. Let's make a few waves."
Helen clinked her glass against his. "To the Blair Witch."
Ben raised his glass, eyes sparkling. "To the Blair Witch Project"
They all laughed. The deal was on. And the next chapter of Ben Gosling's Hollywood journey was officially underway.
As they were parting, George glanced back with a half-smile. "Get the film ready. Once it's done, we'll talk to Fox."
They all nodded. With the legend's support now behind them, it was time to bring The Blair Witch Project to life.