Chapter 112: Just Toe-Licking?
"Looks like leaving CAA really was the right move for you,"
Paula Wagner said warmly, giving Aaron a brief hug.
Aaron smiled. "It's been working out. So, what's Tom up to these days?"
"He's shooting a Western in Montana — Far and Away."
"Oh, that's the one with Universal. Ron Howard directing, right?"
Paula nodded. "That's the one. And there's another project we're negotiating — something over at Castle Rock. Rob Reiner's directing."
Aaron snapped his fingers. "A Few Good Men, based on the Broadway play — the Navy courtroom story about internal bullying and justice."
Paula raised an eyebrow. "You already know about it?"
"Of course," Aaron said with an easy grin. "Castle Rock's distribution runs through Sony-Columbia. I've been doing quite a bit of business with Sony lately."
He wasn't exaggerating. When Harry Met Sally… had cemented Rob Reiner's reputation, and Castle Rock — backed by Columbia — was becoming a powerhouse in prestige filmmaking.
Still, it was Dawnlight, not Castle Rock, that had become the new star of the town.
---
"I heard your next film with Samsung is another romance," Paula said. "Something called Sleepless in Seattle? And the female lead is Nicole Kidman?"
"Right," Aaron said, chuckling. "A romantic comedy this time. Julia Roberts really lit up the genre last year with Pretty Woman. The whole industry's chasing that kind of magic now."
He gave Paula a teasing look.
"So tell me — does CAA regret letting her go?"
Paula shrugged gracefully.
"It's a competitive business. CAA's still number one, remember?"
Aaron smirked. "For now."
---
After parting ways with Paula, Aaron found Michael Ovitz, who was deep in conversation with a group of executives. When their eyes met, Ovitz waved him over.
"I hear you're looking to invest in Schindler's List," Ovitz said, cutting straight to the point.
Aaron nodded. "That's right. I think it's a powerful project — artistically significant."
Ovitz's tone turned measured, professional.
"Spielberg's terms are… unique. He wants full creative control. No studio interference during production — none whatsoever."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Meaning, even if the film spirals off-budget or goes completely off-script, no one can step in?"
"Exactly."
Aaron smiled. "That's fine. I trust Steven Spielberg. If he wants to make it a three-hour black-and-white film, so be it."
Ovitz studied him for a moment, then chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder.
"If you actually go through with this, Aaron, CAA will owe you a big favor."
"Good," Aaron replied simply. "When's Spielberg planning to start?"
"I'll talk to him, but he's wrapped up through the rest of the year. Probably won't start until winter at the earliest."
---
By the time July rolled around, the summer box office season exploded.
Audiences had been waiting months for this — James Cameron's long-awaited sequel, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, finally hit theaters.
Opening across 2,274 screens, it stormed through the weekend with a jaw-dropping $31.7 million, setting a new record.
With a production budget of $102 million, it was the most expensive film ever made — and every cent showed.
The groundbreaking visual effects, the breathtaking action sequences, and the emotional core all hit home.
The liquid-metal assassin, T-1000, crafted entirely through computer-generated imagery, left audiences stunned.
It was clear: the future of cinema wasn't just arriving — it had already begun.
---
Aaron watched the numbers roll in from his suite at the Sunset Marquis, swirling a glass of bourbon.
Spielberg wanted freedom, Cameron wanted machines, Disney wanted control.
Everyone in Hollywood wanted something.
He leaned back with a grin.
"Funny," he murmured to himself. "All these giants — and none of them realize I'm building the future right under their feet."
The revolutionary CGI effects in Terminator 2: Judgment Day were nothing short of a milestone in cinematic history.
It wasn't just a blockbuster — it was a revelation.
Critics were already calling it one of the greatest sequels ever made.
Aaron put down the newspaper, a faint smile curling his lips.
"As expected of James Cameron," he murmured.
Cameron had perfectly captured Hollywood's new formula — massive budgets, major stars, and high-concept spectacle. It was the purest expression yet of what Aaron himself called "the blockbuster religion."
---
That afternoon, inside Dawnlight Studios' office, Aaron summoned his assistant, Evelyn Beckett.
"Give Quentin Tarantino a budget of one and a half million," Aaron said casually, flipping through some production reports. "Let him finish Reservoir Dogs."
He didn't even bother looking at the script anymore. Every time he did, the formatting and chaos gave him a headache.
"By the way," he asked, glancing up, "is Quentin still in L.A.?"
Evelyn shook her head. "No, he's up at the Sundance Director's Lab — one of those summer experimental programs. He's there learning how to, well… direct properly."
Aaron chuckled. "Good for him. Maybe they'll teach him how to stop making everyone bleed by page twenty."
Dawnlight still had over eight million dollars in liquid cash, and with Ghost still dominating the box office, another windfall was only weeks away.
---
That night, at a low-lit Hollywood bar, Aaron met with Jack Wells, one of his rougher associates.
"Quentin went to that Sundance director's lab," Jack said, swirling his drink. "He even wanted me to act in it."
Aaron grinned. "And you turned him down?"
Jack grimaced. "Hell yeah, I did. You know that guy — he's got… issues."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "What, you mean the thing with call girls and foot fetishes?"
Jack nearly choked on his whiskey. "See? You know! And you still want me to go?"
Aaron laughed. "Come on, Jack. That's just Tarantino being Tarantino. The guy's weird, but he's got talent."
Jack took another sip, muttering, "Talent, sure. But who knows what kind of freak show he's directing? I can't act, man. I'd just waste film stock."
Aaron clapped him on the shoulder.
"You're missing out on your big break. Quentin's a madman — but the brilliant kind. He just needs actors with personality."
Jack rolled his eyes, but Aaron's grin said it all — he knew Tarantino's wildness would make him a star.
---
"By the way," Jack said suddenly, leaning closer, "remember Steven Ruther?"
Aaron looked up. "Of course. CAA producer. He worked on Pretty Woman. I've dealt with him before."
Jack nodded. "Ran into him at the Landmark Theater last week. He's got a new script — says it's good. You might wanna take a look."
Aaron smirked. "You reading scripts now?"
Jack snorted. "Nah. But I overheard him talking with Adrian Lyne about it."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Adrian Lyne? The guy who did Flashdance, 9½ Weeks, Fatal Attraction?"
"That's the one," Jack said. "If Ruther's pitching him a story, I figure it's worth your time. Maybe check it out."
Aaron rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Lyne's films — sensual, psychological, dangerous — weren't exactly his usual lane, but they sold. Fatal Attraction had pulled in over $150 million worldwide.
And if Carolco's upcoming Basic Instinct was any indication — with Paul Verhoeven directing and Michael Douglas and Sharon Stone starring — the erotic thriller craze was about to explode.
Hollywood loved its trends. And Aaron loved being first.
"Alright," he said finally. "Set up a meeting with Steven Ruther."
Evelyn noted it down immediately.
Aaron leaned back, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Looks like it's time for Dawnlight to play in the dark again."