Chapter 123: Hollywood in Turmoil
Halloween Night.
Disney's big-budget gangster epic Billy Bathgate finally hit theaters.
Despite boasting Dustin Hoffman, an Oscar-winning heavyweight, and Bruce Willis in a supporting role,
its opening weekend was a disaster — only $4 million across three days.
Poor reviews, poor word of mouth.
A $48 million production… and another spectacular flop for Disney, right after The Rocketeer.
Two expensive failures in a row — the kind that made shareholders twitch.
---
Morning sunlight spilled through the villa's tall windows as waves crashed gently on the Long Island shore.
Inside the East Hampton estate, Aaron set down the phone, his expression thoughtful.
Bram Stoker's Dracula was officially ready to begin shooting in London.
He turned toward Sophie Marceau, who sat on the sofa flipping through a French fashion magazine, legs tucked beneath her.
"Sophie," he asked lightly, "want to come with me to London?"
She looked up, smiling faintly.
"You're heading to Coppola's set already?"
She knew him too well — juggling multiple film projects, always chasing the next production milestone.
"That's right," Aaron said.
Sophie shook her head. "I've only just arrived in America, and you want to drag me to England? I'll pass this time."
Aaron chuckled. "Fair enough. Then come with me to Manhattan tonight — there's a couple of industry parties. You should start meeting people."
---
The truth was, Hollywood itself was boiling beneath the surface.
Behind the glamour and red carpets, the studios were reshuffling like a corporate storm.
Paramount's parent company, Gulf+Western, had just rebranded itself as Paramount Communications Inc.
And in a dramatic shake-up, CEO Martin Davis had fired studio chief Frank Mancuso,
with the Creative Artists Agency (CAA) stepping in to mediate his severance deal.
Over at Sony Pictures Entertainment, co-chairman Jon Peters had been forced out amid a string of scandals,
leaving Peter Guber as the remaining CEO.
Even so, insiders whispered that Sony's U.S. chairman Mickey Schulhof was losing confidence in Guber by the day.
And at 20th Century Fox, the news was just as explosive —
studio chairman Barry Diller had announced his departure from Rupert Murdoch's News Corporation.
Diller, the man who had helped Murdoch build FOX Television Network from the ground up,
was done being a "corporate employee." He wanted his own empire now.
Hollywood was restless, Aaron thought. The kings were changing thrones again.
---
That evening, under the gilded chandeliers of The Waldorf Astoria New York,
Aaron and Sophie Marceau arrived at one of the city's most exclusive social galas.
The ballroom was packed — a shimmering blend of financiers, producers, actors, fashion moguls, and studio heads.
Champagne flowed like water. Deals were whispered under the music.
"Hey, Aaron, good to see you!"
He turned and found himself face to face with Alan Horn, president of Castle Rock Entertainment.
"Alan," Aaron greeted warmly, extending a hand. "It's been a while. This is Sophie Marceau — from France."
Horn's smile widened. "My God, Miss Marceau, you're even more stunning in person."
Then, with a chuckle to Aaron, "You're a lucky man, my friend. I should be jealous."
Aaron grinned. "Jealous of Sophie, or something else?"
Horn laughed, but the truth hung between them — he wasn't just envious of Aaron's date.
Castle Rock had been founded only a year before Dawnlight Films,
but where Castle Rock had modest hits like When Harry Met Sally...,
Aaron's studio had delivered Boyz n the Hood, The Silence of the Lambs, and Ghost —
films that redefined independent success.
Dawnlight wasn't just surviving. It was dominating.
The landscape had shifted:
Orion Pictures was sinking,
Miramax was overextended,
Samuel Goldwyn had failed to compete for Landmark Theaters,
and only Carolco and New Line could still stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Dawnlight.
---
"Come on, Alan," Aaron said with a faint smile. "You've got your own hits. Didn't I hear Castle Rock is teaming up with Tom Cruise next?"
Horn's eyes lit up. "Ah, yes — A Few Good Men. Rob Reiner's directing."
Aaron nodded knowingly. "A courtroom thriller, right? Based on that Broadway play about corruption in the Marine Corps?"
"Exactly," Horn said. "We've got Cruise and Jodie Foster lined up as the leads."
"Jodie Foster?"
Aaron blinked for a moment, then smirked in realization.
So the timeline's shifted again.
In another world, he remembered, the female lead was supposed to be Demi Moore,
fresh off Ghost — the very film that had launched her.
Now, in this version of Hollywood, Jodie Foster had stepped into the role.
Aaron lifted his glass with a quiet laugh.
"Well, Alan, looks like we're both rewriting the script of this town."
Horn grinned back, not realizing how literal that statement was.
---
As the orchestra played a slow jazz number, Sophie slipped her arm around Aaron's.
She was radiant under the amber lights, her French grace making half the ballroom glance their way.
Aaron smiled faintly, watching the sea of executives and stars in motion.
Deals were being born. Empires were shifting. Fortunes were about to be made — and broken.
Hollywood wasn't calm.
It never would be.
But that was exactly the kind of chaos Aaron Anderson thrived in.
At the moment, Demi Moore was busy filming Indecent Proposal,
while Jodie Foster, fresh off The Silence of the Lambs, had become Hollywood's untouchable standard for performance perfection.
Aaron's name carried weight now — real power.
Everywhere he went, doors opened, conversations paused, and eyes turned.
That night, with Sophie Marceau on his arm, he'd met half of Hollywood's elite before the champagne lost its fizz.
---
"Aaron," Sophie murmured as they stepped away from the crowd,
"wasn't there a producer who said he wanted to work with me?"
Her voice carried a note of hesitation — a mix of curiosity and doubt.
Aaron smiled faintly.
"Of course. Hollywood puts out four or five hundred films a year. There are always opportunities — especially for someone like you. You're one of Europe's brightest stars."
He took a sip of his drink, adding casually,
"And American films always need a touch of European allure. You're a perfect fit — beautiful, elegant, and recognizable."
He didn't say the rest aloud, but he didn't have to.
He could already tell what kind of roles they'd offer her —
the exotic beauty, the seductive mystery, the foreign mistress.
To them, Sophie wasn't yet an actress.
She was a type.
---
"I've signed with ICM," Sophie said after a moment, glancing up at him.
"That's who's representing me here. But… you used to work with CAA, didn't you? They're the top agency, right?"
Aaron leaned closer, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
"ICM's fine. Sure, CAA runs this town — they've got most of the power players.
But ICM's international division is stronger; they know how to handle European talent."
He smiled. "And besides, with me around, you'll be just fine. You'll have your footing here before you know it."
Sophie laughed softly, her eyes glinting.
"I believe you. After all… your Australian girl, Nicole Kidman — she's soaring now, isn't she?"
Aaron chuckled but said nothing.
It was true — Ghost had catapulted Nicole into the Hollywood stratosphere.
But Sophie was a different case entirely.
Australia was part of the English-speaking world;
France was not.
The accent, the culture, the nuance — it all made her path steeper, more complicated.
"Listen," Aaron said gently, taking her hand.
"Right now, your job is to understand this industry.
Get used to the pace, the people, the expectations.
Work on your English — and take a few smaller roles first, just to get comfortable."
He leaned back, thinking aloud.
"I'll start looking for the right script for you. Something that fits your image, but shows your depth too."
Sophie nodded. She wasn't new to the screen — she'd been a star in France and across Europe since her teens.
Her name carried far more weight than Nicole's did when she'd first set foot in Los Angeles.
She was already established —
and unlike newcomers like Salma Hayek or Monica Bellucci, Sophie didn't need to prove she was beautiful. Everyone already knew.
All she needed now… was a breakout American role.
And Aaron Anderson was just the man to make that happen.
But as he looked at her — the poised French rose in his arms — his mind drifted elsewhere.
Monica Bellucci.
The Italian muse he'd seen during the Dracula screen tests —
her beauty still lingered in his thoughts like perfume in the air.
Two European goddesses, he mused.
One French, one Italian.
One the symbol of Parisian romance; the other, the embodiment of Italian sensuality.
He smiled to himself.
He'd soon be heading to London for the Bram Stoker's Dracula shoot —
but Monica wouldn't be on set yet.
Pity, he thought. That would've been… interesting.
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