Last night, she'd been kept up late by faint, scattered noises—so much so that she even wondered if she were hallucinations. While brushing her teeth, she checked the mirror: no dark circles, thankfully, or that would have been embarrassing.
It was seven in the morning.
Saturday.
Park City's January weather was still bitterly cold, but the house felt as warm as spring.
Leaving the bedroom, she tiptoed guiltily past the other door nearby—he probably wasn't up yet.
Downstairs in the living room, she froze.
Simon was already seated on the single armchair by the fireplace, on the phone. Janet curled up in his lap like a kitten, eyes squinted shut, wearing only a long pale pink wool sweater. Her dazzling fair legs peeked brazenly from under the hem, radiating endless allure.
Jennifer stood dazed at the stairs for a few seconds until the man nodded at her. Snapping out of it, she walked over casually and sat on the nearby sofa.
But inside, she felt a sour twinge.
That day in the car, after he'd kissed her neck, there'd been no further intimacy, but she'd naturally assumed some connection had formed between them.
Now.
Janet could curl up in his lap without a care.
Jennifer could only sit beside him, carrying a faint guilty conscience like she'd stolen something.
Simon chatted a bit longer, then hung up and asked Jennifer, "How'd you sleep last night?"
Jennifer's mind flashed back to those blush-inducing sounds, her gaze darting aside as she nodded calmly. "Fine. Who were you talking to?"
"Ed McCracken, CEO of Silicon Graphics," Simon said, then explained, "Last night, it hit me—I don't need to pin 3D animation and CG effects on acquiring other companies. I can recruit my own team. It's cheaper, and I'd have more flexible control over tech development. Silicon Graphics supplies professional graphics workstations to universities, companies, and research teams—they've got the connections. I just asked McCracken to recommend some people."
Jennifer listened absently, then suddenly realized something and looked up at Simon. "You... thought of this last night?"
Simon nodded. "Yeah, why?"
Before Jennifer could reply, Janet, nestled in Simon's arms, burst into laughter.
Simon caught on in a flash, glancing at Jennifer's flushed face. He added hastily, "Actually, the idea came to me the day before yesterday, leaving Pixar headquarters."
Jennifer felt even more embarrassed. She stood, muttered, "I'll go make breakfast," and fled to the kitchen.
Simon watched his assistant's flustered retreat, then patted Janet, still squinting in his lap. "Babe, go sleep in the bedroom—don't catch a cold."
Janet wrapped her arms around him, whining, "Carry me."
Simon scooped up Janet and carried her upstairs to the bedroom, laying her on the big bed and tucking her in. "Sleep. I'll call you when breakfast is ready."
Janet burrowed under the covers, blinking at him. "You and she can eat breakfast first, then call me."
Simon smiled, pinched her cheek, adjusted the blankets, and headed back down.
Still on the stairs, he heard the phone ring. In the living room, he saw Jennifer emerging from the kitchen to answer it. Spotting him, she darted back like a startled deer.
Simon shook his head with a wry smile, walked over, and picked up the receiver. It was from New York—work hours on the East Coast.
After Westeros started dumping New World Entertainment stock yesterday, the price had plummeted from Thursday's $16.75 close to $13.25 at Friday's end.
The New World Entertainment shareholders and execs, who'd been smugly waiting for Simon to reach out, panicked. That morning, major shareholder Larry Kuppin had personally visited James Rebald and was now in his office, speaking to Simon.
After buying New World Pictures from B-movie king Roger Corman in 1983, through years of mergers, expansions, and restructurings, Larry Kuppin and partner Harry Sloan still held over 40% of New World Entertainment.
On the call, Larry Kuppin acknowledged Simon's intent and expressed enthusiasm for the deal, hoping to start formal acquisition talks.
Even at yesterday's $13.25 close, New World Entertainment's market cap exceeded $330 million—still beyond Westeros's reach.
And once talks began, the stock would rebound.
New World Entertainment's main issue was cash shortage. If Simon agreed to negotiations, Wall Street sharks eyeing to fleece Westeros wouldn't let operations falter.
Then, New World could easily secure funds to escape its bind.
Larry Kuppin's motives were clear.
As long as they stayed linked to Simon, the big spender, New World stood a good chance of surviving—deal or no deal. Simon wouldn't play into that. He brushed him off politely and left it to James.
After breakfast, at nine, Simon headed into town with Janet and Jennifer for the premiere of Promised Land, where Robert Redford served as executive producer, funded by the Sundance Institute.
Simon had chatted with director Michael Hoffman at Redford's party last year. As his first feature, Hoffman's storytelling wasn't polished, but Simon loved the film's stark lens exploring shattered dreams and bewildering reality.
After Promised Land's premiere, Simon, Robert Redford, and others left the Egyptian Theatre, planning lunch at a nearby restaurant.
As they exited, reporters swarmed.
Simon didn't think much at first, but hearing the chaotic questions, he realized they targeted him.
That morning, the WGA announced nominations for the latest Writers Guild Awards. Simon's three films from last year—Run Lola Run, The Butterfly Effect, and Final Destination—were completely ignored, not a single nod.
Among them, The Butterfly Effect's innovative plot was novel, but its poor reviews made snubs expected. Final Destination a gore thriller, had no shot.
So, Run Lola Run was Simon's main awards contender this season.
Before, media predicted—due to his age—his best Oscar shot was Best Screenplay. With three top-ten box-office scripts last year, it seemed deserved.
Oscar screenplay voters were mostly WGA members.
Now, with WGA blanking Run Lola Run, Simon had no Oscar screenplay hopes—not even a nomination.
Back at the vacation apartment that afternoon, Simon got more details from L.A.
At the nomination press conference, under media grilling, WGA West president George Kirgo explained Run Lola Run emphasized form over substance, failing nomination standards.
Simon just laughed it off—he hadn't expected his WGA refusal to prompt such blatant retaliation.
After brief discussion, he had Pat Kingsley issue a bland statement respecting the WGA's decision.
Simon didn't care about awards, but he had to consider Daenerys Films' output.
Awards season was a game; to win prizes, follow the rules.
Though sharp media noted Simon's non-WGA status and questioned fairness, he offered no response.
The tumultuous day ended.
That evening, by the vacation apartment's fireplace, Simon, Janet, and Jennifer sat on the sofa, each with a script.
Redford had sent two big boxes of scripts today. Simon planned to return to L.A. tomorrow afternoon, with another premiere in the morning, so evenings were for browsing.
After Promised Land, Simon agreed to fund Michael Hoffman's next, Some Girls—about a college student visiting his girlfriend in Canada and the odd family antics. (TL/N: Some Girls, 1988 movie)
Janet held that script now, leaning on Simon, engrossed.
Jennifer was distracted. Last night was fine—they'd rested soon after the party. But tonight, in this isolated mountain town, surrounded by snow and cold, in a quiet cabin: one man, two women.
The vibe felt so weird.
The other two seemed oblivious.
Time passed; the phone rang, shattering the uncomfortable silence. She looked up—Simon had answered, exchanged a few words, and hung up.
Janet, annoyed at the broken quiet, squirmed against him. "What was that about?"
Simon picked up his script again, smiling. "We got The Lord of the Rings."
Janet pouted. "Ten million—Zaentz would be crazy to refuse."
Jennifer, unaware of last night's talk with Saul Zaentz, said incredulously, "Ten million for the Lord of the Rings trilogy rights?"
"Yeah, keep it to yourself—don't tell anyone."
Jennifer nodded, still stunned.
Janet grinned, reaching to scratch Simon playfully. "This sheep's fat—Jen, wanna feel?"
Jennifer blushed, pretending not to hear.
Janet's eyes twinkled. She stood, pulled the unresisting Jennifer up, plopped her in her spot, then squeezed Simon from the other side.
The long sofa facing the fire wasn't big; three made it cozy.
Whether from the firelight or not, Jennifer felt her cheeks heat at the man's presence nearby. Unsure of her feelings, she hesitated but stayed, cautiously leaning against him, feigning calm as she refocused on her script.
Simon pondered pushing for The Silmarillion rights next, surprised by Janet's move, but just smiled. "Only two—kinda skimpy."
"Little bastard, how many do you want?"
"As many as possible... ah, don't pinch."
"Jen, pinch him too."
Jennifer half-raised her arm tempted, but seeing Simon look over, she shrank back shyly. After their playfight, she changed topics randomly. "Picked any scripts?"
Simon waved his. "This one's good."
Jennifer glanced over: the cover read a string of numbers, 3000.
3000—what did that mean?
Sensing her curiosity, Simon explained, "It's a dark drama about a L.A. streetwalker, Vivian, agreeing to spend a week with a tycoon for $3,000. But I'm turning it into a romance."
Jennifer frowned slightly at 'streetwalker,' then said, "Romance—like, um, La Traviata?"
Simon nodded. "Exactly."
Janet chimed in, "Then it'd be tragic. If it were Dumas's, maybe interest. Modern—who cares about a streetwalker's tragic love?"
"I'm not making it tragic—the prince and princess live happily ever after," Simon shook his head, glancing at the script with a smile. "I've got a new title: Pretty Woman."
In his memories, Pretty Woman was adapted from a dark drama called 3000.
Simon hadn't expected to find this among Redford's recommendations. Writer J.F. Lawton's name and story matched Pretty Woman. But considering Sundance Institute nurtured new directors and writers, and 3000's dark tone fit the festival—getting it now wasn't too coincidental.
After Run Lola Run, if Pretty Woman emerged from Sundance, Park City would buzz even more.
On the fireside sofa, Simon savored the two women beside him, musing on tonight's double win: The Lord of the Rings and Pretty Woman.
Perhaps.
Park City really was his lucky spot.