[Chapter 698: Should We or Not]
The four of them settled around a round table, and Coppola turned to Eric and Kathryn. "Here's the deal. Terrence has been preparing a World War II film adapted from a James Jones novel for years. The script was already written a long time ago, but he hasn't been able to find a suitable director. He hoped I would helm it since I directed Apocalypse Now back in the day. But I just don't have the energy for another war film. After watching Saving Private Ryan, Terrence thought it might be worthwhile to let Ms. Bigelow give it a shot."
Eric and Kathryn were no strangers to James Jones. He was the screenwriter of the classic film The Longest Day, about the Normandy invasion. To prepare for Saving Private Ryan, they had even revisited that film together.
Upon hearing Coppola's words, Eric was already convinced that the movie Terrence Malick was working on was the one he remembered as Red Dawn. In their original timeline, The Thin Red Line was delayed until 1998, and Eric guessed that Terrence had been unable to find a suitable director, compelling him to step in himself. Plus, The Thin Red Line not only released in the same year as Saving Private Ryan but also competed for the Oscars in 1999. Unfortunately, neither film triumphed, losing out to the Weinstein brothers' Oscar darling, Shakespeare in Love.
Kathryn, overhearing Coppola's introduction, turned to Terrence Malick and asked, "Terrence, can you give us a brief overview of the script?"
"Sure. The original novel by James Jones isn't strictly autobiographical, but it is largely based on his experiences serving at Guadalcanal during World War II. You can read it later; I made significant changes to the plot. Unlike Saving Private Ryan, which explores the values of war, my script aims to delve into the brutal impact of war on human nature, primarily focusing on a unit known as Charlie Company..."
Eric noticed that Kathryn's focus grew sharper. She quickly became engrossed in a detailed discussion with Terrence, almost forgetting about him and Coppola. He could tell she was captivated. The examination of war's effects on humanity was such a philosophical topic, certainly a favorite among artistic women.
Exchanging a knowing look with Coppola, they both chuckled quietly and chose not to interrupt, patiently listening to their conversation.
After a full half-hour, the discussion finally wrapped up. Kathryn turned to Eric, her enthusiasm evident. "Eric, what do you think of the story?"
"Hmm, it's a great story. Firefly is very interested in investing. Terrence, have you done a rough budget yet?"
As soon as Eric finished speaking, Kathryn shot him a reproachful glance. She had hoped Eric would discuss the script, but the little rascal directly asked how much the movie would cost. How utterly deflating!
Eric felt a bit helpless, thinking to himself, "You're a goddess who doesn't worry about livelihood, but I'm a businessman!"
Terrence Malick, however, didn't share Kathryn's annoyance. Hearing Eric express interest in investment made him happy. The project had been in the works for years, yet many film companies rejected it due to perceived risks. At times, Terrence felt like giving up.
"Eric, the film requires about $50 million to produce. I've shown the script to several well-known actors, and many are quite interested. Sean Penn and John Travolta have both committed as long as we secure funding."
At that time, Sean Penn and John Travolta were both A-list stars. Their involvement would guarantee box office success, which was precisely why Terrence shared that information. Eric knew that, in fact, the original cast for The Thin Red Line had been even more stellar. Besides Sean and John, it also included George Clooney, John Cusack, Woody Harrelson, and Adrien Brody -- big names in Hollywood.
Though history had shifted, Eric was confident that if Kathryn could secure the Oscar for Best Director, the $50 million budget would be hefty, but not unmanageable given the film's box office potential. With a fresh Oscar winner and big-name actors involved, recouping costs and making a profit would not be too daunting.
Terrence perceived Eric's contemplation as hesitation. He knew that $50 million was considered high for a film, but this story lacked strong commercial appeal. After considering, he added, "Eric, if you think the risk is too high, Firefly can invest $25 million and agree to handle distribution, while I look for another $25 million in funding."
"That's not necessary," Eric firmly decided. The investment might be on the high side, but he felt little pressure to recoup costs. Firefly couldn't invest only in commercial films; it was necessary to produce projects that had artistic merit. "Firefly can cover the full investment. However, I have one condition. Terrence, I want you to not only write the script but also serve as the producer for this film."
Having once won the Best Director award at Cannes, Terrence's return after twenty years would also serve as a significant promotional draw when the movie released.
However, Eric's request didn't stem solely from that reasoning but from Terrence's credentials. Hollywood placed high importance on hierarchy. Projects with experienced directors and producers always attracted powerful actors, much like Woody Allen and Robert Altman, whose films were known for their stellar casts. Although Terrence hadn't directed in two decades, his reputation and connections had not vanished. Otherwise, they wouldn't be having this meeting today. If he took on the producer role, Terrence could effortlessly put together an even stronger cast.
Terrence understood that Eric wasn't referring to a producer who merely lent their name without participating in the film's production. He had not worked in film for two decades and had only wished to be a screenwriter on this project. However, after many setbacks and the possibility of change, Terrence's resolve weakened considerably.
Kathryn glanced between Eric and Terrence before diplomatically suggesting, "Terrence, we had such a great conversation earlier. I'd love for you to be involved in this project as well."
Many creative philosophies Kathryn had mentioned resonated with Terrence, and collaborating with a like-minded director didn't seem so difficult anymore. Hearing Kathryn's encouragement, Terrence nodded. "Alright, Eric. I'll take on the role of producer."
"Great, let's hope for a fruitful collaboration," Eric said with a smile, raising his glass.
...
Since this gathering wasn't purely for entertainment and the guests were older, some began to leave shortly after ten o'clock.
Eric and Kathryn bid farewell to each guest, and only when Coppola departed in his car did Kathryn notice something was off. Looking around the mansion, now only the few waitstaff were cleaning up, she asked, "Eric, where's the... house owner?"
He pointed to himself. "Right here."
Kathryn laughed at his gesture. "How did you end up buying a house here?"
"Consider it an investment. I think I have a few places besides this one," he replied, knowing Kathryn wasn't genuinely interested, just making casual conversation.
In reality, aside from the Liberty City Estate, Eric had already acquired around sixty or seventy luxury properties in Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, Malibu, and Manhattan over the years. Most luxury homes in American metropolitan areas during the '90s were priced under a million dollars. Yet, he was aware that even after the 2008 subprime mortgage crisis, despite the extended downturn in the American housing market, cities like Los Angeles and New York continued to see surging luxury prices thanks to wealthy buyers and investors. In twenty years, homes priced over a hundred million dollars would be commonplace, making today's investments potentially yield tenfold or even greater returns.
Of course, beyond investment purposes, owning property could also offset personal income taxes. To mitigate taxes, both Firefly Group and Firefly Investments sought to avoid dividends, keeping funds in corporate accounts. Even in his role as chairman of Firefly Group, Eric had only nominally taken a one-dollar salary. However, he still earned significant income from films he directed, produced, or wrote. For instance, for the recently concluded Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, being a personal investor meant he would receive most of the revenue from tape sales, which was projected to bring in around $300 million. Chris had previously provided Eric with various investment proposals, but he ultimately chose to invest in real estate, enjoying the comfort of having a home wherever he went.
Kathryn certainly had little interest in these aspects. She simply responded quietly with a murmur.
Back in the courtyard, the two resumed discussing The Thin Red Line by the poolside table. Eric stopped mentioning boring budget figures, and Kathryn soon realized that this little man had an analytical depth about films that rivaled her own. It seemed as though he had already absorbed the entire movie after just hearing the script once. Without noticing it, she began reminiscing about her past -- the time as a child when her father, who wanted to be a comic book artist, taught her to paint, igniting her interest in art. There were also her experiences at the San Francisco Art Institute, and her ten years living and working in New York where her passion for filmmaking blossomed, leading her to explore short films, and so on...
Memories were among the most effective means of disarming someone's heart.
...
Late into the night, during early springtime, the surroundings remained silent, even the insects had quieted. The orange lights in the mansion's courtyard seemed to glow even more dreamlike.
A cool breeze swept by, and in the soft chill, Kathryn suddenly sensed a growing tension in the atmosphere. The little man in front of her still wore a gentle smile, but there was a hint of loneliness about him that seemed as though he sought to merge into the night, making her heart soften involuntarily.
Instinctively sensing something amiss, Kathryn stood up unconsciously.
Eric looked up in confusion, seeing the woman's startled expression. "Kathryn, what's wrong?"
"I, Eric, it's late. I should go," she said, her voice trembling slightly. She had resolved that if he urged her to stay, she would firmly refuse.
Hmm, she needed to sound more resolute.
Eric glanced at his watch; it was already half-past eleven. He stood up and remarked, "It is late. I remember you usually go to bed right at ten o'clock, don't you?"
Kathryn instinctively shook her head. "No... um, yes."
Eric chuckled, "Right, remember the gift I mentioned earlier? Come on, let me show you."
"Eric, can't we do it tomorrow? It's just too late now."
Eric walked back into the mansion, saying, "Just a few minutes. Since it's already late, tomorrow can wait."
Kathryn watched Eric's retreating figure and reluctantly followed him.
In the living room, Eric retrieved a box from the cupboard. "The Oscars are coming up, and I know you probably don't remember that. So, I prepared a dress for you -- designed it myself. Come take a look; what do you think?"
As he spoke, Eric carefully lifted a light gray silk embroidered gown from the box. He had created it from memory, recalling the dress Kathryn wore when she won Best Director.
Kathryn stood nearby, her attention fixated on the uneven heart-shaped embroidery on the gown, and her nervousness returned. "Eric, my agent already contacted someone for a dress sponsorship. I'm trying on dresses in a couple of days."
"Oh, then just try this one on first. Whichever one you like best is the one you should wear."
"Can I take it home?"
"If it doesn't fit, you'll need modifications made quickly. Just try it on here; I want to see how it looks," Eric said, smiling innocently as he watched her hesitate. "You wouldn't deny me this small favor, would you? This is my hard work!"
"Well... alright," Kathryn softened her tone once more, taking the box Eric offered and following his lead into a nearby room.
...
After some time, the woman finally emerged, cautiously holding her skirt.
Music had started playing in the living room without her noticing; a soft sound filled the air; a sweetly haunting melody that made one want to cast away all worries and lose themselves.
Though he vividly remembered the image, seeing Kathryn walk out in the gown made Eric feel an overwhelming sense of awe. She embodied the ideal figure -- nearly perfect in her proportions -- her gorgeous face unmarked by time, flushed with a soft hue.
As Eric rose to approach her, extending his hand, Kathryn, unbeknownst to herself, let go of her skirt and offered her right hand. Before she realized it, she found herself in Eric's embrace, swaying gently to the music.
They lost track of time, the music playing over and over. Leaning her chin against Eric's shoulder, Kathryn whispered in his ear, "Eric."
"Hmm?" His voice melded with the gentle music in her ear.
"I... haven't made up my mind yet. I don't want to... just be tricked into sleeping with you. I... I want to go home..."
Her voice trembled slightly, devoid of the assertiveness she usually had, sounding more like a trapped little creature, pitifully begging her hunter to spare her.
In an instant, Eric's heart softened as he murmured, "Alright, I'll take you home."
"I don't need you to take me; I can go back myself. I... I have a car."
"Okay," Eric released her waist. "You don't need to alter the dress anymore, so go change. You can't drive in that!"
...
A few minutes later, Eric stood under the pale yellow street lamps outside the mansion, watching as Kathryn's white car gradually disappeared down the road, dramatically creating a sense that she was fleeing.
He chuckled softly to himself, releasing a quiet sigh. He wasn't quite sure how to feel in that moment.
By midnight, except for the dim streetlights, this stretch of the residential area had only a few lights left.
Turning to look at the front gate, although the mansion was fully equipped, Eric didn't wish to stay alone. Strangely, he suddenly craved a lively atmosphere and then thought of the lively young lady.
He picked up his phone and dialed. After a few rings, through the static, a vibrant presence came streaming through.
The girl was still at a party, even though it was past midnight.
"Eric, calling me so late?" she sounded a little guilty, and the background noise began to fade.
Eric knew she was hiding in a quiet corner somewhere, and he couldn't help but smile with affection, scolding her gently, "It's late, don't get crazy. Be careful or you'll have dark circles tomorrow."
"I won't! Just having fun today, hehe! Did you need something?"
"Can Natasha come pick me up? I'm near Cannes Street in Hollywood Hills, just where we checked out that house last time. There was a party here tonight, and now I'm the only one left."
"Oh, I'll be right there! Just wait for me!" Without inquiring further, she quickly hung up the phone.
...
Meanwhile, at the Drew's estate in Trousdale, the party atmosphere was a stark contrast to Eric's little gathering. String lights drove away the night completely, and music reverberated over dozens of meters. The good thing was that it was on a mountain top; except for Elisabeth and Julia's nearby mansion, there were no close neighbors. Their house was still empty and had never been sold, so no one complained about the noise.
Eric didn't like other men showing up at his mansion, so when the girl hosted a party, she only invited her female friends. With plenty of girlfriends running around, there was singing, dancing, splashing in the pool, and even a few girls cuddling in playful embraces -- all sorts of antics that would shock any man.
When Natasha brought over the ringing cordless phone, the girl was chatting away with Gwyneth Paltrow. Although both were Spielberg god daughters, the girl's standing far surpassed needing Spielberg's backing. However, Gwyneth had her own motives, trying to maintain a close connection with the girl.
When Drew excitedly rushed away from the lively conversation, Gwyneth quickly pieced together who was on the line and subtly followed her.
As Drew dashed into a room, Gwyneth calmly took a drink and quietly waited outside.
After a moment, the door opened, and seeing Drew emerge, Gwyneth immediately flashed a curious smile and approached, "Drew, was that Eric calling?"
"Yeah," Drew replied, nonchalantly bypassing Gwyneth's query, striding toward the microphone at the center of the courtyard. She switched off the music by snatching the mic from Christina Aguilera, who was singing. With a few solid thuds into the mic, silence fell over the crowd.
Drew pulled Christina close and gave her a playful kiss, addressing the audience. "Hey, guys, this party is wrapping up! You've got ten minutes to get home. If you're slow, Natasha will toss you out! And those who are too drunk -- whoever brings them home can sell them for some midnight snacks, alright?"
The girls knew Drew's nature well. Though she spoke cheerily, if they surpassed the ten-minute mark, this unpredictable wild girl was serious about getting rid of them.
Thus, there was hardly any hesitation, as girls began packing up. Some even teased her, asking, "Drew, is your man coming home?"
Drew waved her little hand, "Yes! My king is arriving, but he doesn't need you little bitches to sleep with him, so scat!"
A bold girl chimed in, "Drew, I'm still a virgin. Can I stay and serve our king?"
"Scram! Tomorrow I'll break that with a beer bottle; it's already been two minutes. There are still eight minutes left."
Another girl joked, "I want Natasha to throw me! She seems strong."
"You little loser, I'll have Natasha break your legs before she tosses you out. Wanna bet?"
"Drew, you're so violent."
In just five minutes, a crowd of girls had thinned out rapidly. Drew personally helped load the barely teenage Christina into a sports car, ensuring everything was double-checked so no one remained. She instructed the two maids to clean up quickly and then drove off with her twins in tow.
*****
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