At the Vanity Fair party.
Eric and Spielberg stood in the corner of the grand hall, engaged in conversation for quite some time.
Looking around, one could see that the stars attracted the cameras' attention, while the Oscar statuettes glittered gold. But those who truly understood this world knew: though the stars made noise, the real work was done behind the scenes.
The truly influential people, like Eric and Spielberg, avoided excessive attention and preferred secluded corners. That's where important decisions were made. So, even though they stood with their backs to the crowd, many tried to inch closer.
They hoped to join the conversation, even if it meant just pouring tea—anything for a chance. After all, this is showbiz. Just think back to how Zhang Ziyi earned favor with Jackie Chan by peeling grapes for him with her bare hands.
But that was mere fantasy. Everyone had different levels, and between them lay an unbridgeable gap.
Even stars like Tom Hanks and Leonardo DiCaprio, Spielberg's protégés, could only watch from a distance, not daring to approach without an invitation.
"After our last talk, I discussed your proposal with Jeffrey and David. We've talked it over many times, and they're quite interested," Spielberg said.
"Everyone in Hollywood knows DreamWorks is in dire need of improving its international distribution system. This would be a huge advantage for us."
Eric continued to snack while listening:
"MGM may not match Disney in terms of global distribution, but compared to other studios, it holds its own. Steven, I'm curious, how much does DreamWorks earn from its international film sales?"
At the mention of this topic, Spielberg just smirked:
"Before you joined MGM, the big companies had already set their rates. DreamWorks had two choices: either sell international distribution rights as a package deal, like 'Titanic,' or settle for revenues between 22% and 25%."
"Only that much? I thought it was at least 50/50," Eric was surprised.
Spielberg sighed: "You can ask your father about it. He was involved in setting those rules."
"Well, after hearing that, I feel like an exploiter."
"No, there's no exploitation here. It's all about unequal power. If DreamWorks and MGM switched places, I'd do the same thing," Spielberg replied philosophically.
"Steven, you have a very broad outlook on things."
"With age comes understanding. It's not worth getting caught up in small matters and complicating life."
Eric admired Spielberg's broad perspective, though he thought it might just be resignation to the inevitable.
"Alright, let's get back to business. If MGM and DreamWorks collaborate, we're ready to offer you 45% of the international revenue. That's our proposal."
Hearing this, Spielberg, though his face remained unchanged, was inwardly stunned.
He had discussed the potential share with Jeffrey Katzenberg and David Geffen many times during negotiations with MGM. The ideal share they hoped for was between 35% and 40%. The minimum acceptable was 32%.
But Eric had exceeded all their expectations, offering 45% outright. This was real money, green bills with Franklin's face on them.
Spielberg, barely able to contain his excitement, savored his piece of bacon, enjoying the moment.
Seeing his satisfied expression, Eric realized the offer had been accepted.
The 45% meant MGM would earn slightly less, but the benefits were clear. DreamWorks would become the exclusive international distribution partner, which promised greater profits in the long run.
"When will we sign the contract?" Eric asked.
"Soon. Once David and Jeffrey hear about this, they'll definitely agree," Spielberg replied with a smile.
"Let's aim to close the deal this week," Eric suggested.
"You're in a hurry?" Spielberg was surprised.
"I prefer to finalize things once they're discussed. And it's time to start 'Frozen,'" Eric explained.
"Alright, I'll call you this week."
After wrapping up his conversation with Spielberg, Eric felt he had achieved his goal for attending the party. It was time to leave.
Bidding farewell to the older director, he left the event.
Eric's Lamborghini sped through the empty, late-night streets of Los Angeles. It was already past midnight, and the roads were almost deserted, with only a few late-night stragglers, most of them looking rather dubious.
As he approached Beverly Hills, Eric heard his phone beep with a new text message.
"Peter, turn around!"
"Where to, boss?" the driver asked, carefully slowing down and turning the car around.
After a brief pause, Eric replied:
"You can get out here. Find yourself a hotel for the night."
Peter, an experienced driver, knew that if the boss asked him to leave the car, something confidential was about to happen. Without further questions, he complied.
Beverly Hills had plenty of luxury hotels, and now Peter could afford one night in such a place, especially when it was on the corporate dime.
Eric took the driver's seat, and the car sped off again, quickly entering the Beverly Hills neighborhood. However, instead of heading toward Cooper's residence, he drove in the opposite direction.
Soon, he arrived at his destination—another luxurious mansion, just as grand as his own.
Within minutes, a red Rolls-Royce pulled up behind his Lamborghini, slowing to a stop.
Lowering the window, Nicole Kidman gave Eric a playful glance:
"Follow me."
Under her guidance, they easily passed through the gates of the mansion.
Both cars parked in an open garage. As soon as Eric stepped out, he was enveloped by a wave of fragrance and found himself pressed against the car door.
"Here?" he asked.
In response, he felt cool lips.
"Ouch!"
Suddenly feeling a sharp pain on his tongue, Eric pushed Nicole away.
"You bit me! Are you drunk?"
Nicole's eyes were hazy:
"No, alcohol doesn't affect me. But when I see your young, handsome face, I can't resist the urge to bite."
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