Leonard Goldberg had only expressed some intent over the phone, without finalizing anything in the end. To avoid another tug-of-war at lunch, or even slipping back into a stalemate, Simon simply turned down the invitation and sent Jonathan Friedman in his place.
Agents often served as buffers between filmmakers and studios.
As noon approached, Jonathan headed off to handle Leonard Goldberg's lunch. Simon borrowed a car from WMA and, still trailed by a string of paparazzi, drove first to his villa in Montana.
Sure enough, paparazzi were staking out the front of the villa too.
Simon pulled into the parking spot in front of the villa. After getting out, he worried a bit that the paparazzi might swarm him, but thankfully they stayed on the roadside beyond the lawn, snapping photos like mad. Some tried tentatively to talk to him, with no success, of course.
He took out his key and unlocked the door, listening to the dense clicks behind him, resolved to change residences as soon as possible. America's open-style communities and front-and-back yard home layouts had never given him much sense of security anyway; if he kept living here, he'd have zero privacy going forward.
In the living room, he casually set down his suitcase and immediately noticed the blinking message light on the answering machine.
He walked over and checked; it was full.
He hit play without much thought. Orion Pictures president Mike Medavoy's voice came through—no real business, just some casual chit-chat, hoping Simon would call back once he got home. The second was from Ron McMillan , who congratulated the recent box office success of Run Lola Run and asked if Simon was free soon; the crew from the shoot wanted to throw a party to celebrate the film's big hit.
Simon still had to head over to Malibu. After listening to two messages and realizing the rest probably weren't urgent, he let it play on auto and grabbed his suitcase, heading to the study.
The villa didn't even have a home security system installed, and Simon had no plans to come back to live here, so he intended to take all his important things with him this time.
He cleared the clothes out of the suitcase, then carefully packed the manuscripts, notes, clippings, and such that he'd accumulated over the past half-year, double-checking for anything missed. With the suitcase in tow, he returned to the living room just as Sandra was chattering away on the machine, railing against Run Lola Run getting slapped with an R rating.
When the rating for Run Lola Run had been set, Simon had been in Arizona and felt pretty down about it for a while upon hearing the news, but now he'd let it go.
Film was ultimately a business, and commercial competition was never polite or even-handed. Since Simon had turned down the Big Seven and gone with Orion, he should've been prepared for someone to casually sabotage him.
And besides.
Once the sabotage was done, everyone would still have to keep doing business.
That was just the way of the world.
Leaving Montana, Simon continued to ignore the trailing paparazzi as he drove toward Malibu.
Arriving at Janet's mansion near Point Dume Park in Malibu, he saw over a dozen paparazzi camped out along the narrow asphalt road. The ones who'd followed him were now scrambling after his car on foot; they'd all parked in the public lot outside the community.
Parking was prohibited on this community road right now.
Simon had originally thought about calling to have any pursuing cars towed if they drove up, but seeing this, he realized he'd underestimated these clearly battle-hardened pros.
Before the ones behind him could catch up, he pulled up to Janet's gate, got out quickly, pushed through the already swarming paparazzi amid a barrage of shutters, and jabbed the intercom button a few times. Without waiting for a response, he hopped back in the car, put on his sunglasses, and let the surrounding paparazzi press their cameras right up to the windshield for a frenzy of shots.
Inside the mansion.
Janet, dressed casually in a knit sweater and jeans, was stirring a big bowl while cooing coquettishly into the phone cradled at her neck: "Mom, I know, I'm not a kid anymore... No way... Anyway, don't let Anthony or the others come over, and don't let Dad come, and especially don't let that Iceberg come—you don't want me to break up right after finally finding a boyfriend, do you?... Hehe, what else should I call her? I've been calling her that for years... Oh, doorbell—must be Simon, gotta go open it... Bye, love you."
She rattled all that off in a rush, set down the bowl, tossed the receiver aside, and ran out of the villa.
Outside the mansion.
The black sliding iron gate opened slowly. Simon still ignored the paparazzi—even the ones now blocking his hood—as he eased down on the gas and inched into the yard. The paparazzi stubbornly backed up with the car to the gate's edge, but seeing his speed remain slow and steady, with no risk of hitting anyone, they had no choice but to step aside.
The car entered the yard, and the solid iron gate closed again.
After getting out, Simon glanced at the row of cameras hoisted over the top of the gate, blindly snapping into the yard. As he grabbed his luggage from the car, he said to Janet, who was hiding in a blind spot: "Nice gate—better than a barred one. If it were a bit taller, it'd be perfect."
Janet smiled. "I'll call the workers right away to replace it."
Simon shook his head. "Nah, forget it—it's look ok right now. Taller would make it look ugly."
As he said this, Simon hugged the stack of folders he'd brought from WMA and pulled his suitcase over to where Janet stood, dodging into the same spot. She reached out to take the folders, and they headed into the villa together.
They'd just stepped inside when Janet lifted her chin slightly, gesturing around. "So, what do you think?"
Simon took in the villa's warm-toned, minimalist decor, listening to the faint crash of waves from the terrace side, and nodded. "It's great. I don't want to leave now."
"Hehe," Janet laughed, setting the stack of files on the coffee table. "Then hurry up and marry me—half of this place will be yours."
Simon eyed her up and down. "Only half?"
"Mm-hmm," Janet sidled over and hugged him, her tone softening as she amended: "All yours—including me."
Simon dipped his head for a peck on her lips. "First, help me find a study. Until I find a place, I'll probably just have to stay here. It'll be good to keep you company too—with that horde of paparazzi outside, I'm still not at ease."
Janet let go of him and led him to another room, though a bit dissatisfied. "Why do you need to find a house? Isn't staying here fine?"
Simon shook his head. "I'm not used to it."
Janet pouted. "Hmph, male chauvinist."
"This has nothing to do with any -ism. A lion doesn't live in someone else's territory—you're just a little kitten; how would you understand?" [TL/N: The lion doesn't concern himself with the opinion of woman.]
"Fine, fine, I'm a little kitten," Janet said in a tone that suggested she couldn't be bothered to argue, leading him to a room overlooking the sea. "Here—how's this?"
Simon looked it over: a very spacious study. The east side was a full wall of bookshelves lined with various crafts, with a wide desk beside them. The south side had floor-to-ceiling windows opening to the terrace, where a set of sunbathing sofas sat.
"Not bad. Just needs a phone."
"There is one," Janet pointed to the cabinet below the bookshelves. "Look in there—there's a jack over here; just plug it in."
"That settles it," Simon nodded, setting his suitcase aside. "Got lunch ready?"
"I was just about to bake some cupcakes—not much left in the house, so that's all I could do."
Simon nudged her toward the door. "That'll do for now. This afternoon, have someone pick up some stuff and deliver it."
They had a simple lunch, and then Simon dove into the study to get to work.
Since Run Lola Run had turned out far more successful than imagined, Simon planned to rethink his next development steps.
Before that, he first needed to build a team dedicated to serving him.
Right now, Simon only had an agent and a personal lawyer, and Jonathan Friedman and George Norman were capable enough for those roles by his side.
But that was far from sufficient.
Beyond an agent and personal lawyer, for handling media issues, Simon needed a dedicated PR manager; for managing personal assets, a reliable finance manager; for Daenerys Films, he wanted an experienced professional executive; and finally, security—though he didn't like having people constantly tailing him, at least for public appearances, bodyguards could definitely fend off a lot of hassles...
And a whole assortment of other things.
Simon spent the entire afternoon calling contacts he'd built up over the past half-year, seeking referrals or advice, occasionally making judgments based on info from his own memories, all with great caution.
He had no choice but to be extremely cautious.
Take a finance manager, for example: In Simon's memory, more than one Hollywood star had been driven to bankruptcy in that area by hiring the wrong person. After much deliberation, Simon even scrapped the idea of hiring one altogether, planning instead to seek out an accounting firm to handle the books and taxes for himself and his two companies.
As for managing personal assets, that could wait. Besides, his own woman might be lazy, but she was a legit business school grad— a little whip now and then, and she'd definitely be up to the task.
During this, Jonathan Friedman called, saying he'd spoken with Leonard Goldberg.
Fox had basically agreed to Simon's profit-sharing terms and absolute control over the project, but they wanted to raise the minimum box office guarantee for his cut to $20 million.
Only if Simon agreed to that could both sides proceed to discuss the contract details.
$16 million versus $20 million—the gap wasn't actually that big.
Simon understood Fox was just doing it to save a little face, so he didn't push back and readily agreed.
Time always flew when he was busy; before he knew it, the sun was setting.
Janet had started out helping him brainstorm, but she lost interest in less than an hour and curled up on the terrace sofa, eagerly flipping through the big pile of files and materials he'd brought back.
Hanging up another call, Simon glanced at the contact number for a PR firm called PMK, feeling quite amused—because PMK's boss was Pat Kingsley, Hollywood's famous PR queen.
Pat Kingsley's most well-known client was naturally Tom Cruise. Of course, in Simon's memory, stars like Jodie Foster, Al Pacino, and Will Smith were all her clients too.
As for why her collaboration with Tom Cruise was the most famous?
Obviously, because Cruise's public image was incredibly hard to maintain, yet Pat Kingsley had handled the job to near-perfection for over a decade.
In the original timeline, in 2004, Cruise fired Pat Kingsley and rashly put his sister in charge of PR—resulting in the once-great Tom quickly turning into a couch-jumping clown.
He was just about to call PMK to set up an appointment when he heard Janet, curled up on the sofa, suddenly burst into giggles.
Looking over, Simon smiled too and asked, "What is it?"
Janet waved the script in her hand, still laughing. "Hehe, this—it's hilarious."
With that, she got up, scampered over, and squeezed into his lap, showing him a page from the script. "Simon, make this your next movie, okay?"
"You've got to let me see the script first."
Simon steadied Janet's hand, which was still shaking from her amusement, and looked at the page: When Harry Met Sally, and one of the story's most memorable segments.
Harry and Sally are eating in a restaurant when they suddenly start discussing whether women's reactions in bed are real or fake.
Harry insists it's impossible for a woman to fake it in bed—at least, he'd never encountered it. Sally scoffs at this and, right there in the restaurant in front of everyone, puts on a vivid fake orgasm.
As Simon read the brief plot description in the script, the corresponding scene immediately flashed in his mind.
Thanks to Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal's superb performances, the segment didn't come off as sleazy at all—instead, it left people trying not to laugh.
In his memory, there was also an old lady who, after Sally's enthusiastic moaning, pointed to the food in front of her and told the waiter, "I'll have what she's having."
Making it even more hilarious.
But the script in front of him lacked that detail—it must have been the director's improvisation during shooting.
Simon penciled a mark on the script to remind himself to add that bit later, then asked Janet with interest, "You don't fake it in bed, do you?"
"Mm-hmm, no way—you're so good at it," Janet snuggled closer, noticing the star he'd drawn on the script. "Simon, I really like this story."
Simon nodded decisively. "We'll shoot it!"
"Hehe, you're the best," Janet twisted around, kissed him on the lips, then hugged his neck, her eyes sparkling. "Or, how about we go try it now? You can observe carefully if I'm faking."
"No need—I'm pretty confident, actually."
Janet tugged at his jacket collar. "You men are all so arrogant."
Simon just smiled without responding, then flipped casually through the script in front of him. "But Janet, this is a romance—not suitable as my next film. Even if we shoot it, I'll probably just produce."
"Mm," Janet nodded, twisting her body in the chair to face him fully as she straightened the collar she'd just rumpled. "So, Simon, what are you planning for your next movie? You won't just be a producer forever, right?"
Simon wrapped his arms around her slim waist. "For now, I'll focus on Final Destination first, and maybe this one too. As for my next directorial project, I'm not telling you yet. But to keep the buzz I got from Run Lola Run, first off, it'll definitely be even more stunning."