Chapter 166: They Don't Get Along
At Hollywood's Wiltern Theatre, Dawnlight Pictures specially arranged a showcase screening of The Crying Game, inviting a large number of film critics and journalists.
At the same time, Aaron even invited the Clintons to serve as honorary hosts for the event.
War, race, sexuality—The Crying Game was rich with provocative and layered themes.
That evening, at a private club in Arlington Garden, South Pasadena, Clinton was drinking heavily, his face flushed as he had his arms around two beautiful women.
After the screening, Aaron deliberately had Jack Wells escort Clinton to the club.
Upstairs, Jack Wells handed Aaron a thick stack of documents.
"This guy really is incredibly promiscuous. During his time as governor of Arkansas, no one even knows how many lovers he had," Jack said.
"Most of this is what I had people dig up—women connected to him, tabloid stories everywhere."
Aaron smiled faintly and glanced downstairs at Clinton, who was laughing and fooling around.
"Well, just looking at this scene tells you exactly what kind of man he is."
"Still," Jack added, shaking his head, "he's backed by a lot of Jewish financial groups. Several Israeli-linked funds under the North American Jewish federations have put money behind him."
Jack sighed. "A U.S. president… they really are a breed apart."
Aaron patted him on the shoulder.
"The election results will be out next month. When that happens, you'll see that the few million dollars we invested were well worth it."
"Let's hope so," Jack replied. He had recently helped suppress several of Clinton's scandals and had also arranged direct cash donations. If Clinton turned out to be nothing more than a passing figure, it would feel like a terrible waste.
Thanks to the massive success of Indecent Proposal and Sleepless in Seattle, along with the growing critical momentum of The Crying Game, Dawn Pictures was riding high.
With Scent of a Woman and Schindler's List still to come, the future looked exceptionally bright.
Aaron even purchased sixty acres of land in Burbank to build his own production base, while construction plans for Dawnlight's new headquarters officially got underway.
On Halloween night, at a masquerade ball in the Sofitel Hotel in Beverly Hills, Los Angeles, Aaron sat on a sofa with the stunning Monica Bellucci in his arms, casually sipping red wine.
"Philadelphia starts shooting next month," Monica said softly.
"You'll be heading to the Philadelphia set then."
Aaron spoke as his hand casually traced along the woman's thigh.
"I'm ready," Monica Bellucci smiled. "By the way, isn't Bram Stoker's Dracula also releasing next month?"
Aaron nodded. "Late next month—Thanksgiving weekend."
He was one of the producers on Bram Stoker's Dracula, and Dawnlight Pictures had invested ten million dollars in the project.
"Come on," he said. "Let's dance."
Not long after, two unmistakable celebrity couples arrived at the masquerade ball. With physiques like theirs, it was impossible not to recognize them—Arnold Schwarzenegger with Maria Shriver, and Sylvester Stallone with his new girlfriend.
"Hey, Aaron," Monica asked softly, both of them wearing masks, though her allure remained impossible to hide. "Aren't Arnold and Stallone on bad terms?"
"They get along… more or less," Aaron replied with a faint smile.
He leaned in, kissed her briefly, and whispered something in her ear.
"Is that really true?" Monica's eyes widened in disbelief.
Arnold had once introduced one of his former lovers to Stallone—freeing himself of the relationship while simultaneously turning Stallone into a laughingstock. Stallone ended up marrying the woman, only to later discover she had previously been married in Europe and even had a son. Two years later, the marriage ended in divorce, leaving Stallone thoroughly humiliated.
Cradling Monica in his arms, Aaron said quietly, "It's all true. Arnold and Stallone have always competed in the film industry."
"They're both the highest-paid actors in Hollywood right now—fifteen million dollars per film."
Still, Stallone's recent years hadn't been smooth. His comedy Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot, which cost forty-five million dollars to make, earned only twenty-eight million at the box office.
What stung even more was that Arnold himself had encouraged Stallone to take the role—passing off a script he considered trash. After consecutive failures like Oscar and Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot, Stallone's attempt to pivot into comedy was widely regarded as a misstep.
By contrast, Arnold had enjoyed massive success with action blockbusters like Total Recall and Terminator 2: Judgment Day, while also pulling off successful comedic turns in Twins and Kindergarten Cop. Stallone's imitation of that path had ended in disappointment.
On November 3, 1992, the U.S. presidential election concluded. The Democratic candidate, Arkansas governor Bill Clinton, defeated incumbent Republican president George H. W. Bush, independent candidate Ross Perot, and several minor contenders—becoming the 42nd President of the United States.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania—on the set of Philadelphia.
The election result barely stirred Aaron. It was exactly what he had expected.
That night, in the hotel bedroom, Monica lay breathless atop him. "That was incredible, Aaron."
He chuckled. "Wasn't I always?"
She kissed him softly, her full figure pressed against his chest. "You know that's not what I meant. I mean… tonight, you were exceptional."
Aaron smiled. "I'll be heading back to Los Angeles soon. Scent of a Woman and Bram Stoker's Dracula are about to release."
"There's a lot to handle—and Spielberg's Schindler's List as well."
Though Bram Stoker's Dracula was distributed by Columbia Pictures, Dawnlight had invested in it. The rest of his attention was already shifting toward the upcoming awards season.
"I understand," Monica said gently, slipping beneath the covers. "If you miss me, just call."
Aaron exhaled slowly, thinking ahead to the Academy Awards ceremony in March.
With Schindler's List in contention, the Oscars felt well within his grasp.