Around 7:30 in the evening, outside a mansion halfway up the hills in Beverly Hills.
The wine-red Ford pulled over on the narrow mountain road. Simon got out, circled to the other side, opened the door, and watched Janet Johnston naturally link arms with him as she stepped out. He joked in a low voice, "This isn't the calm before the storm, is it?"
Since it was a casual cocktail party, Simon had changed into a shirt and slacks, but Janet still wore her daytime pink knee-length skirt. Yet now, she seemed like a completely different person, devoid of her usual madness and whimsy, carrying herself with the impeccable grace of a refined lady.
Janet shot him a sidelong glance at the quip, subtly pinching his arm.
The sting on his arm immediately put Simon at ease.
Okay.
This was normal.
Entering the mansion, Simon and Janet followed a server to the front yard poolside, where Brian De Palma and David Giler approached together.
The party already had quite a few guests, who curiously glanced over as Brian De Palma and David Giler headed toward the young couple, with a few whispers mixed in.
After greetings, the two middle-aged men clearly grew curious about the elegant Janet beside Simon. They knew his personal situation fairly well, so they wondered how he'd suddenly shown up with such a companion.
After all, Janet didn't look like one of those nameless aspiring actresses hitching a ride into Hollywood—she seemed more like a heiress from a wealthy family.
Sensing their interest, Simon introduced her proactively. "Brian, David, this is Janet Johnston—she's a painter. Jenny, this is Mr. Brian De Palma, and this is Mr. David Giler."
Janet listened to the introduction, shaking hands graciously with the two men and offering just the right compliments.
After the small talk, Brian De Palma had to greet other guests. David Giler whispered to Simon that Orion Pictures president Mike Medavoy would arrive shortly, then led him and Janet through the crowd, enthusiastically making introductions.
Hollywood seemed vast, but once you broke in, the circle shrank dramatically.
On his first such gathering, Simon encountered Hollywood stars like Al Pacino, Michael Caine, Harvey Keitel, and Melanie Griffith—figures who'd once been utterly out of reach.
Of course, these were just brief chats; no instant friendships formed. But Simon knew even this exposure was a dream for many desperate to enter the circle.
The logic was simple.
A face-to-face meeting bred familiarity. For future collaborations, "XXX? Oh, met at Brian's party" versus "XXX? Who's that?" could make all the difference.
After patiently guiding Simon through the rounds, David Giler excused himself for a bit.
Simon and Janet stood by the railing overlooking all of Los Angeles, each nursing a cocktail for a brief rest.
Janet took an elegant sip from her glass, noticing Simon's focused gaze on the glittering city lights below. She teased, "Little boy, feeling ambitious all of a sudden?"
"Nah," Simon shook his head. "Just reminded me of a movie—some guy, uh, very unprofessional."
Janet caught the fleeting odd emotion on his face, puzzled. "Hmm?"
Simon downed his drink in one gulp, back to normal, smiling. "Nothing—a movie that hasn't been made yet, so I can't tell you about it."
Janet studied him, then suddenly nodded. Her bright eyes, lit by the lights, sparkled like two eager little beasts. She echoed, "Little boy, you starting to talk crazy? I'll join you."
Simon met her earnest gaze teetering on the edge of madness, suddenly wanting to caress her fair cheek. His arm lifted slightly, then stopped. "Don't— I'd rather you keep this elegant vibe all night. It's a real ego boost for a guy."
"Hehe, sure," Janet chuckled lightly, the gathering intensity dissipating instantly. "Actually, I get the feeling a lot of them know you."
Simon had noticed the amused looks during David Giler's introductions too, smiling. "Probably not for good reasons."
Compared to his role as a rising screenwriter in the WMA packaging fiasco, Simon figured they were more aware of him for shattering those five guys' legs recently. Even David Giler had asked about it in private chats, wondering if Simon had trained like Bruce Lee.
Honestly, Simon barely remembered that night—he'd been on the verge of breaking down.
But over time, he'd realized his strength was far above average. And while he knew no martial arts, his mind held some pro fighting skills. Still, he had no idea how potent that translated to in combat value. He wasn't violent and couldn't be bothered to test it.
They chatted like that for a while until David Giler reappeared, with a tall, affable-looking middle-aged man in tow.
"Mike, this is Simon," David Giler gestured toward him, then added, "Simon, this is Mike Medavoy, president of Orion Pictures."
Simon shook hands politely, briefly introducing Janet beside him. David Giler led them to the second-floor balcony of the villa behind. It had a table and chairs, with an even better view than the railing.
After ordering drinks and snacks from a server, David Giler chatted for a moment before leaving, giving Simon and Mike Medavoy space to talk.
What followed wasn't confidential, so Simon didn't send Janet away, focusing intently on Mike Medavoy's probing.
In the '80s, with the film industry's revival, Hollywood saw a surge of standout independent production companies.
While New Line and Miramax were more famous, in this era, companies like Orion, Cannon, Carolco, and Castle Rock were actually stronger.
Orion shared similarities with Miramax; it produced and distributed acclaimed films like *The Silence of the Lambs*, *Dances with Wolves*, *The Unbearable Lightness of Being*, and *Platoon*, many Oscar favorites.
After Orion's early '90s bankruptcy, Miramax's Weinstein brothers rose in the Oscars.
Beyond Orion, others like Cannon, Carolco, and Castle Rock faded before the new century, mostly becoming negligible shells under media conglomerates. Only New Line and Miramax, early allies with Time Warner and Disney, survived relatively intact.
On the balcony, Mike Medavoy wasn't talkative, but his words showed he'd researched Simon and *Run Lola Run* thoroughly—even reading the *Butterfly Effect* script.
Noting this, Simon realized Orion was genuinely interested, making collaboration highly likely.
But then, if not, David Giler wouldn't have arranged this meeting so seriously.
After a few exchanges, Mike Medavoy dove into substantive talks. "Simon, *Run Lola Run* is a very fresh story, and its low cost offsets the commercial risks. But I can't agree to your demand for absolute creative control."
Simon listened, then replied, "Mike, the story seems simple, but the details are tightly interconnected. Besides me, I don't think anyone else could fully realize it. And as I said, I can fund the startup myself. If Orion isn't satisfied with early footage, you can pull out. But if you approve my work, I'd want an interference-free creative environment."
"Of course, I have no issues with the script or story," Mike Medavoy shook his head. "Simon, I'm talking about things like casting. Frankly, Orion isn't interested in tiny independent projects—we're not B-movie guys like Roger Corman. So Orion can provide a $1 million production budget, but if we invest, we won't bail halfway."
Simon hesitated. "Mike, you mean...?"
Mike Medavoy explained, "Simon, drop the idea of self-funding the startup. But I respect your desire for a chance. So Orion can back the film—$1 million budget, with us handling casting. We'll give you a week to shoot; if the results impress, we continue with minimal interference. Otherwise, we take over, replace the director, and finish. Oh, for the script, I can offer $50,000 plus video and TV residuals. Finally, Orion wants first-look rights on one of your future scripts. I know about your Fox deal, but it doesn't conflict—you won't stop at three scripts, right?"