Chapter 76 – Hollywood Girl
While filming The Rocketeer, Jennifer Connelly made a trip to the Toronto International Film Festival to promote the Italian film The Voyage of Hope.
At the same time, director Giuseppe Tornatore secured the remake rights for Profumo di Donna (Scent of a Woman) on Aaron's behalf—at a price of $300,000.
At the Sunset Marquis Hotel in West Hollywood, Aaron and Jennifer sat together over afternoon tea.
"Tornatore's already gone back to Italy?" Aaron asked.
Jennifer nodded. "Yes. The Voyage of Hope is set to premiere in the U.S. next month."
She flipped through a copy of Entertainment Weekly.
"This is wild—Carolco just spent three million dollars buying Joe Eszterhas' script Basic Instinct. Highest price ever paid for a screenplay in Hollywood."
Aaron glanced up from the Financial Times he'd been reading. "Carolco… working with Paul Verhoeven, right?"
"That's the one," Jennifer confirmed. "They just made Total Recall together. It grossed $260 million worldwide this summer."
Aaron knew Joe Eszterhas by reputation. He'd recently left CAA and was now represented by an independent agent.
"Three million for a script?" Aaron shook his head with a laugh. "Only Carolco would pay that kind of money."
He knew the story of Basic Instinct—a mix of thriller, mystery, crime, and eroticism. Risky, but marketable.
Aaron set aside his newspaper with a sigh. "America's heading into another war."
The headline he'd been reading was about Iraq's invasion of Kuwait, which had sent international oil prices soaring.
At the start of last month, oil was $15 a barrel. By the end, it had hit $25. Now, mid-September, it was already $30.
"You've been on set nonstop, so you probably haven't followed the news," Jennifer said. "But the U.S. has already lined up a coalition. They're going in."
Aaron rubbed his temples. Of course he knew. The First Gulf War.
And with it, an opportunity. Oil futures. That's where the play is. If memory served, this crisis would push prices past $40 a barrel.
"The world's chaos right now," Aaron murmured. "The Soviet Union's collapsing, Germany's uniting, and soon America won't have a rival left."
He stood, buttoning his jacket. "Rest up, darling. I've got an errand to run."
Money was tight, and without capital, nothing moved. Time to leverage the markets.
Driving his Rooster into the financial district, Aaron walked into the investment division of First Intercontinental Bank.
An advisor carefully explained the principles of oil futures trading. Margin-based, highly leveraged.
"There's even 100-to-1 leverage available," the man noted.
Aaron's eyebrows shot up. That means the tiniest fluctuation could swing millions.
The banker smiled. "Some firms offer up to 500-to-1."
Aaron exhaled. That was insane. Still—too tempting to ignore.
He signed on for a 20-to-1 long position. Conservative enough not to look timid, but aggressive enough to matter.
With 20-to-1 leverage, Aaron's $2 million buy-in controlled $40 million worth of oil futures. He set aside another $700,000 in reserve to cover any margin calls.
"Thirty dollars a barrel—if it climbs to forty, I'm out. No greed." He repeated the rule to himself as he left the brokerage. In a business I barely know, the last thing I can afford is greed.
---
That evening, back at the Sunset Marquis Hotel in West Hollywood, Aaron crossed paths with actor Charlie Sheen striding in with a group of young women.
At twenty-five, Sheen was one of Hollywood's brightest stars—far ahead of Nicolas Cage or Johnny Depp in name recognition. The son of veteran actor Martin Sheen, he'd already starred in Platoon and Wall Street, cementing himself as a first-tier leading man.
Aaron didn't need to guess what Sheen planned with that entourage. It was hardly unusual.
One of the young women broke away and approached Aaron directly, offering a card with a smile. "Mr. Anderson, right? I'm Heidi Fleiss, from the Hollywood Girls Club."
Aaron arched a brow. He knew exactly what that was—an escort service.
He glanced at her card, then back at her. "Those girls just now—yours?"
She nodded. "Yes. Do you need anything, Mr. Anderson? Absolute discretion. Client information is never leaked."
Aaron chuckled. "You must have plenty of Hollywood clients if you already know me."
"We've always worked closely with CAA agents," Heidi explained smoothly. "And since you left CAA, you've been making headlines with Dawnlight. We keep a close eye on movers and shakers in this town."
Aaron slipped the card into his pocket, then asked lightly, "Tell me—are Warren Beatty or Dustin Hoffman on your client list?"
Heidi only smiled. "I'm afraid that's confidential. We never discuss our clients."
Aaron sneered faintly. "Professional ethics, then?"
"Exactly. You understand, Mr. Anderson. Discretion is survival in my business."
Heidi herself had once worked as an escort. But she discovered she could make far more running the business than selling herself. Now she supplied young women to actors, studio executives, even government officials.
Aaron realized he wouldn't get anything directly from her. This is more Jack Wells' department. He knows private investigators.
He waved her off and walked away. Heidi didn't take offense—half of Hollywood wanted dirt on its rivals, and she had to refuse them all. Breaking client trust would be the end of her career.
---
Later, Aaron stared at the card again, then dialed Jack.
"Ever heard of the Hollywood Girls Club?"
"Oh, you mean Heidi Fleiss?" Jack answered immediately. "She's been the fastest-rising madam the past couple of years. Built a huge Hollywood client list. Even CAA uses her. I once delivered a girl to Ron Meyer myself. Why? You thinking of sampling? Word is, Heidi's girls are high quality."
Aaron gave a dry laugh. "I just ran into her. She handed me her card while escorting girls to Charlie Sheen. I only want to know if she's got anything on Beatty or Hoffman."
"She'll never tell you. Confidentiality contracts. But…" Jack paused, then added, "we could work another angle. Beatty already made a fool of himself last time. Journalists around him won't risk more. But if we had the right people follow him…"
Aaron's eyes narrowed. "Hire two reliable private investigators. Tail Beatty and Hoffman. If there's dirt, I want it."
For Aaron, the cost was trivial. The payoff, potentially priceless.