San Francisco.
Palo Alto, in the southern Bay Area where tech companies clustered.
A month after arriving in the U.S., backed by Silicon Valley's deep talent pool and Westeros funding, Tim Berners-Lee had quickly built the basic framework for Igritte.
The company's headquarters occupied a three-story white building on Thurman Street, just east of Stanford.
Back from Europe, Simon had stayed in close touch with Tim by phone. With a free day, he flew up to San Francisco to see this pivotal tech venture in person.
Tim greeted him personally and led him into the lobby. Both men stopped almost simultaneously.
The space was a horizontal rectangle, not large.
Beyond the reception desk, the most striking feature was a phrase embedded in the wall behind it, letters in varying colors: "You know nothing."
Simon studied it with satisfaction for a moment, then noticed Tim seeming about to comment. He cut him off quickly. "Tim, don't say anything. No matter what, you'll never guess the real meaning."
Tim nodded slightly but added, "I just think it's a sobering reminder. No matter how hard we try, our understanding of the world remains shallow."
Simon nearly laughed, feeling he shouldn't tease the earnest man too much. He held it in, clapped Tim on the shoulder. "Exactly. So, let's head in."
Tim caught the odd flicker in Simon's expression but let it go.
They moved to the first-floor offices. Tim introduced the newly hired staff while outlining his month's progress.
"I've finalized the core technical framework for the World Wide Web and filed patent applications in major North American and European countries. Simon, this is Michael Levy, he leads the ground-floor team, focused on refining HTML, HTTP, and other standards."
The term "Internet" wouldn't gain widespread use until the nineties.
The World Wide Web, however, was Tim's vision, WWW technology, the foundation of what most people would later experience online. Decades on, the vast majority of webpages ordinary users visited would begin with "www," underscoring its importance.
After talking with the first-floor team, they headed upstairs.
The modest three-story building had room to spare; Igritte currently employed thirty-nine people including Tim. He planned to scale to a hundred in the coming months, split into teams handling the browser, web-design software, and core protocols.
Simon hadn't imposed rigid deadlines, but Tim projected six months to complete the two flagship products: a user-friendly graphical browser and developer-oriented web-design tool.
Software development, in truth, wasn't as daunting as outsiders imagined.
While still in Europe, Tim had already built a primitive browser in his spare time, though it required manual configuration of connections, useless for average people and lacking familiar features like homepages, downloads, or bookmarks.
Igritte's goal was a true "point-and-click" graphical browser. During their Geneva meetings, Simon had shared ideas from mature designs he remembered.
After touring teams on all three floors, Tim brought Simon to his office and eagerly demonstrated a rudimentary website he'd built using his prior tech. It displayed only basic employee bios from recent hires, but Simon recognized it: the world's first site running on HTTP and HTML.
Simon had a full schedule and stayed only the morning. After lunch with key staff, he flew back to Los Angeles.
The Daenerys Falcon landed at a private airfield in the San Fernando Valley.
Heading to the nearby Warner lot, Simon had just parked and was walking toward post-production when a white sedan pulled in.
Spotting the woman at the wheel, he considered pretending not to notice and walking away. After a beat, he stopped.
The car parked. Renee Russo stepped out in a black wide-shoulder maxi dress, glanced his way, and seeing he hadn't left, closed the door, slung a brown bag over her shoulder, and approached.
Up close, she hesitated, handshake or hug? but smiled. "Simon. Good afternoon."
He nodded and started toward the lot exit.
Renee fell in beside him naturally, quietly resentful of his inexplicable coolness but afraid to show it.
After a silent stretch, Simon asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Script read-through for Goodfellas, over in the admin area."
"Ah."
He remembered.
Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas was Warner-funded,which was why Simon had easily placed Renee in the cast. The film had three male leads; Warner had already balked at Scorsese casting Ray Liotta alongside heavyweights De Niro and Joe Pesci, deeming Liotta too unknown.
As the female lead, Renee with only one prior credit would never have landed the role without Simon's endorsement.
De Niro was still promoting The Sixth Sense; Goodfellas wouldn't start shooting until July. But today was June 21 time for the table read.
They'd parked near the north gate; on a weekday the lot bustled.
Renee stayed close, noting how nearly everyone greeted him, how his bodyguard intercepted several eager approaches. Pride welled up unbidden. As arm candy at his side, she felt the envious glances from passing women.
This was Westeros, after all.
In recent weeks, when almost everyone expected The Bodyguard to flop, its soundtrack had instead posted back-to-back million-plus weeks. Box-office-wise, the third weekend dropped only 11%; in two and a half weeks it had already crossed $56 million.
With two straight weeks of teens-only drops, Monday's Hollywood Reporter had raised its domestic forecast to $120 million.
By contrast, Ghostbusters II, which opened nearly double The Bodyguard plunged 55% in its second weekend, prompting the same outlet to peg its total at just $100 million.
Renee vividly remembered a passage praising The Bodyguard.
Veteran screenwriter Lawrence Kasdan creator of Raiders and Star Wars had shopped the script in the seventies and endured over sixty rejections; virtually every studio passed.
Yet in Simon Westeros's hands, when even post-release opinion remained skeptical, the film had spawned a miraculous soundtrack phenomenon and legs far beyond expectations.
The Reporter writer, tone full of awe, credited most of it to the young man's gift for creating miracles.
And here she was, walking beside him while other women envied her.
He was cool toward her, yes, but she knew that even this short stroll together, once word spread, would smooth her Hollywood path.
The town revered authority.
Goodfellas carried a $25 million budget, high even amid recent inflation.
Rumor said Warner wouldn't have greenlit it without De Niro, despite Scorsese directing. Now, thanks to Simon's interest, the studio seemed more confident.
In recent meetings, both Scorsese and producer Irwin Winkler had casually probed her about Simon's thoughts on the script. A rootless newcomer, she hadn't faced the usual pitfalls for young actresses; everyone simply assumed she was Simon Westeros's lover.
At first she worried the label would diminish her. Then she realized most who knew only envied her.
Industry gossip revealed that, compared to many Hollywood power players, the young phenom was remarkably restrained in his private life; few women ever got close. That made her luck plain.
Lucky?
Perhaps. She'd never been naive. At thirty-five, idealism was long gone; she knew how rare such an opportunity was in this business.
Only…
Most people didn't know they'd actually met just twice since becoming acquainted.
Well.
Three times, counting today.
The admin area sat in the southeast corner; post-production was closer.
Seeing him about to drift inside without a word, resentment flared again. She spoke first. "Simon… dinner tonight?"
He paused, studied her a moment, shook his head. "I'm tired today. Next time."
Watching him disappear, she felt an unexpected prick of tears.
She swallowed it.
Several people nearby were watching, how could she lose composure? Especially over a man so much younger.
Pathetic.
Deep breath. She even smiled at a couple glancing her way, slung her bag higher, and walked toward admin as if nothing had happened.
The afternoon passed in distracted busyness.
Leaving the lot that evening, Simon didn't run into Renee again, though Scorsese had stopped by his suite to say hello.
At Daenerys's Burbank offices, Jennifer was waiting with the day's updates.
After Columbia announced Sex, Lies, and Videotape for July 7, Universal revealed today that Palme d'Or winner Cinema Paradiso would open July 28.
Much had already changed.
Without the Palme, and with Columbia's marketing less aggressive than Miramax's would have been, Sex, Lies's prospects were unclear.
Cinema Paradiso in late July struck Simon as a misstep.
The original North American release had been re-edited; he doubted Universal could refine the two-and-a-half-hour cut properly in two months. An untrimmed version would struggle.
Moreover, Miramax had platformed it during awards season, riding months of buzz. Universal would rely solely on the Palme prestige.
In Simon's view, the Palme carried far less weight in North America than Europe especially against last year's star-packed Pulp Fiction. An Italian film faced steep odds.
The thoughts flickered and vanished.
End of day, after wrapping with Jennifer, he left Burbank on time.
Driving south through the hills, staring idly out the window, he suddenly recalled Janet's parting words in Melbourne.
Girls love surprises.
And he'd been away from Australia a long time; he really should visit her.
Decision made, he told Neil Bennett, at the wheel, to arrange a flight tonight.