The sun came up over the Holmby Hills. It was early. The air was still cool. Duke woke up before the alarm clock rang.
He turned his head on the pillow. Jane Seymour was asleep next to him. Her long, dark brown hair was spread across the white sheets. She breathed slowly.
She looked peaceful, the nervous energy she carried at the party last night was completely gone.
Duke got out of bed quietly. He put on a robe. He walked to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee.
When he walked back into the bedroom with two mugs, Jane was waking up. She stretched her arms over her head. She smiled when she saw him.
"Good morning," Jane said. Her British accent was thick with sleepiness.
"Morning," Duke said. He handed her a warm mug.
They left the house an hour later. Duke drove his midnight blue Mercedes SL down Sunset Boulevard. The sky was perfectly clear, a classic California morning.
They parked on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. The street was quiet. The high-end stores were just unlocking their doors. Duke walked her into a bright boutique. The walls were lined with hundreds of sunglasses.
"Pick something out," Duke said. He leaned against the glass counter. He had wanted to buy some sunglasses for a while. "The Los Angeles sun will blind you if you aren't careful."
Jane laughed. She started trying on frames. She picked up a pair of round sunglasses made of metal.
"How do I look?" she asked. She posed dramatically.
"Like a wizard, Harry," Duke joked under his breath. He smiled. "Try these instead."
He handed her a pair of wire-rimmed aviators. They had a slight brown tint. Jane put them on and looked in a small mirror. She smiled. They fit her face perfectly.
"I really like these," she said.
Duke paid the cashier after buying a pair for himself. They walked back out onto the bright sidewalk. The street was still mostly empty.
Duke felt good, California at this time was still livable.
He put his hands in his pockets and started to whistle a tune.
It was a simple melody. Just a few clear notes. It had a catchy rhythm and sounded happy.
Jane listened for a moment. She tilted her head. She looked at him through her new sunglasses.
"What is that?" she asked.
"Just a tune," Duke said. He kept whistling.
It was the hook from "Whistle" by Flo Rida, a massive pop song. But it wouldn't exist for another forty years.
Duke didn't sing the lyrics. He just whistled the catchy, upbeat melody.
Jane tried to whistle it back to him. She got the first notes right but she missed the last note. She blew a flat breath of air and started laughing.
"I can't get the timing," Jane said. "Do it again."
Duke whistled it again. He slowed it down this time. He emphasized the small pause in the middle of the melody.
Jane pursed her lips. She tried again. She was a little closer this time.
"It sounds so sunny," she said. "It sounds like a day at the beach. Did you write it?"
"No," Duke said, smiling. "A guy from Florida wrote it." He actually didn't know where Flo Rida was even from.
"Florida?"
"Yeah. It's a long story." Duke laughed. "Just keep practicing. You will get it eventually."
They walked back to the car after eating a simple breakfast. Jane kept trying to whistle the tune. She was terrible at it. Duke found it charming. He drove her back to her hotel.
"Good luck with the audition today," Duke said. "Not that you need any luck."
"Thank you, Duke," Jane said. She touched her new sunglasses. "And thank you for these. I had a wonderful time."
She got out of the car. Duke watched her walk into the lobby. She turned and waved once. Duke waved back.
Duke pulled onto the Paramount Pictures lot at eleven o'clock.
The guard at the gate waved him through immediately.
The contrast was sharp. The quiet streets were gone. The studio lot was loud and chaotic. Trucks moved massive wooden walls. Carpenters yelled across the pavement. Actors in full costumes smoked cigarettes near the soundstages. Production started early.
Duke walked into the executive building. His secretary tried to hand him a stack of pink message slips. He waved them away. He pushed open the heavy wooden door to his personal office.
Robert Evans was already inside.
Evans looked tense. He paced near the large window. He held his thick glasses in his left hand.
Evans was technically the CEO of Ithaca Productions but he was still the acting head of production in everything but title. He ran the daily creative problems. He kept the directors happy. This setup worked perfectly.
It let Duke focus on the big picture and the future. But today, Evans looked like he needed some help.
Sitting on the leather sofa across from Evans was Sue Mengers.
Duke smiled. He always actively avoided Agents.
Sue had massive blonde hair and huge, round glasses. She was the most powerful talent agent in Hollywood in this time.
"Duke, darling," Sue said loudly. She did not stand up. She just held out a hand covered in heavy rings. "Look at yourself. You're so young for a man in your position, It's a pleasure to meet, you should come to some of my Dinner parties."
"A pleasure to meet you too, Sue," Duke said, taking off his sunglasses to avoid looking young. He shook her hand. He sat down behind his large mahogany desk. "Good morning, Bob."
Evans nodded quickly. "Morning, Duke. Sue came by to drop off a package."
"Not a package," Sue corrected him instantly. Her voice was sharp. "A gold mine. A collaboration between CMA and Paramount. You should be thanking me."
Duke leaned back in his comfortable leather chair and crossed his legs. He was in a very good mood cause of his morning outing.
"Alright, Sue," Duke said smoothly. "Show me the offer."
"Peter Bogdanovich," Sue said. "He is one of the hottest director in the entire world right now. He is a genius."
"He is very talented," Duke agreed.
"He wants to takeover the project called Addie Pray as director," Sue continued. She talked very fast. "It is a beautiful script. A con man and a little girl driving around during the Great Depression."
Duke knew this movie. It would eventually be called Paper Moon, and be a massive hit. The little girl, Tatum O'Neal would even win an Academy Award for it, all in all, a fantastic project.
"I also have the male lead," Sue said proudly. "Ryan O'Neal. The rising movie star."
Duke looked at Evans. Evans did not look excited. He looked deeply annoyed.
"That is not all," Sue said. She leaned forward on the sofa. "I have another project. The Way We Were. It is currently set up at Columbia Pictures. But we can move it. Barbra Streisand is attached to star."
"I already put her and Ryan together with Peter for a comedy called 'What's Up, Doc?' That movie comes out in a day. It is going to be a hit and I want to bring my people over to Paramount."
Duke tapped his fingers on his desk. He knew all these movies. The Way We Were was a massive romantic hit. What's Up, Doc? a classic comedy.
But there was always a catch in Hollywood. Always.
"What else do you want, Sue?" Duke asked softly.
Sue smiled. It was a sharp smile. "Charlie Bluhdorn had a brilliant idea before he sold this company to you. He called it The Directors Company."
Duke nodded slowly. He knew about this old plan.
"The idea is very simple," Sue said. "You set up a separate company inside Paramount. You fund it of course. But the directors run it entirely, Peter Bogdanovich wants in. They get a set budget for each film. As long as they stay under that budget, you do not interfere. No studio notes. No executives on set. Total creative freedom."
Duke looked at Evans again. Evans caught his eye. Evans gave a very small, very clear shake of his head. He hated the idea.
Evans was a hands-on producer. He liked to be in the editing room. He liked to give notes to directors. A company where directors had total, unchecked control was his absolute worst nightmare.
Duke understood Evans' fear. But Duke also had his own reasons to hate the idea. Giving directors a blank check was incredibly dangerous.
Coppola would eventually go to the jungle and lose his mind making Apocalypse Now. Friedkin would spend millions shooting trucks on a bridge for Sorcerer.
Directors needed boundaries or they would go crazy.
Duke smiled. He kept his voice light and friendly. He was good-natured, but he was firm.
"Sue," Duke said calmly. "It's a beautiful dream. But I run Paramount Pictures, not a charity."
Sue frowned deeply. "Duke, Peter will be one of the guys making the biggest hits. He wants to create The Director Company to help American Cinema, it's the main reason he even wants to work with Paramount."
"Look... I love his hit," Duke said. He stood up. He walked around to the front of his desk.
"But I don't hand over the keys of my studio to anyone. If Peter wants to make a movie, he talks to Bob. We are partners in this business. We are not an open wallet."
Duke wanted Evans to handle these prestige projects. Evans had a great eye for story. Evans could guide these directors under his own banner, Ithaca. It kept the talent happy but kept the final control inside the building.
Sue sighed loudly. She threw her hands up in the air. "Fine. Fine! You want to be the big boss, be the boss. Forget The Directors Company idea for now."
She pointed a finger with a large ring directly at Duke. "But Addie Pray and The Way We Were are perfect projects. Paramount and my agency, CMA. We collaborate on these two films and we make history together."
Duke rubbed his temples with his fingers. He closed his eyes for a brief second. "Sue, you talk very fast. I am getting a headache." He was getting a big whif of her perfumer which he did not like.
"Take an aspirin," Sue snapped back instantly. "And agree to my projects."
Duke laughed out loud. He liked her style. "I will think about it. Truly, I will consider it. But let's wait a minute before we sign anything."
Sue stood up. She knew she was not getting a solid 'yes' today. But she also knew she did not get a 'no'.
"Fine," Sue said confidently. "I will come back after the premiere but my price will be higher then."
He walked her to the door. He opened it for her.
Evans walked over to the door. He shut it firmly. He made sure the heavy latch clicked into place.
He turned back to face Duke. The annoyance on his face was completely gone. Now, he just looked dead serious.
"Good job," Evans said quietly. He walked over to the small wet bar in the corner of the room.
He poured himself a glass of cold water. "The Directors Company is a terrible trap. You give some guys total control, and they will bankrupt this studio just to get the perfect shot of a sunset."
"I know," Duke said. He walked back behind his desk and sat down. "But the movie projects are good... Addie Pray is a great script. Bogdanovich is a very hot director right now."
"The projects are fantastic," Evans agreed. He took a sip of his water. "I want them. I really do. But we cannot do it. Not the way she wants to do it."
Duke looked up. He frowned. "Why not?"
Evans set his glass down on the counter. "Because her agency does not just want a standard fee anymore. Sue did not say it out loud in front of you. But her agency wants a brand new kind of deal. They are calling it a three-three-ten deal."
Duke narrowed his eyes. "Explain it."
"It is a complete shakedown," Evans said bluntly. "They want three percent of the total production budget paid upfront to the agency as a fee."
"Then, they want three percent of our studio share of the net profits. And here is the real kicker. They want up to ten percent of the gross receipts."
Duke stared at Evans in silence. The good-natured smile totally vanished from his face.
Gross receipts. First-dollar gross. This was the money that came in from the movie theaters before a single expense was deducted.
Before the marketing campaign was paid for. Before the film prints were paid for. Before the crew got their checks.
It was a vampire strategy.
Duke knew the future history of Hollywood business. He knew exactly what happened in the 1990s and the early 2000s.
Talent agencies and giant movie stars demanded massive cuts of the gross. They took tens of millions of dollars right off the top.
Meanwhile, the studios carried all the heavy financial risk. If a movie completely bombed at the box office, the studio lost fifty million dollars. But the star and the agent still walked away rich because they took their cut from the very first ticket sold.
It eventually broke the entire studio system. It forced studios to stop taking risk and change the model to only make safe, boring sequels.
It all started right here. In the early 1970s. With aggressive agents like Sue Mengers pushing the financial boundaries.
Duke shook his head slowly. "Absolutely not."
"Ten percent of the gross is completely insane," Evans said. He paced again. "We carry all the risk for the movie and they want to take money right off the top."
"No," Duke said. His voice was hard. "We do not give away gross points. Not to an agency. Not to an actor. Not to a director."
"Sue will walk away," Evans warned him. "She will take Bogdanovich and Streisand straight to Warner Brothers or Fox."
"Let her go," Duke said simply. "I am not running a charity here. We pay a flat packaging fee to the agency. We pay a healthy, fair salary to the talent. But nobody touches the gross."
Duke looked right at Evans. He wanted to make sure this rule was perfectly clear.
"These people are vampire bloodsuckers, Bob," Duke said. "You invite them into your house, and they will drink you dry. We have to hold the line on this. Flat fee only. If they do not like it, the door is wide open for them to leave."
Evans slowly smiled. He liked a young boss who knew exactly how to say no to powerful people.
"I will tell her," Evans said. "She will scream at me."
"Tell her to scream into a pillow," Duke joked. The heavy tension in the room finally broke. Duke smiled again. "Just hold the line, Bob."
Evans nodded in agreement. He picked up his glasses from the bar. "I have a meeting right now with Coppola's film editor. I will talk to you later today."
Evans walked out of the office. Duke was alone again. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost noon. The day was only half over.
Three o'clock arrived. Duke felt the familiar, heavy slump of the afternoon.
Duke had a perfect solution for this. He had read about a German tradition called Kaffee und Kuchen. It meant coffee and cake.
It happened every single afternoon in Germany, a quick rush of sugar and strong caffeine to help a person power through the late afternoon hours.
His secretary walked in carrying a small silver tray. It held a fresh, steaming pot of black coffee and a thick slice of Hummingbird cake on a white porcelain plate.
Duke thanked her. He poured the coffee into a cup. The bitter steam rose into the air. He took a bite of the cake. It was exactly what his brain needed.
There was a quick knock on the open door frame. Archie stood in the doorway. He held a thick manila folder tucked tightly under his arm.
"Come in, Archie," Duke said happily. He waved the man over to the sitting area. "Do you want a slice of cake?"
"No thanks,," Archie said. He sat down in a heavy leather armchair. He opened the folder on his lap. He laid out a series of large comic book pages on the low coffee table.
Archie ran the Pulse division. It was Duke's comic book and magazine publishing wing. It was a vital part of the growing empire. It was a great place to test new stories cheaply. If a story worked well as a comic book, it might work well as a animated series later.
"Let's talk about Rogue Sun," Archie said. He pointed to the pages.
Rogue Sun was one of their flagship comic titles. It was a very solid book. But Duke knew the sales numbers.
"Sales are dropping fast," Duke said. He took a sip of his hot coffee.
"They are dropping," Archie agreed with a sigh. "Interest from the readers is very low. We aren't losing buyers, but we aren't getting much in terms of new viewers."
"The story is over," Duke said simply. He wasn't upset about it. It was just a fact of publishing. "The main writer finished the big story arc. The hero won the battle."
Archie nodded. "So, what is the plan? Do we cancel the book?"
"We end it," Duke corrected him. "Give it a proper, grand finale. December 1972. The final issue of Rogue Sun. Make it a massive, double-sized issue. Wrap up all the loose ends in the plot. Let the hero retire in peace. Give the loyal readers a good ending."
Archie quickly wrote this down on a yellow legal pad. "Okay. A December finale. That leaves a very big hole in our publishing schedule for early next year. What do we replace it with? I can call some of the big writers over at Marvel Comics. See if anyone wants to jump ship and work for us."
Duke shook his head. He took another bite of the chocolate cake. He chewed slowly, thinking about the future.
"No external hires," Duke said firmly. "We have dozens of young writers and artists currently working in our bullpen. Guys doing background art. Guys doing lettering. Guys writing short, cheap backup stories."
"Sure we do," Archie said. "A lot of young kids."
"I want to do an internal pitch contest," Duke said. His voice grew very animated. He really liked this idea. It was good for company morale. It was good for finding new business.
"Open the contest up to everyone in the company. Anyone can pitch a brand new ongoing series. I do not care if it is the janitor who pitches it. If they have a good story, I want to see it on my desk."
Archie raised an eyebrow. "An open contest? We are going to get a lot of total garbage, Boss."
Duke responded, smiling broadly. "But we might get one piece of absolute cinema. Tell them to look for something totally different. Look for things that teenage kids would be interested in. The market is completely full of guys in capes. We need the next big story."
"Okay," Archie said. He seemed to finally catch Duke's enthusiasm. "An internal pitch contest. The winner gets the open publishing slot in January 1973. We give them a solid six-issue contract. We see if the book sinks or swims in the market."
"Exactly," Duke said. He finished his cup of coffee. "Tell the staff about the contest tomorrow morning. Tell them to bring their craziest ideas."
Archie gathered up his large art papers. He stood up from the chair. "I will type up the staff memo today. The guys are going to lose their minds. They will love this chance."
"Good," Duke said.
___
So aparently the beyonce mom gumbo stand got shut down by police.
I will only eat homemade food from now on