Chapter 102: Too Cool to Handle
Nighttime, Montrose Hotel, West Hollywood.
Aaron had been invited to a private cocktail party — and what a lineup it was.
Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese, Al Pacino, Joe Pesci, and Robert De Niro — all gathered under one roof.
Aaron couldn't help but grin.
"Are you sure this isn't a mafia summit?"
He joked with Al Pacino, eyeing the room full of men who had practically defined Hollywood's mob genre.
Pacino laughed. He himself was still filming Bugsy — another gangster epic in the making.
At this year's Oscars, both Goodfellas (Scorsese) and The Godfather Part III (Coppola) had lost to newcomer Kevin Costner's Dances with Wolves. The irony wasn't lost on anyone here.
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"Come on, Aaron," Pacino teased, "no date tonight? There are plenty of lovely young ladies around."
Aaron smiled and shrugged. Jennifer Connelly had gone back to school after spring break, and Nicole Kidman was off handling her own projects. He was flying solo tonight.
"Hey," he said suddenly, nodding toward the crowd, "isn't that Sofia Coppola, the director's daughter?"
Pacino followed his gaze.
"Yeah," Aaron continued with a knowing smirk, "she just won the Golden Raspberry for Worst Supporting Actress and Worst Newcomer thanks to The Godfather Part III."
"Rough year for her."
The Godfather Part III had earned only $66 million domestically, about $130 million worldwide, far below expectations. Much of the criticism targeted Coppola's decision to cast his own daughter — a move the media tore apart as blatant nepotism.
Pacino sighed softly.
"She's had enough of it. The criticism's been brutal. She's already decided to quit acting altogether."
Aaron nodded approvingly.
"That's probably for the best. Better to find something that truly suits her."
Pacino chuckled. "You're about the same age — maybe you two have more in common than you think."
He patted Aaron's shoulder and drifted off into the crowd.
Aaron smirked. "Common ground? Not likely."
He glanced again at Sofia. Nice girl, maybe, but not his type — not even close.
Then, across the room, another familiar face caught his attention.
"Hmm… Winona Ryder?"
He made his way over.
"Hey, Winona — good evening."
She turned with a bright smile.
"Aaron! Good evening to you too."
Winona leaned in for a brief hug and a soft cheek-to-cheek kiss.
"Thank you again, for the other night."
Aaron waved it off casually.
"Don't mention it. So… what's going on with you and Coppola?"
Everyone in Hollywood knew the story — how Winona Ryder had clashed with Francis Ford Coppola after being abruptly replaced in The Godfather Part III.
Winona smiled faintly when Aaron brought it up.
"It's fine now. There's this new script — an adaptation of Bram Stoker's Dracula. I was discussing it with another director, and he showed it to Coppola. Apparently, Francis is interested in developing it himself — and directing."
"Dracula?" Aaron's eyes lit up. He remembered that one — Bram Stoker's Dracula.
After the success of Edward Scissorhands, both critically and commercially — $56 million domestic and $86 million worldwide — Winona had quickly become one of the most promising young actresses in the industry.
But if Coppola was reaching out to her again…
"So you're telling me," Aaron said, "you're actually considering working with him again? On Dracula?"
Winona nodded.
"Coppola said he thinks I'm perfect for the female lead. His company, American Zoetrope, has already started early development."
Aaron nodded thoughtfully. Zoetrope — Coppola's own studio — was struggling. The Godfather Part III hadn't made nearly enough to pull him out of debt, so rushing into another project made sense.
"Do you know who's backing it? The studio or distributor?"
"Not yet," Winona said, shaking her head. "Coppola's had a long relationship with Paramount, so probably them. But honestly, I don't really know — I just act."
Then she tilted her head, curious.
"Why? Are you interested in getting involved?"
Aaron smiled.
"Well, I'm always interested in what Coppola's doing. But right now, Dawnlight Pictures doesn't have that kind of budget to spare. And I've already got two, maybe three projects in development."
He was intrigued by Dracula, but his focus had to stay on his own slate — Scent of a Woman, Sleepless in Seattle, and possibly another thriller later in the year. Funding was already tight.
Winona's eyes sparkled.
"You're impressive, Aaron. Always working on something."
Aaron grinned.
"Actually, one of those projects could use a cameo from you — something light. You'd be working with Al Pacino."
"With Al Pacino?" she repeated, surprised.
"Yeah," Aaron said, leaning forward. "It's an adaptation of the Italian film Profumo di Donna — Scent of a Woman. Al's playing a retired, blind army officer. There's a ballroom scene where he dances the tango with a beautiful woman — confident, graceful, and elegant. I think you'd be perfect for it."
Winona smiled softly.
"A tango with Al Pacino, huh? That's tempting."
"I'll send you the script when it's ready," Aaron said. "You can decide then."
"All right," she said, her smile deepening. "I'll look forward to it."
When Winona left, Aaron leaned back in his chair, mulling it over.
"Dracula, huh? Interesting…"
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Later that evening, Aaron left West Hollywood and drove north toward Sun Valley, the neighborhood where Salma Hayek lived.
As soon as she saw him, Salma's face lit up.
"Aaron! You came!" she cried, throwing her arms around him and refusing to let go.
He chuckled, patting her back.
"All right, all right. Let's go grab a drink."
They ended up in a vibrant Mexican barbecue bar, pulsing with music and color.
Salma kissed him on the cheek with a playful grin.
"Feels different, doesn't it? Real Latin spirit."
Aaron laughed, taking a sip of his beer.
He glanced around — the men rugged and boisterous, the women bold and beautiful.
"Sun Valley, huh? There are a lot of Mexican families here?"
"Plenty," she said. "Tons of Latin restaurants and bars nearby."
A few minutes later, Salma leaned close, whispering,
"Watch the stage — the show's starting."
Aaron turned just as the lights dimmed. A stunning Latina woman stepped onto the small stage — dressed in gold, with a massive golden python draped around her neck.
The crowd cheered as tribal Mexican music filled the bar.
"Wow… that's incredible," Aaron said, clapping his hands with genuine excitement. The rhythm, the wild energy, the fearless sensuality — it was mesmerizing.
Salma slid into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"You know," she murmured, her lips brushing his ear, "I can do that too."
Aaron grinned.
"Oh yeah?"
Her answer came with a mischievous smile.
"Mm-hmm…"
Aaron didn't wait — he pulled her close and kissed her deeply as the music swelled around them.
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