Chapter 74: You're Finally Back
Simon rested for less than five hours before getting up early at eight the next morning.
To save time, he decided not to drive back himself this time; the crew would hire a driver to deliver the SUV to Los Angeles. After a simple breakfast and farewells to everyone, Edward Feldman, the producer of Near Dark, drove him to the Phoenix airport.
Due to the time difference, it was still only nine in the morning in Los Angeles when he arrived.
Los Angeles International Airport.
Simon stepped off the plane and made his way to the arrivals hall, scanning the area.
He'd called last night to have Janet pick him up, but the person who appeared was Jonathan's assistant, Owen Wright. Owen spotted Simon quickly and hurried over, handing him a pair of sunglasses without preamble. "Simon, you'd better put these on."
The arrivals hall wasn't crowded at this hour. Before Owen could say more, Simon noticed seven or eight guys with cameras jogging toward them. Some were already snapping photos impatiently, and flashes erupted all around.
The commotion drew stares from others in the hall.
Though it was his first time facing this in either life, Simon stayed calm. He donned the sunglasses, grabbed his suitcase from behind him, and hurried out of the hall with Owen.
Seeing Simon and Owen speed up to leave, the paparazzi chased after them, surrounding the pair tightly from all sides. They kept snapping photos while firing off questions.
"Simon, can you stop and say a few words?"
"Simon, Run Lola Run topped the box office last weekend—what are your thoughts?"
"Simon, I hear you're shopping your new script and asking for 10% of the North American box office gross. Do you think that's realistic?"
"Simon..."
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
Amid the chaotic questions, Simon kept his head slightly lowered in silence, squeezing through the gaps in the crowd with Owen, careful not to push too hard. He'd heard about Stallone getting harrased by paparazzi in Arizona and didn't want that hassle right after returning to L.A.
They made it to the parking lot with some difficulty and got into the car. Only when they merged onto the highway near the airport did Simon relax a bit—until he noticed the pack of paparazzi trailing Owen's sedan.
Owen glanced in the rearview mirror from the driver's seat and smiled. "Simon, how's it feel to be famous?"
Simon answered honestly. "Makes me want to punch someone."
"Heh, you'll get used to it. This is actually a small crowd—you came back suddenly, so it must be reporters from Arizona who tipped them off." Owen accelerated a bit before continuing. "Miss Janet was planning to pick you up, but she found her house surrounded when she tried to leave. She called Jonathan, and here I am."
Simon immediately grew concerned. "What happened?"
Owen gestured for Simon, who was leaning forward from the back, to relax. "Didn't you tell reporters last night that you have a girlfriend?"
Simon was surprised. "I didn't mention Janet's name. And how do you know about it already?"
"With thousands of newspapers across the country, speed sells. But don't worry—those paparazzi mostly play by the rules. As long as Miss Janet stays inside, she'll be fine. Once the story cools off in a few days, the ones staking out her place will scatter." After explaining, Owen asked, "Simon, where to now? I'd suggest avoiding Miss Janet— you'll just lead more of them there."
Simon thought it over. With Janet trapped at home, there were bound to be people staking out his villa in Montana as well.
After a moment's consideration, he decided. "Head to WMA headquarters. I happen to have things to discuss with Jonathan."
Owen nodded. "Jonathan's eager to chat with you too. In the month you've been gone—especially the last two weeks—people seeking collaborations, interviews, info... all sorts. They can't reach you, so they bombard us. Jonathan's about to lose it, and I fend off dozens of calls about you every day."
Though he'd already sensed the changes around him in Arizona, Simon smiled at Owen's words. "It can't be that bad, can it?"
Owen glanced at Simon in the rearview again. "You clearly don't grasp your situation yet. Simon, Run Lola Run has a real shot at this year's North American box office crown. Think about how huge Tom Cruise got after Top Gun exploded last year. You're in the same boat now."
Simon noticed a paparazzo on a motorcycle outside the window, awkwardly snapping one-handed at the car glass in vain. He nodded, fell silent, and began mulling over his next moves.
Twenty minutes later, Owen parked in front of WMA headquarters. They hurried into the building before the paparazzi could swarm again.
It was peak morning rush, and the WMA building buzzed with activity.
Most people eyed Owen and the young man with him curiously at first. As some recognized Simon and eagerly approached to greet him, word spread. Soon, everyone was nodding or coming over to chat.
Amid the buzz, they reached Jonathan Friedman's office, where the agent was already waiting.
"Simon, you're finally back."
With that greeting, Jonathan stepped forward for a hug, then patted Simon's shoulder. Under the envious gazes of other WMA staff and clients, he ushered him inside.
Once in the office, Jonathan gestured for Simon to sit on the guest sofa, then turned to his desk and pulled a thick stack of folders from the file cabinet.
Simon watched his agent bustle about but didn't head to the sofa. Instead, he approached the desk and pointed to the landline. "Jonathan, I'd like to call Janet first."
"Of course," Jonathan nodded understandingly, setting the folders down and patting them. "Go ahead. I need to step out anyway—the mailroom says there's a document I have to sign for personally."
Simon smiled as his agent left, then picked up the receiver and dialed Janet's number.
After all this time together, Simon knew Janet hated answering calls. It rang for quite a while before someone picked up with a lazy hum.
Simon smiled. "Janet, it's me."
Hearing Simon's voice, Janet perked up on the other end—but immediately started blaming him for the horde of paparazzi he'd drawn to her.
They chatted for a good while. Under his coaxing, and though he knew heading to Malibu would attract even more paparazzi, Simon finally promised to go as soon as he finished with Jonathan.
After hanging up, Jonathan—who'd clearly been waiting outside—pushed the door open.
They settled into the guest area, and Owen brought in two coffees. Once he left, Jonathan handed the folders to Simon one by one with explanations. "Simon, these are files and memos about you from the last few weeks—from media, studios, other filmmakers. I mentioned some on the phone, but you should review them yourself."
Simon nodded, flipping open one and scanning a few pages.
Jonathan waited as Simon skimmed, then passed over two scripts. "Also, that screenwriter Nora Ephron you asked about—she has two scripts. One's a crime comedy called Cookie, which I think is solid, but Warner Bros. already bought it. The other's a romantic comedy, Wen Harryh Met Sally—unique structure, but maybe too off-mainstream; no studio's bitten yet."
Simon took the scripts, still smiling as he flipped through them casually.
Jonathan studied Simon's expression, then handed over the last folder. "Finally, on Final Destination—after I put the word out, Warner, MGM, Columbia, and second-tiers like Cannon and New Line have inquired. No firm responses, but their execs all want to talk to you personally."
Simon took the folder and opened it to Jonathan's assessment of the studios' potential interest in the project.
After a quick scan, he set it down and looked at Jonathan. "Jonathan, I think we should discuss the new contract first."
Simon's original deal with Jonathan was just a script agency contract for three years.
But now, with Run Lola Run catapulting him in Hollywood, that old agreement wouldn't cut it if they were to continue.
By piling all these scripts, files, and memos in front of Simon, Jonathan was both showing his dedication and subtly reminding him they needed to renegotiate.
So, when Simon brought it up, Jonathan just smiled and nodded, waiting for him to continue.
Simon wasn't stingy and wouldn't let Jonathan do full-agent work on script commissions alone. But given his plans for the next few years, he couldn't sign a percentage deal either.
Sorting his thoughts, Simon said, "Joe, I've thought about this before coming back. Going forward, I'd like a fixed-salary contract: three years, $500,000. What do you think?"
Jonathan's eyes flashed with disappointment at the offer, but he didn't respond right away.
Noticing, Simon realized his phrasing was ambiguous and quickly clarified. "You misunderstood, Joe—$500,000 per year, not total."
Jonathan had some idea of Simon's earnings from Run Lola Run.
From what he knew, Simon stood to make at least $20 million personally across all distribution channels. It made sense he wouldn't want a percentage deal anymore.
At first, thinking it was $500,000 total for three years—decent but not generous—Jonathan would have accepted to keep working with the kid and leverage opportunities for his other clients, but it'd leave him disappointed in Simon.
Now, $500,000 annually? Jonathan Friedman had no complaints.
In this era, only a handful of A-list stars hit $5 million per film, and they often did just one every year or two. Their average annual commission to agents fell well below $500,000.
Simon's offer put him on par with an A-lister pulling full pay yearly. Though Jonathan sensed the young man's future earnings would dwarf that, as an agent, he knew not to push for more.
Smiling, Jonathan extended his hand. "Then, happy collaboration."
Simon shook it. "Happy collaboration."
No rush on the new contract details. Jonathan dove into explaining the files in depth. But less than half an hour in, his desk phone rang.
Gesturing for Simon to wait, Jonathan answered, exchanged a few words, then covered the mouthpiece and whispered "Goldberg" to Simon before resuming.
Simon stayed seated, quietly listening to Jonathan's conversation with Fox's president, Leonard Goldberg.
A moment later, Jonathan hung up and addressed Simon, who'd caught the gist. "Goldberg wants to have lunch with you today. And from what he said, Fox is agreeing to your terms."
As he spoke, Jonathan's expression still held disbelief.
10% of North American box office, 5% of video sales.
Terms even Spielberg wouldn't demand lightly—and Fox was caving in? Unbelievable.
Though he'd negotiated diligently, Jonathan had figured Simon might get half his ask after haggling, which would've been a coup.
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