Chapter 268 — I'm Not Taking Them Off
Los Angeles in April was bright and vibrant—sunny skies, blooming flowers, and the gentle hum of spring.
In the bedroom of a villa in Mandeville Canyon, Beverly Hills, Catherine Zeta-Jones lay draped over Aaron, her voice soft and lazy.
"The weather's perfect today… are we going out to sea?"
Aaron smiled, his hand brushing lightly along her smooth back.
"Of course. We're heading to Santa Catalina Island for the weekend."
His yacht was already docked at King Harbor in Los Angeles, ready to depart.
---
The recent death of Frank Wells—one of the key architects behind Disney's resurgence—had caused noticeable fluctuations in The Walt Disney Company's stock.
As Disney's second-in-command and Michael Eisner's most trusted partner, Wells' absence left a significant void.
No matter how tense Eisner's relationship with Jeffrey Katzenberg had become, the company simply couldn't afford further instability.
---
Meanwhile, two film projects Aaron had been keeping an eye on were making progress:
Waterworld, backed by Universal Pictures, had already begun building sets in Hawaii
Cutthroat Island, produced by Carolco, had secured its $60 million budget through Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and France's Canal+
---
At the same time, former U.S. president Ronald Reagan, living in Simi Valley, California, had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease.
As the illness progressed, the once-commanding leader—also one of Hollywood's most respected actor-turned-presidents—would gradually lose his memory and speech.
The news deeply saddened his family and supporters.
---
In West Hollywood, at the Angel Theater, Jack Wells poured Aaron a glass of wine.
"Governor Pete Wilson sent a letter thanking us for our contributions to rebuilding Los Angeles."
Aaron smiled—it was largely because federal funding from Washington had arrived swiftly.
"His re-election should be safe, right?"
Jack shook his head. "Most likely. His approval ratings are strong."
"If anything, we should be more concerned about George W. Bush in Texas."
Aaron waved it off lightly. "Relax. God will take care of it."
"Let's grab a drink later."
---
That evening, Aaron brought Christina Ricci to a Japanese restaurant in Little Tokyo, downtown Los Angeles, where they planned to meet Jack Wells.
"Looks like we're early," Aaron said with a smile, holding her close in the private room.
"Should we wait for your friend?" she asked.
Aaron shook his head. "We're close—no need to wait. Let's start eating."
As he spoke, his hand rested casually on her thigh.
"Next month, Pulp Fiction is heading to Cannes. You could take the opportunity to visit Paris."
"Yeah… it's been a while," she nodded.
---
While they waited, Jack Wells arrived at the restaurant with several companions.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Do you have a reservation?" the staff asked.
"I do," Jack replied. "My friends will take a table, and I'll join mine shortly."
"Very well. Please remove your shoes first," the server said politely.
Jack and the others began to comply.
But one of them—John Levin—remained standing still.
"Do I have to take them off?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. That's our house policy."
John scoffed, hands in his pockets.
"What kind of rule is that? Why don't you take your pants off, then?"
"Sir, it's part of our custom."
"Oh yeah? Well, I don't feel like doing it."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible."
John's expression hardened.
"I said—I'm not taking them off."
---
Jack Wells and the others exchanged glances before stepping in.
"John, come on," Jack said, trying to ease the situation.
"Japanese cuisine is pretty popular these days—just go with it."
John Levin shrugged and looked at Jack Wells.
"Jack, tell me—who won that war?"
"War? What war?" Jack frowned. "It's just taking off your shoes. No need to make a big deal out of it."
He still had to go meet Aaron—he didn't want to waste time here.
"Either way, I'm not taking them off."
Jack sighed. "John, we're just here for a meal. What's the big deal about taking off your shoes?"
"It's not like they're asking for our feet."
John's expression hardened.
"Jack, you want me to follow the orders of these damn Japanese?"
"My family was killed by them back then. That's why I grew up an orphan."
"And now you expect me to listen to them?"
"I won't. Never."
---
Jack paused, then shook his head with a faint smile. He walked over to the server and casually put an arm around his shoulder.
"Listen," he said calmly, "my friend here can't take off his shoes. Is that alright?"
"I'm afraid not, sir. That's our rule."
Jack took a slow breath.
"Then none of us will take off our shoes."
"So you'd better take us to our reserved room now… before things get unpleasant."
"No, sir. You must—"
Slap!
Jack struck the server across the face. "F***!"
The others immediately dragged the server into the restroom, where the situation escalated.
---
Moments later, Jack called Aaron and briefly explained what had happened.
"Alright," Aaron Anderson replied casually from the private room. "I'll meet you at the bar later."
He glanced down at his own bare feet and added with a smirk,
"Throw in a couple of punches for me—I took my shoes off too."
---
Outside the restroom, Jack hung up the phone and chuckled.
"Still the same Aaron Anderson… even after becoming a top-tier tycoon."
Then he stepped back inside and kicked the man on the ground a couple more times.
"Alright, Jack," John said, watching him. "Your family wasn't killed by the Japanese too, was it?"
Jack waved him off, spat on the floor, and delivered one last kick before finally calming down.
"Damn it… obsessed with shoes, huh? 'Take them off, take them off'…"
"Let's go. We're eating somewhere else."
---
Not long after Jack and his group left, Aaron and Christina Ricci also exited the restaurant.
The aftermath was obvious—many diners had already left, and the place felt noticeably emptier.
Christina glanced at Aaron with a faint smile.
"Your friend… is quite something."
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