The bar fight in Nevada, despite being an open-and-shut case of self-defense, was too juicy to be kept quiet. Even with immediate efforts by Alex's team to contain the incident, the news of the altercation began to leak almost immediately.
A small, local Nevada paper broke the story on the morning of the third day, and by lunchtime, it was national news.
The headline was exactly what Alex had dreaded: Hollywood Star Alex Hayes in a Bar Brawl!
The public's initial reaction might have been negative, but CAA immediately came to the rescue by changing the narrative. They deployed a highly coordinated strategy, utilizing their powerful connections across national media outlets to flood the news cycle with controlled counter-stories. The strategy was simple: paint Alex not as a reckless celebrity, but as a decisive hero who was once again forced into action. They ensured the full context—that the biker gang initiated the provocation, and Alex only intervened to defend a veteran law enforcement officer (Captain Miller)—was front-page news.
Furthermore, CAA successfully steered reporters away from the term "brawl" by strategically bringing up details of Alex's past. They aggressively reminded the press of the time he took down armed robbers in a convenience store and when he helped capture a serial killer. The bar owner also confirmed that Alex's agent immediately covered the full cost of the damage, presenting him as a responsible citizen.
The successful reframing of the story as one of heroic self-defense put Alex Hayes back into the national limelight. The free, positive publicity—where Alex was portrayed as a responsible hero who could handle himself in a real fight—was a massive, unexpected boon. This renewed, intense attention on the star immediately translated into box office heat for his recently released picture, The Color of Money. Benefiting directly from the fight's news cycle, the film experienced a sustained, powerful run through the fall, ensuring it crossed the $85 million domestic mark by the end of November.
Universal Studios, the company backing the production of Top Gun, was thrilled with the free publicity that positioned their star as a real-life action hero.
At the end of November, the filming of Top Gun completed.
Director Tony Scott approached Alex. "Alex, thank you for picking me for this film," he said, shaking his hand firmly. "It's been a fun ride."
"No favors, Tony," he replied. "I picked you because your visual style perfectly matched my vision. You were meant to direct this film".
The cast and crew, who had spent months together in intense conditions, shared wishes of good luck and success before scattering for a much-needed break.
Alex landed in Los Angeles and took four days off for a much-needed rest. He spent this precious downtime reconnecting with his personal life, meeting with his Aunt Nancy and her family, catching up with close friends like Robert Downey and Diane Lane, and spending quality time with his girlfriend, Mia Sara.
On the fifth day, he went to the CAA offices to meet with Paula and Michael Ovitz.
As Alex stepped into Ovitz's immaculate, minimalist office, he was surprised to find not just Paula and Ovitz, but also the other co-founders of CAA: Ronald Meyer, Rowland Perkins, and William Haber.
Michael S. Rosenfeld, the original fifth co-founder of CAA, had left the agency earlier this year to focus on producing films
"What's the occasion," Alex asked, breaking the brief silence with a grin, "to meet four of the founders of CAA?"
They all chuckled. "It's because of you, Alex," Ronald Meyer replied.
Alex feigned confusion. "Man, what have I done wrong now?"
Paula Wagner stepped in. "It's nothing, Alex. We just wanted to be proactive. We want to stop you from leaving CAA."
Alex's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Leaving? I'm leaving? Why didn't I hear it? Where did you hear it?"
Ovitz offered a slight smile. "Did other agencies not contact you recently about changing representation?"
Alex shrugged his shoulders, walked over to a nearby table, and picked up a small bowl of cashews, flicking one directly into his mouth. "They always come to me at least twice a year. I always reject them. It's been going on for years."
Ronald Meyer looked pointedly at Michael Ovitz. "But they changed the conditions this time after The Color of Money's success, right?"
"What did you hear?" Alex asked, popping another cashew.
Rowland Perkins jumped in. "We heard that United Talent Agency (UTA) & International Creative Management (ICM) are offering to take only eight percent commission."
William Haber added, "And the William Morris Agency even suggested taking seven and a half percent."
Alex looked back at the four men, his expression calm. "And I still rejected them."
They all looked at each other before Ovitz spoke, his voice serious. "Alex, you know how big you are now, right?"
Alex laughed, a full, genuine sound. "I am not just a pretty face, Michael."
Ovitz didn't laugh but continued, "They will come back with better conditions. So, we are gathering here for damage control."
"Oooh," Alex said, nodding. "Interesting. So, what are you offering?"
Paula, holding the formal paperwork, spoke clearly. "The company decided to take only eight percent commission of your salary, effective immediately."
"Good," Alex said calmly.
Ovitz, Meyer, Perkins, and Haber all exchanged a look, clearly expecting a bigger reaction, perhaps a demand for the 7.5% offered by WMA. Alex chuckled at their expressions. "As I said, I'm not just a pretty face. I know this is coming because I know my value."
All four founders laughed, visibly relaxing now that Alex hadn't asked to reduce the rate further. The tension in the room dissipated.
"But I came here to discuss the releasing schedule of Platoon," Alex reminded them, bringing the meeting firmly back to business. "Let's get back to that."
Ronald Meyer, Rowland Perkins, and William Haber then left, leaving the three of them—Alex, Paula, and Ovitz—to discuss the film's theatrical debut.
"Right," Ovitz said, placing a file on the desk. "Platoon is scheduled for a wide release in 1,580 theaters on December 18, 1986."
Paula picked up the discussion. "The distribution rights are secured by MGM. They've already marketed the film aggressively for more than two months. The key now is the final push. For the last two weeks, we need you to do your part in publicity, Alex—appearing in interviews and late-night shows to drive ticket sales right before Christmas."
Alex nodded. "It's a given. I'll do my due diligence."
"So, what's next after this?" Ovitz asked, leaning back in his chair.
Alex looked up in confusion. "Next after what?"
Paula smiled softly, understanding the source of his surprise. "Alex, this is the first time you've completed principal photography on a major movie without already having a new project written, selected, and signed. Right now, your schedule is blank. You haven't signed anything."
Alex looked at them, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Actually, I wanted to talk about it. I have something I have agreed to."
Paula and Ovitz exchanged a surprised glance; this was highly unusual for Alex not to loop them in immediately, or for them not to have heard a whisper of it.
Alex continued, ignoring their surprise with a confident chuckle. "Actually, the director and producer will contact you this week to discuss the terms and set up the contract."
Ovitz was the first to recover. "Who is the director, Alex? And what's the film called?"
Alex replied, his tone perfectly level. "The director is Norman Jewison. They just finalized the title a few days ago: Moonstruck."