The final day of this year's Cannes Film Festival had arrived, and the anticipation for the closing ceremony and awards ceremony hung thick in the air.
In a luxurious hotel room, Martin meticulously dressed himself in a tailored Brioni tuxedo. His left wrist adorned a brand-new Cartier watch, and he held a Nokia N98 concept phone in his right hand, exuding an air of sophistication and confidence.
Bruce entered the room and announced, "The Cadillac car has arrived and is waiting downstairs."
Thomas, who had made a special trip from Los Angeles to Cannes, chimed in, "The Church of the Coke God in France has organized a group of supporters wearing red cultural shirts."
Martin nodded in acknowledgment and reminded Bruce, "Don't forget to bring a commemorative Coke."
Bruce tucked the prepared Coke into his pocket, ready for the occasion.
As they made their way downstairs, Thomas walked alongside Martin, speaking in hushed tones, "I've already discussed with your five major advertising sponsors. If you win the Best Actor award at Cannes, you'll receive $6 million, in addition to a million dollars for endorsing their latest product."
Martin, ever gracious, responded, "They can deliver the items to Los Angeles, cars, watches, and phones, you name it."
Thomas nodded in agreement, pleased with the arrangement.
As Martin stepped out, Bruce signaled for Thomas to slow down.
Lowering his voice, Thomas asked, "What's on your mind?"
Bruce whispered back, "Secure the best agency for Mene... Or perhaps, Mane might not return to Los Angeles. We should find him an agent here."
Thomas understood the request and replied, "I see."
The group entered the elevator and descended to the hotel lobby. There, Melanie, the public relations manager hired by the crew, awaited them.
Upon spotting Martin, Melanie approached and nodded at him, advising, "Make your way down the red carpet swiftly."
Martin, a bit puzzled, inquired about her guidance.
Melanie explained, "The economy has been sluggish for the past couple of years, and the film festival's organizing committee has gone all out to generate revenue this year. They've sold a surplus of red carpet tickets, so there's no need for us to mingle with the B-list celebrities or serve as their backdrop."
Martin briefly shared about the Cult of Coke.
"Then proceed straight ahead," Melanie advised. "You don't have to linger outside for extended periods; interviews and such can wait until after the awards ceremony."
Martin heeded her advice, understanding the wisdom of a seasoned local publicist.
Later, David Fincher and Catherine Kennedy joined Martin, and the trio set off for the Palais des Festivals separately. Although it was only a little over 100 meters away, they opted for the sponsored Cadillac cars, as per the crew's agreement with the automaker. Despite the short distance, it was a matter of style and tradition.
As they approached the festival venue, it was evident that fewer crews graced the closing red carpet this day, with a noticeable increase in B-list celebrities taking their place.
Martin observed the scene, contemplating how the sale of red carpet tickets alone had likely generated several million euros in revenue for the festival's organizing committee. When factoring in brand sponsorships, entry fees, and transaction commissions, it was a lucrative affair.
The triumvirate of Catherine Kennedy, David Fincher, and Martin, sans Cate Blanchett, made their way down the red carpet leading to the Lumière Hall. In contrast to the flamboyant opening ceremony, they traversed the path with swiftness, spending only a brief moment in the media area.
Martin was meticulous, ensuring that both his watch and mobile phone were prominently displayed in photos. Afterwards, he proceeded to the area where dozens of red-clad supporters had congregated, signing autographs and raising a Coca-Cola bottle.
"Cult of the Coke! Coke God of War! Long live Martin!" The sudden outburst of cheers echoed through the seaside vicinity.
Back in the hotel room, Harvey Weinstein sat on the couch, his eyes fixed on Martin as he ascended the stairs.
"This rascal!" His corpulent face exhibited slight tremors.
Quentin remained relatively stoic, remarking, "He's learned a few tricks from you."
"Primarily, I was careless." Harvey, a rare sight in introspection, admitted, "Adjani was staying at the Provence Hotel, and I didn't pay much attention. When I bumped into her, I engaged in casual conversation, but it turned out to be the Achilles' heel for the award."
Quentin casually gestured toward Martin on the staircase, suggesting, "It appears he's been keeping a close watch on us."
Harvey asserted, "I can guarantee that Adjani is not in cahoots with him. I'm baffled as to how he managed to send Adjani to Provence."
Quentin shrugged, resigned to their loss. "We lost this round. 'Inglourious Basterds' didn't secure a single award, not even a consolation prize."
Harvey keenly observed the situation. "The moment Adjani emerged, we ceased being a neutral factor in Pell's eyes—we became a negative one."
Quentin checked his watch and suggested, "It's almost time. Let's head back to Los Angeles." Knowing that Harvey was taking the loss particularly hard, Quentin tried to console him, "Wins and losses are par for the course in the world of awards. Don't dwell on it too much; we'll make a comeback next time."
Harvey smiled but shook his head. They occupied different roles and had different stakes in this. Quentin was a director, writer, and producer, while Harvey was an investor. Failing to secure an award meant that the funds invested in public relations and publicity had gone to waste, with potential repercussions in the post-festival market. There was little recourse now; he couldn't crash the awards ceremony, haul Martin onstage, and give him a ten-minute scolding. In all likelihood, before he could get to Martin, he'd be met with a bullet to the head.
Harvey kept a mental ledger, meticulously noting Martin's actions. He recorded the debt, and he was certain that one day, old scores would be settled with interest.
In the grand Lumière Hall, Martin walked down the aisle. As he turned from the fourth row and looked ahead, Mene, sitting on the side, waved at him.
"Boss," Mene greeted, his spirits low, evident in the bags under his eyes.
Martin approached and gave Mene's shoulder a reassuring pat.
Mene mustered a smile and inquired, "When are we heading to Morocco?"
Martin replied, "The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow, the crew is organizing a press conference here."
Mene nodded, "One more day."
Martin noticed Charlize smiling at him from the front and said, "I'm going up front."
Mene didn't protest, though he felt a tinge of regret. This time, he had been paired with Isabelle Huppert alone, but there were numerous revered French literary and artistic goddesses in attendance, Sophie Marceau, Juliette Binoche, Emmanuel Bea...
Mene smacked his forehead in self-reproach. He berated himself for his narrow focus, realizing he could have cast his gaze over all of Europe, including the likes of Monica Bellucci.
Up ahead, Charlize, resplendent in a fishtail gown, leaned in and said, "Let me share a secret: I'll be presenting the Best Actor award."
Martin replied, deadpan, "If you have something to discuss, let's wait until after the awards ceremony, shall we?"
Charlize acquiesced, "Fair enough."
Martin flashed a hopeful smile, "Here's to you being my good luck charm."
Charlize reciprocated, "I hope so too."
Martin took a few steps forward and settled into the second row.
Influenced by the awards ceremony atmosphere, David Fincher couldn't help but recall the Oscars and inquired, "Did the LAPD and FBI respond to the matter we discussed earlier?"
Martin comprehended that David Fincher was inquiring about the Santa Monica Pier incident adaptation. He replied, "I've reached out to them, and they've been expressing their seriousness about it. Although we could proceed without their support, I believe having their backing would be beneficial."
David Fincher acknowledged, "Without them, there's a crucial link missing. I'm not closely affiliated with either side, so I'll rely on you to keep tabs on it."
Martin assured him, "I check in and inquire from time to time."
The awards ceremony commenced swiftly, with many speeches delivered in French, a language Martin didn't understand. He patiently waited, occasionally strolling to pass the time.
Awards were presented one after another, moving from peripheral categories to the main competition. No film was allowed to win multiple awards, a distinct characteristic of the three major film festivals, which placed a higher premium on diversity than the Oscars.
Following British actor Charlotte Gainsbourg's Best Actress win that year, Charlize Theron transitioned from backstage to the stage.
The South African actress, without much ceremony, opened the envelope and, with a knowing glance at Martin, announced with a smile, "The Best Actor is Martin Davis!" Applause erupted, and Martin clenched his fists, visibly excited. He rose to embrace David Fincher and Katherine Kennedy individually, exchanging high-fives with several outreached actors before confidently ascending the stage.
Charlize first handed Martin the Palme d'Or trophy, contained in an ornate box, along with a certificate elegantly bound in red silk.
Martin extended his arms to embrace her, whispering, "Charlize, you truly are my lucky charm."
Charlize beamed warmly, saying, "Congratulations."
She stepped aside gracefully as Martin positioned the prize box on the wooden table, ensuring the crystal glass faced the audience. Holding the rolled-up certificate, he addressed the audience, saying, "I'd like to express my gratitude to the organizing committee and the jury for this recognition, as well as my heartfelt thanks to Director David Fincher, and Ms. Katherine Kennedy. I'd also like to extend my appreciation to every member of our dedicated crew..."
His acceptance speech was heartfelt but conventional, replete with expressions of gratitude. He acknowledged the festival and its significance, as expected of a Cannes award recipient.
With thanks adequately expressed, Martin walked backstage with Charlize, their camaraderie evident. They conversed as they strolled, displaying a genuine friendship.
Naturally, the newly crowned Cannes Best Actor garnered significant attention. Cameras continued to roll, capturing moments of Martin and Charlize together.
Backstage, they engaged in conversation with Charlotte Gainsbourg, who had clinched the Best Actress award. Martin was familiar with European actresses of an artistic caliber like Charlotte Gainsbourg, thanks to his past experiences. He remembered her remarkable role in Lars von Trier's "Female Hermit," in which she made considerable sacrifices for the sake of art. European cinema, with its broad scope, transcended Hollywood in terms of cultural significance.
Martin remained backstage, refraining from leaving immediately, as he observed the final award announcements from the sidelines.
The Grand Jury Prize was bestowed upon the French film "The Prophet," while the Palme d'Or unsurprisingly went to director Michael Haneke for "White Ribbon." When Huppert personally presented the award to Haneke, the audience erupted in tumultuous applause. Their professional relationship was destined to draw extensive post-Palme d'Or scrutiny and criticism.