Chapter 43 – Smoke 'Em Out
After spotting Warren Beatty, Aaron Anderson quickly noticed the woman with him wasn't Madonna—but Isabelle Adjani. The French film Camille Claudel had been nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Foreign Film, and Isabelle Adjani was the lead!
"Tonight's definitely going to get interesting," Aaron muttered.
He grabbed a bite to eat at the museum's buffet, keeping a discreet eye on Warren Beatty and Isabelle Adjani. The combination was explosive—like mixing a fox with a hare—and something was bound to happen. Especially since Isabelle's boyfriend seemed to be Daniel Day-Lewis, which made things even more intriguing.
Outside the museum, Aaron called Jack Wells to brief him on the situation.
"Is he alone?"
"Don't worry about that—just drive over and wait."
"Got it."
In less than twenty minutes, Jack arrived on a nearby street. Aaron got in immediately.
"Inside, Beatty and Adjani are together. A fox can't change its nature; something will happen tonight. You wait here at the exit. Daniel Day-Lewis is also at the ball, so they shouldn't make a scene inside."
"Got it. I guess they'll step out somewhere," Jack said, nodding toward the baseball bat on the backseat.
"I even brought a weapon!" he added.
Aaron groaned, thinking: Is he really planning to beat someone up?
"Relax—I'll handle it from inside first."
Back inside, Aaron found Nicole Kidman in a corner, though his eyes kept drifting toward Isabelle Adjani. Since she was with Daniel Day-Lewis, all he needed was to watch her.
"Where did you go? I didn't see you," Nicole whispered.
Aaron smiled, hugging her. "Just stepped out for a bit. By the way, how was your chat with director Peter Weir?"
"There's an upcoming drama, a European-American co-production. It stars Gérard Depardieu and Andie MacDowell in a romance called Green Card."
Andie MacDowell was the lead in Sex, Lies, and Videotape, and Gérard Depardieu was France's current top comedy star—nicknamed "the Big-Nosed Casanova."
"Don't worry, no need to be envious. When I produce my next film, I'll make sure you get famous. Next year, Wild at Heart will be released—you'll gain some recognition in the arts circle too."
Just then, Aaron noticed Isabelle Adjani and Daniel Day-Lewis separating, seemingly preparing to leave the ball.
"Come on, darling," Aaron said, leading Nicole to a balcony corner on the second floor, where they had a clear view of the museum's exit.
"Aaron," Nicole murmured, leaning against him, "what are you planning now?"
"Something interesting," he replied with a smile, kissing her lightly while keeping his eyes on the exit.
Sure enough, Isabelle Adjani and Warren Beatty got into a black Cadillac.
Aaron immediately called Jack Wells, giving him the car model and color.
"Don't lose them. It's just the two of them, no bodyguards."
Nicole stared in disbelief. "Are we playing some kind of spy game from a movie?"
"No. Beatty and Adjani are up to something. You know how much I dislike this old fox. Tonight, he's getting a lesson."
"Shall we leave then?"
Aaron led Nicole out of the ball, and as soon as they reached Wilshire Boulevard, he received a call from Jack.
"The car is parked near La Brea Tar Pits!"
"Seriously? They couldn't wait?" Aaron kissed Nicole. "Drive home first. I'll catch up later."
Nicole sighed. "Go wild, but be careful—Warren Beatty is a big star, after all."
"Got it," Aaron said, loosening his tie and running toward the La Brea Tar Pits parking lot, phone in hand.
At the lot, he found Jack's car and climbed in.
"That's the car. They're probably busy inside already," Jack pointed out.
"Call the local reporters—get them here! We need to force these two out of the car somehow."
Aaron looked through some magazines and newspapers in the car and immediately had an idea: smoke them out.
"Grab the alcohol," he said, picking up a few newspapers. Jack, still confused, handed him a small bottle of whiskey.
"What are you doing?"
"They're probably… not dressed in there. We light these papers soaked in whiskey under the car."
"Genius! I knew it!" Jack grinned. He'd always wanted to give Beatty a lesson, but now, as a star, it hadn't been possible. This was better.
The two quickly doused the newspapers with whiskey, crept up to the car, and lit them with lighters, shoving them under the vehicle. They jumped back into their car and floored it out of the parking lot.
As Warren Beatty and Isabelle Adjani were busy in the car, a sudden smell of smoke filled the cabin. Thick smoke quickly began to pour in.
"Shit! Is the car on fire?" Warren Beatty shouted, flinging open the door alongside Isabelle.
Isabelle, with her clothes half undone, bolted first, screaming, her body exposed but with no care for modesty.
Warren, shirtless and with his pants down around his ankles, was in worse shape. He tripped getting out, scrambling on hands and knees to get as far from the car as possible.
"Click, click, click!" Flashbulbs exploded around them. The first reporters on the scene descended like sharks on blood, snapping away. This was headline material—huge news, shocking stuff!
"No photos! Stop!" the two tried to shield themselves, but the paparazzi were relentless.
Shouts, curses, whistles filled the air. Isabelle crouched, using her remaining clothes to cover herself, while Warren scrambled to pull up his pants and cover himself.
More and more reporters flooded in.
Meanwhile, across Wilshire Boulevard outside the La Brea Tar Pits, Aaron Anderson had already called the police from a payphone and stepped away.
"Too bad we didn't bring cameras," Jack muttered, sitting in the car beside him.
"Doesn't matter," Aaron replied calmly. "The press is plenty; this will make the papers for sure."
He stretched, feeling satisfied and refreshed.