Chapter 103: Do You Think I'm in This for the Money?
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of the Los Angeles apartment, falling across the bed where Aaron stirred awake, an arm draped around Salma Hayek.
"You're awake, Aaron?" Salma murmured softly, her voice still thick with sleep. Her cheeks glowed faintly pink as she rested against his chest.
Aaron rubbed his eyes and chuckled.
"Last night was… a little insane."
He wasn't wrong. From the bar, to the car, the sofa, the shower — and finally, back to the bedroom — it had been one long blur of passion and laughter.
"I watched Boyz n the Hood yesterday," Salma said after a pause. "It's really well made. I can see why it's doing so well."
Aaron smiled faintly, brushing a hand across the curve of her chest.
"Dawnlight's got a romance film lined up this year. When the time comes, I'll get you a small part — just something to put your face out there."
He grinned. "And don't worry — my films aren't those cheap, made-for-TV projects. We're talking twenty million–dollar productions."
Salma held him tighter, her tone carrying a mix of gratitude and quiet frustration.
"I can't even land roles in TV movies anymore. They all say Hollywood doesn't have space for actresses like me… not for someone who looks 'too Mexican.'"
TV movies — the kind made for network broadcast and VHS release — were the bottom rung of the industry, cheap and disposable.
Aaron sighed.
"Latina, huh? Don't worry. Your time will come — soon."
He wasn't just comforting her; he meant it. If nothing else, he'd make sure she got her Screen Actors Guild membership.
Salma smiled and murmured something unintelligible before slipping back under the covers, disappearing beneath the sheets with a mischievous glint in her eye.
---
April 12th — Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood.
The iconic Cinerama Dome was ablaze with flashbulbs and reporters as the premiere of The Silence of the Lambs began.
Director Jonathan Demme, along with Jodie Foster and Anthony Hopkins, walked the red carpet amid cheers.
Jodie — America's beloved prodigy turned icon — drew an overwhelming wave of fans and press. The red carpet buzzed with energy.
Aaron stood nearby, arm wrapped casually around Nicole Kidman's waist. Cameras flickered as they posed together.
"You look stunning tonight," he whispered, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
Nicole smiled, her eyes shining under the lights.
"Seeing how confident you are," she said teasingly, "I guess I don't need to worry about anything."
She glanced around. "By the way, where's Jack? Wasn't he with you a moment ago?"
Aaron smirked.
"Oh, him? The moment Jodie finished her interview, he ran backstage to meet his idol. I think he's still there — probably trying to get her autograph."
Aaron shook his head with a sigh.
Some people really lose it the moment they see a star, he thought, watching his associate dash off like an excited fanboy.
A little while later, after finishing a chat with The Silence of the Lambs producers Ronald Bozman and Edward Saxon, Aaron ran into Mike Medavoy in the lobby.
"Aaron," Medavoy greeted him with a genial smile, "TriStar's giving The Silence of the Lambs a wide release — fifteen hundred theaters for opening weekend!"
Aaron nodded appreciatively, though a wry thought crossed his mind.
Warner Bros. gave Steven Seagal's new action flick, Out for Justice, two thousand screens. Typical.
He turned back with an easy grin.
"Silence of the Lambs has it all — a gripping story, incredible direction, and performances that get under your skin.
Trust me, Mike — TriStar made the right call with this one."
Then, as if recalling something, he asked, "By the way, Spielberg's Hook — is that wrapped yet?"
Medavoy nodded. "Filming's done. It's in post-production now."
Of course, the crown jewel of TriStar's 1991 slate wasn't Hook, but Carolco's massive summer release — Terminator 2: Judgment Day, set for Independence Day.
Mike tilted his head. "Why? You thinking about working with Spielberg?"
Aaron took a thoughtful pause.
"I heard from someone at CAA that Spielberg's interested in directing a film about the Holocaust. You know me, Mike — I've always believed cinema should stand for something greater than money. If he's really doing it, I'd like to help make it happen."
Medavoy studied him with mild surprise.
"You must be talking about Schindler's List. Universal's been sitting on that project for years. They weren't eager to produce it, but Spielberg agreed to direct Jurassic Park for them — so they're not going to say no this time."
He chuckled. "If you really want to support Schindler's List, they'll be more than happy to take your money."
Aaron smiled faintly, but inside he was already running the math.
Medavoy continued, "Spielberg's had the rights to that script for a while. Universal bought it years ago at his request. He was only attached as producer — he'd offered it to other Jewish filmmakers like Roman Polanski and Billy Wilder, but it never materialized."
"Eventually, he handed it to Martin Scorsese. They even signed a directing deal — until last year, when Spielberg changed his mind."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "He took it back from Scorsese?"
"Exactly," Medavoy said, amused. "So Spielberg traded him another project — a remake of Cape Fear that Amblin and Universal were co-developing. Scorsese got that one, with Robert De Niro in the lead, and in return, Spielberg reclaimed Schindler's List."
Aaron laughed softly. "I actually saw Scorsese and De Niro at a party in West Hollywood last week. The two of them never stop working — straight from Goodfellas to Cape Fear. De Niro's practically Scorsese's muse."
"Anyway," he added, "thanks for the tip, Mike. I'll look into it."
Medavoy smiled knowingly.
"Just be careful — that's quite a noble gesture for a small studio like Dawnlight. A Holocaust drama doesn't exactly scream box office gold."
Aaron licked his lips and smirked.
"Mike, film isn't just a business. It's also about meaning — about responsibility."
He leaned back, his tone soft but sharp.
"Do you really think I'm doing this for the money? No. It's about art, integrity — and the kind of legacy cinema should stand for."
Of course, privately, he was relieved it wouldn't be Scorsese behind the camera.
Aaron admired the man's craft but thought dryly, The guy only knows gangsters and Catholic guilt.
If Scorsese directed Schindler's List, I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole.
After all, Goodfellas had barely crossed $50 million worldwide — brilliant film, but not exactly commercial.
Scorsese might have prestige, but he still didn't have an Oscar to his name.
Medavoy just smiled, patting Aaron's arm. "You really are something, Aaron."
Spielberg, meanwhile, had his hands full — Hook was deep in post-production, and he was juggling several projects as producer.
At the same time, Jurassic Park was already in early development — his next major priority.
Aaron knew Schindler's List wouldn't start filming until later. That was fine — he preferred it that way.
By then, Ghost would have already hit theaters, and his name — and his studio — would be in a stronger position.
---
When The Silence of the Lambs opened across 1,496 theaters, it stunned the industry.
Opening weekend: $13.76 million.
By contrast, Warner Bros.' Out for Justice managed only $10.52 million.
But more importantly — Silence wasn't just a hit; it was a phenomenon.
Critics hailed it as a new kind of horror — cerebral, psychological, and deeply unsettling.
It wasn't just about blood and screams. It was about fear that got under your skin — the kind you couldn't shake off even after the lights came up.
For Aaron, that was the real victory.
---