"Of course we'd love to work with Ford, but he doesn't fit Pretty Woman. It's a romance, Ford excels at lone-wolf heroes. He wouldn't spark with the female lead."
…
"Be confident, Kevin. You and Michael go way back, and you've been prepping this for years. No one in Hollywood knows Dances with Wolves better than you. Directing it yourself is the right call."
…
"Mac, Orion's recent release Adventures in Babysitting did well… Haha, you know what I mean. Pulp Fiction's profit share has been held up six months. That film made you a fortune—I'd hate for things to get ugly."
…
"This year's Cannes jury president is Wim Wenders. He'll favor something like Sex, Lies, and Videotape. So we're not pushing for the Palme d'Or. Ira, sometimes stepping back is the smart move."
…
"Japan? Sandy, why are you worrying about Japan? A girl like you should act, get spa treatments, keep yourself gorgeous and when you have free time, find a girlfriend… Hey, people are watching. Ladylike, ladylike."
…
"Good evening, Bob. Martin, great to see you. How's prep on Goodfellas going?"
…
"Terry, I hear Paramount's Martin Davis is eyeing Time Inc. too. You might have competition… Me? Sure, I'm interested, but this is big business. Daenerys isn't ready for it yet, you can relax."
…
Palisades, hillside mansion.
The cocktail party began at seven-thirty. Over a hundred guests mingled in small clusters across the spacious courtyard, the atmosphere lively yet never rowdy. No strict end time some still arriving, others already slipping away.
Simon worked the crowd. He was chatting with Terry Semel when Nicole Kidman approached in full evening glamour.
Semel spotted her, raised his glass to Simon with a smile, and discreetly withdrew.
Nicole reached him, masking her unease with nonchalance. "Simon, you wanted to see me?"
He led her to the cliff edge, leaning on the railing to gaze at the city lights below. "Joe told me you want to leave WMA and terminate your remaining two-picture option with Daenerys?"
Nicole hesitated, then gathered her courage. "I'm grateful for the chance in Pulp Fiction, Simon, but I want more freedom to plan my future."
Simon shook his head. "Leaving WMA is your business, I won't stop you. But you will fulfill the two films you owe Daenerys."
"Why, Simon? You let Meg Ryan go."
He wasn't swayed by the pleading in her voice. Turning slightly, he fixed her eyes. "Letting Meg go doesn't mean it's over. I don't expect gratitude just for making someone a star, that's unrealistic in Hollywood. All I ask is that you honor commitments after success. I really, really hate people who break contracts."
Nicole felt the steel in his tone and wilted further. His hint that Meg's story wasn't finished unsettled her.
In a flash she understood his firmness.
Daenerys's knack for discovering talent meant they held stacks of option deals. Rumor had it Batman's leads and key supporting roles were all locked long-term.
Letting Meg walk had set a precedent. If Nicole got the same now, every rising star would demand release later turning Daenerys's contracts into worthless paper.
To protect their interests, the studio couldn't allow it.
Nicole suddenly worried for Meg. The seemingly easy exit was likely bait to make an example of her and warn others of the consequences.
Simon turned back to the city lights. After a pause he asked softly, "Clear now?"
Nicole nodded, voice smaller. "I actually want to keep working with Daenerys, Simon but I need good opportunities."
"You want the Ghost lead, I know. But the role doesn't suit you. I need someone more mature. You're too young. We're prepping Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. You can play April O'Neil."
Nicole's chin lifted reflexively, then she realized he wasn't negotiating.
Daenerys had shown her the TMNT script earlier. April was essentially comic relief a vase. Dropping from a critical and commercial hit like Pulp Fiction to eye candy, even in a likely moneymaker, would be a step backward.
"I—Simon, I thought Jonathan was pushing Erika Anderson for that part?"
"Erika's too green. I vetoed it," Simon said, then added, "If you don't want it, you can sit out awhile."
Sit out awhile?
Damn him.
Nicole fumed inwardly but knew she had no leverage. Forcing a breakup would mean years of litigation. She couldn't afford the lawyers, and even if she could, the delay would kill the momentum she'd gained from Pulp Fiction.
Hearing her reluctant agreement, Simon dismissed her with a wave.
Alone at the railing, he finished his cocktail. As he turned back to the crowd, another female voice sounded beside him: "Hi, Mr. Westeros."
He looked. A black-haired woman in a backless gown, Demi Moore.
Demi had almost no name in Hollywood yet; most knew her only as Bruce Willis's wife.
To Simon, their marriage reeked of Hollywood arrangement.
Willis's screen persona was often the tough guy who'd do anything for family hence the rushed wedding during Die Hard. Privately, Bruce played the field as usual.
As for Demi, her later scandal with a much younger co-star spoke volumes.
Smiling wryly, Simon shook her hand and said deliberately, "Hello, Mrs. Willis."
Demi hadn't expected recognition but quickly corrected, "I didn't take his name, Simon. Call me Demi."
He ignored the sudden familiarity. "Bruce didn't come?"
"He's in New York taping a show," she said casually, then pressed, "Simon, you've definitely seen my audition tape for Ghost, right?"
"Yes," Simon admitted. "Congratulations, Demi, you've made the final round."
Joy flashed in her eyes, then dimmed as she remembered the competition: Michelle Pfeiffer, Daryl Hannah, others.
Noticing him still studying her and recalling he'd known her identity instantly, Demi decided. She edged closer, eyes softening. "Simon, I really think I'm perfect for the part. Maybe we could talk privately somewhere?"
Simon arched a brow, signaled a passing waiter for a fresh drink, leaned on the railing, and said amiably, "Here's fine, Demi. Tell me your take on Molly."
Seeing his teasing posture, Demi knew he was toying with her.
But she had no standing to play coy. She gave a mock pout. "Simon, you really don't understand women."
He sipped, turned to scan the courtyard crowd, raised his glass in salute, and said, "All right, Demi. Here's your chance. Find yourself a companion in the crowd, then both of you wait for me upstairs. Second floor, left, third room."
Difficulty flickered across her face. After a beat: "Simon, would that get me the role?"
He shrugged. "No idea. You can try."
Demi tried a gentle prod: "I thought you were a man who kept his word."
"I am," Simon glanced at her. "I just don't recall giving you any."
He walked off without waiting for a reply.
Demi hesitated, then made her choice and left the railing. Of course she wasn't foolish enough to literally recruit someone at the party. She headed straight for ICM president Marvin Josephson.
Josephson listened to her hushed account without surprise or moral qualms. In Hollywood he'd seen far wilder. Simon's request struck him as routine.
And Bruce Willis was WMA, not his problem.
After brief thought, Josephson murmured, "Famke's in New York. Helena's in L.A. how about her?"
Demi knew he meant the other Wonder Woman finalists. But she barely knew either girl; tonight required someone reliable.
"Marvin, I'm not close with them."
"Then… Joan Severance? You met her at Jeffrey's last party."
Demi shook her head, thought, and said, "Renée Russo. She'd work."
Josephson considered. "She's with Ed, and she might be a bit old."
Demi smiled. "That's why she's perfect."
Josephson paused, caught on, spotted the young man across the courtyard, and nodded with a grin. "Indeed. I'll call Ed. I doubt she'll turn down an opportunity like this."
Simon had no idea he'd become the subject of so many calculations and wouldn't care much if he did.
Back in L.A., he'd been unattached.
On a whim, if Demi actually produced a companion, he wouldn't mind unwinding tonight. As for Ghost, he'd already decided on the original cast for maximum success; he didn't need to overthink it.
With his assets growing fast, time was his scarcest resource.
Over an hour later, chatting with Joe Roth new president of Fox after replacing Leonard Goldberg Simon spotted Demi again. This time she didn't approach; instead she crossed his view with a poised, slightly mature woman and disappeared into the villa.
The woman beside Demi looked vaguely familiar, but Simon never caught her face.
Roth noticed his gaze and glanced over, smiling. "Simon, want an introduction?"
"No need," Simon shook his head. "Just feels like someone's exploiting a loophole."
"What?"
"Nothing. You were saying Fox is doing The Exorcist III?"
"Yeah. Want to read the script? Any notes?"
"Pass—I'm swamped."
Hollywood parties were exactly like this.
People gossiped about industry news, pitched projects, or simply bantered. Connections outsiders envied formed in casual conversation; potential deals quietly took root.
The party began winding down at ten.
By eleven, Jennifer dutifully oversaw the cleanup crew, then primly said goodnight to Simon and left with Amy's assistant Vanessa.
Aside from security in the guest house, the sprawling villa held only Simon.
Well.
Possibly three.
Pleasantly buzzed, Simon climbed to the second floor. A bit dizzy, he couldn't recall if it was second door left or third door right or something else. So he searched patiently.