Slipping out of the black little dress, Sandra Bullock changed back into her plaid shirt and jeans, checking herself in the mirror. She felt a bit annoyed realizing she still looked better in this outfit.
But if she showed up to the Run Lola Run party like this, the media would inevitably hype her up as a tomboy or something, maybe even question her orientation.
Sudden fame, and suddenly discovering how imaginative those media folks could be. Every move, every word she said could be twisted into all sorts of nonsense.
Still, thinking about that guy, her own situation was pretty good by comparison.
With that in mind, she dashed out of the bedroom, grabbed a big stack of recent newspapers from under the living room coffee table, and flipped through them with keen interest.
"Simon Westeros Leaves Near Dark Set Early; Producer Edward Feldman Thanks Him for Contributions to the Film."
"Simon Westeros Moves into Mysterious Girlfriend's Malibu Mansion, Starting Sweet Cohabitation."
"Janet Johnston's Identity Revealed: Daughter of Mining Tycoon, Family Wealth Over $2 Billion."
"Simon Westeros Reaches New Film Deal with Fox; $20 Million Box Office Floor."
"Rumors of Poor Internal Test Screenings for The Butterfly Effect; Simon Westeros Silent on Media Questions."
"The Butterfly Effect Set for Easter Release; Simon Westeros Attends Press Conference."
"Simon Westeros Meets with Renowned Hollywood PR Exec Pat Kingsley."
"Columbia Girl's Shrewd Investment: Janet Johnston Holds 61.5% Stake in Run Lola Run, Expected Profits Over $30 Million."
"Simon Westeros House-Hunting in Palisades; Plans to Move Out of Girlfriend's Mansion, Relationship Possibly on the Rocks."
"..."
"..."
Sandra was flipping through with relish when the door opened. A plain-looking brunette girl walked in carrying a shoebox. Seeing Sandra still in her original shirt and pants, she widened her eyes. "Sandy, why haven't you changed yet? It's past six already—the party's at seven."
Helplessly setting down the papers, Sandra stood and spread her hands to Gina Cross, the assistant Jonathan had recently hired for her. "Gina, I still think I look better in this."
"Then get mocked by a bunch of media tomorrow?"
Gina Cross quipped, then tugged Sandra back into the bedroom and handed over the shoebox. "Hurry up and change. I've got the car ready—we leave in ten minutes. I'll do your makeup in the car."
After some bustling, she ended up in the black low-cut dress after all, stepping into black heels, and they hurried out of the West Hollywood apartment, heading to the Century City InterContinental in Beverly Hills' Century City.
Today was March 7th, a Saturday.
From February 27th to March 5th the previous week, Run Lola Run had pulled in $15.56 million across 536 screens, easily claiming the top spot on the North American box office chart.
Since it'd already nabbed a weekly box office crown, Orion Pictures had expanded Run Lola Run fully across the East and West Coasts yesterday, jumping the screen count to 1,176 in one go. Word was the film's reception was just as strong in its first wide rollout on the East Coast states and counties.
So, at that guy's suggestion, Orion Pictures had chosen this weekend to throw a victory party for Run Lola Run.
Arriving outside the Century City InterContinental, Sandra and Gina, sitting in the specially rented limo, were a bit stunned.
No red carpet, but the hotel entrance was still packed wall-to-wall with media reporters. The two women had no idea whether to get out or not. The press pack noticed the hesitant limo and swarmed over, snapping photos right at the closed doors.
Fortunately, after a brief standoff, a few security guards from the hotel came out proactively and escorted Sandra and her assistant inside.
It wasn't until she stood in front of the media photo wall in the hotel lobby that Sandra's heart stopped racing, though she still had to patiently flash a proper smile.
After signing and posing, she finally made it to the banquet hall.
She'd arrived a bit late; the hall was already buzzing with people.
But she spotted a certain guy right away.
Simon was chatting with Janet and Mike Medavoy about something. Noticing Sandra's arrival, he nodded to Mike Medavoy and walked over with his girlfriend.
Coming close, Simon gave Sandra a light hug and smiled. "Sandy, you look really beautiful today."
"Thanks, Simon," she replied a bit shyly, then quickly turned to hug Janet too, glancing at the woman's obviously expensive wine-red evening gown. "Janet looks beautiful today too."
Though she said it casually, Sandra felt a sour twinge inside, even felt a bit like an ugly woman. Sudden fame had spiked her visibility, with a ton of offers coming in these days. But truthfully, she was pretty strapped for cash; this evening dress was rented. If her parents hadn't lent her $20,000 for emergencies, she couldn't have afforded an assistant right now.
Sigh, that awful guy—making so much money but only paying her $5,000.
Stingy!
She grumbled inwardly but found she couldn't show it at all, even joking around with him like an idiot.
So dumb.
After chatting a bit, Simon noticed a woman in her thirties entering the banquet hall door in a deep blue evening gown, exuding competence. He said something to Sandra and was about to leave, but after a thought, he leaned in and whispered, "Sandy, once Run Lola Run starts bringing in money in a while, I'll give everyone a bonus. But if you're short on cash lately, you can come to me ahead of time."
She was momentarily stunned, feeling super guilty.
God.
He must've seen right through her.
So embarrassing.
She shook her head quickly. "No need, Simon. I, I don't have as many places to spend money as you do."
Simon just smiled, patted her bare shoulder, and said, "Have fun then. I've got some things to handle."
Watching him leave with his girlfriend, she felt a tickle on her exposed shoulder.
Looking around.
Seemed like no one noticed that little detail.
Suddenly she felt aggrieved, wanting to vent to someone.
Mom, he touched me.
Simon left Sandra and approached the woman, looking at this lady who'd gone toe-to-toe with him for a full three days. He smiled and extended his hand. "Evening, Amy. Come alone?"
The woman was named Amy—Amy Pascal, current vice president at Fox. More precisely, vice president of production, just like Peter Sanders before her.
Simon had looked into it: Fox was helmed by Leonard Goldberg, followed by a string of vice presidents. Among those tied closely to films were three production VPs, two marketing VPs, plus administrative VPs, facilities VPs, and so on.
Perhaps aware that Peter Sanders wasn't up to big tasks, for Final Destination, Ronald Goldberg had sent Amy Pascal to negotiate the specifics with Simon.
An $8 million production budget, $20 million North American box office floor, absolute control over the project, 10% of North American box office gross, and 5% of video sales. Those terms were locked in.
But on the film's future release date, rollout scale, marketing spend, and more, both sides had a heap of details to hash out.
Starting Wednesday, over three days, compared to Peter Sanders, Amy Pascal's shrewdness, competence, and sufficient assertiveness had left a deep impression on Simon. Moreover, he knew something about this female exec's future trajectory. In the original timeline, Amy Pascal was one of Hollywood's rare female studio heads, running Sony Pictures for over a decade.
Simon had been hunting for a professional executive for Daenerys Films lately, and this capable woman in front of him was a perfect fit.
Amy Pascal had been puzzled about getting Simon's party invite tonight but came anyway. She shook hands with Simon and Janet in turn, then answered his question: "My boyfriend's on a business trip to New York, so it's just me."
Simon nodded. "Let's head in and chat then."
The three entered the banquet hall together, greeting people and chatting casually.
After a while, Amy Pascal took a glass of champagne Simon handed her personally. Seeing his girlfriend discreetly step away again, she said, "So, Simon, care to explain why you invited me to this party? I doubt our interactions over the past few days were particularly pleasant for you."
"That's your job. If you couldn't fight tooth and nail for your employer, I wouldn't have invited you."
Amy Pascal raised an eyebrow slightly, with a hint of regret. "Too bad I didn't secure many favorable terms for my employer."
Simon shook his head. "That wasn't something you could change. Within your authority, you did well enough."
Listening to Simon's words, Amy Pascal vaguely anticipated what was coming, yet found it hard to believe. She gazed at the young man before her, waiting for him to continue.
Simon didn't beat around the bush. "Amy, how about this: Come work for me?"
A bit enlightened, yet surprised, Amy Pascal sized Simon up without rejecting outright. "Give me a reason, Simon—a reason to work for you?"
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