The morning of Friday, March 17, 1972, arrived as Duke drove his Mercedes-Benz through the iconic Paramount Pictures lot arches.
The security guard at the gate offered a wide smile and a salute as he waved him in. "Great show last night, Mr. Hauser! My whole family watched it!"
Duke smiled, returning the wave as he idled the engine. "Appreciate it."
As Duke rolled slowly down the avenue of massive soundstages, he rolled his window down, extras in period costumes were walking around carrying coffees and laughing. A grip truck rolled past, the driver giving Duke a quick honk of the horn.
Duke parked his car in his reserved spot directly in front of the main executive building. He grabbed his leather briefcase from the passenger seat, took a deep breath, and stepped out.
As Duke stepped into the conference room, Stanley Jaffe, Barry Diller, Robert Evans, and Marilyn Stewart all stood up from their leather chairs. They broke into a spontaneous, echoing round of applause.
Duke paused in the doorway, genuinely taken aback. He let out a soft laugh, holding his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. Sit down before someone walks by and thinks we've lost our minds."
"Let them think it," Robert Evans said, flashing a grin. "Duke, I have never seen a television appearance shift the industry the way you did last night."
Duke walked to the head of the table and took his seat, setting his coffee down. "It felt good. Johnny was incredibly gracious. But let's look at the numbers. Talk to me, Marilyn."
Marilyn Stewart, the Head of Publicity and Promotion, opened an organized binder.
"The numbers are beyond anything we projected, Duke," Marilyn said, "And I'm not just talking about the box office, I'm talking about you. I've had my team running overnight polling in key markets and your Q-Score, your public likability and recognition just went through the roof."
She slid a neatly typed page across the table toward him. "Before last night, the public vaguely knew you were a young veteran who bought a studio. But you were for the most part an invisible mogul."
Marilyn tapped the paper. "Last night, you were a director, veteran, musician. A guy who laughs at his own jokes and talks about the days of stealing camera shots out of a white van. The public response is that you are a highly relatable, trustworthy, and charismatic man."
Duke listened, nodding slowly, his mind drifting for a fraction of a second to his past life.
He remembered the tech billionaires of the future. He remembered watching men like Mark Zuckerberg or Elon Musk try to interact with the public.
They were smart, but in front of a camera, they looked like aliens.
He even remembered that video of Mark Zuckerberg trying to humanize himself by making smoking meat a part of his PR.
Duke had made a conscious, strategic decision to not let that happen.
He was building an empire based on emotion, art, and joy for entertaiment. He needed the public to trust him, to feel like he was one of them, just a guy who loved telling stories and playing games.
"The 'Alien CEO' is a terrible business model," Duke said softly, almost to himself, before looking back up at Marilyn with a bright smile.
"Keep pushing that angle, Marilyn. Let's make sure the press has open access to our sets, controlled of course. I want people to feel like Paramount is the place where the magic happens."
"Done," Marilyn smiled, closing her binder.
"Now," Duke said, turning to Barry Diller. "Tell me about the theaters, Barry. How are we holding up?"
Diller, leaned forward. "Holding up? Duke, we are dominating. The Godfather and Cabaret are dominating the cultural conversation."
Diller opened his own ledger. "With The Godfather, the Carson bump from last night was immediate. The midnight showings across the East Coast were sold out. Lines are wrapping around three city blocks in Manhattan."
"People are going back to see it a second time just to memorize the dialogue. And Cabaret is completely owning the adult demographic. It's brilliant, and the critics are already calling for Liza Minnelli's name into the Best Actress Oscar."
"Two entirely different genres," Evans chimed in, "but they share the same DNA. They are undeniably original. And that's getting us a lot of critics goodwill."
"It's a beautiful thing," Duke agreed, savoring the coffee. "Stanley, talk to me about the Atari Pong."
Stanley Jaffe, looked up from a stack of telegrams. He looked exhausted.
"Atari is still a monster," Jaffe said, shaking his head in disbelief. "The switchboard at the new Atari office in Sunnyvale has been melting down since sunrise. When Johnny Carson played Pong on live television, the entire retail industry noticed."
Jaffe held up a handful of yellow telegrams. "As you know, we already signed the exclusive distribution deal with Sears for the Christmas release. They get the console in their catalogs and their sporting goods departments."
"But after last night, every other retailer in the country wants in. Montgomery Ward, JCPenney, Macy's, Target... they are all calling, begging for inventory."
"They are offering to pay a premium, upfront in cash, to break the Sears exclusivity window."
Duke smiled, leaning back in his chair. "A little manufactured scarcity never hurt anyone. It drives up the perceived value."
"Sears is consulting about increasing their original order," Jaffe continued. "People are calling Sears stores asking to pre-order a machine that doesn't come out in 9 months."
"We stick to the Sears deal for this Christmas," Duke decided firmly. "We honor our contracts. When we release the next generation console with interchangeable game cartridges, we go for everyone."
The room murmured in agreement.
"Speaking of the slate," Evans said, he glanced over at Diller, and the two men shared a look. "Barry and I had a very late, very expensive dinner last night with Sue Mengers."
Duke raised an eyebrow.
"And what did the lovely Ms. Mengers say?" Duke asked.
"She is entirely on board the Paramount train," Diller said, leaning in. "Duke, we closed the deal and successfully poached The Way We Were."
The room went dead silent for a second.
Duke looked down the table at Stanley Jaffe. He was staring intensely at his notepad, his jaw clenched tight.
Duke knew exactly why.
The Way We Were, a romantic drama starring Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford, was the big in Columbia Pictures' upcoming development slate.
And Columbia Pictures was currently chaired by Leo Jaffe, Stanley's father.
Stanley was loyal to Paramount for now, but he was destined to return to Columbia eventually to run it alongside his family. It was an open secret in the industry.
For Paramount to swoop in, leverage their new massive cash flow and prestige, and steal Columbia's best project right out from under Leo Jaffe's nose, it was corporate warfare.
Duke didn't care, Columbia couldn't compare to his Paramount, neither in this life or in his past life.
He also personally disliked the logo of Columbia.
Evans, ignoring the tension, pressed on. "Sue represents Streisand. She knows Columbia is struggling with cash flow. We offered a better direct deal, guaranteed creative control, and an accelerated production schedule. Columbia couldn't match the guarantee. It's ours."
"That's not all," Diller added quickly. "Sue also reps Peter Bogdanovich and he is locked in to direct Addie Pray. We're renaming it Paper Moon."
Duke let the silence hang for a moment. He looked at Evans and Diller, nodding his approval, before turning his gaze directly to Jaffe.
"Stanley," Duke said softly.
Jaffe looked up, his expression neutral. "Yes, Duke."
"This is business," Duke said, his tone warm, but completely resolute. "It's a tough town, and we are playing to win. Columbia will survive. They have a deep library and good leadership."
Jaffe held Duke's gaze.
"I'm Paramount, Duke," Jaffe said, his voice steady. "It's a great acquisition. The Way We Were is a phenomenal script. My father is going to be incredibly angry... but we outplayed him."
"Good," Duke smiled, breaking the tension completely.
He clapped his hands together, the loud sound echoing in the room. "We have a lot of work to do today. I'm going to head down to Stage 28 and check on Spielberg. Let's keep the momentum going, people. Excellent work all around."
Duke grabbed his briefcase and left the executive suite.
Stage 28 was where the set of Black Christmas was located.
The interior of the sorority house had been built to scale, complete with dark oak paneling, and grand staircases.
Duke stood in the shadows near the craft services table, watching the crew work.
In the center of the living room set, Steven Spielberg was pacing.
Steven was twenty-five years old, looking like a college student in a corduroy jacket and thick glasses. He was trying to frame a complex tracking shot that would follow the killer's perspective up the grand staircase.
The problem was, Steven was too nice.
"Excuse me, guys?" Steven asked, his voice wavering slightly over the busy set. He gestured toward a massive light stand. "Could we- maybe- bump that backlight down about twenty percent? It's a little hot on-"
The gaffer, a veteran who had been lighting sets for years, didn't even look up from his conversation with the key grip. "Yeah, yeah, man, give us a minute. We're talking here."
Steven sighed, chewing anxiously on the end of a pencil. He had the vision in his head, entirely crystal clear. He knew exactly how the shadows needed to play across the wood to create terror.
Duke was about to step and quietly have a word with the gaffer, but before he could, he felt a heavy hand clap him on the shoulder.
"Ah! Mio amico! Duke!"
Duke turned and broke into a massive grin. Standing next to him, wearing a tailored Italian silk suit that looked ridiculous on a horror movie set, was Dario Argento.
The Italian maestro of the giallo film pulled Duke into a tight, enthusiastic embrace, kissing him on both cheeks in the traditional european fashion.
"Dario! What are you doing in Los Angeles?" Duke laughed, genuinely thrilled to see the director. They had met previously during The Godfather's production when DUke visited Sicily.
"I am visiting!" Dario said, his English heavily accented.
He threw his arms out, gesturing to the massive soundstage. "And my God, Duke... I knew you owned a studio. I read the papers in Rome. But reading about it and seeing it... it is madness! You own a city! This lot... the streets, the buildings, the gates... it's like Cinecittà!"
"It's just a lot, Dario," Duke smiled humbly. "What are you thinking of making the jump to Hollywood?"
Dario waved a hand dismissively, though his eyes sparkled with ambition. "Bah! Hollywood is too corporate. But... looking at this... perhaps I could be convinced to bring a little Italian blood to your studio."
Dario turned his attention to the set, watching Steven Spielberg continue to quietly struggle with the lighting crew. Dario's brow furrowed.
"Is this Spielberg first time directing?" Dario whispered to Duke. "He asks for the light like he is asking for a favor. He is the director! He needs to yell."
"He's young," Duke defended softly. "and he's finding his voice. The crew is old-school. They test new guys."
Dario scoffed, shaking his head. "To make movies, you cannot be polite."
Before Duke could stop him, Dario marched right out onto the brilliantly lit set. He walked directly up to the gaffer, invading the man's personal space with flamboyant intensity.
"Scusi!" Dario barked, his voice booming across the soundstage.
The entire crew froze.
Dario pointed a long, manicured finger directly at the light, then jabbed it toward the gaffer's chest. "Are you blind? The boy asked for shadows! He is making a horror movie, and you are giving him a dentist office! Move the light! Subito! Now!"
The gaffer, completely taken off guard by the screaming Italian, blinked in shock. He looked over at Steven, then at Dario again.
"Uh yes, sir," the gaffer stammered. He turned quickly to his crew. "You heard him!"
Dario turned to Steven, his fierce expression melting instantly into a warm smile. He patted the stunned young director on the cheek.
"You see, mio giovane amico?" Dario said gently to Steven. "You never ask. Demand."
Steven stood there for a moment, while the crew scrambled, the lighting shifted, and suddenly, the grand staircase looked terrifying.
Steven stood up straighter. He pushed his glasses up his nose.
"Alright!" Steven yelled, his voice suddenly carrying a new, hard edge that echoed through the stage. "That's the look! Camera, mark your positions! Actors to set! We shoot in two minutes!"
Duke watched his young friend take absolute command of the room. He turned to Dario, clapping the Italian on the shoulder.
"Thank you, dude," Duke smiled. "You just saved me an hour of production time."
"He is a good guy," Dario grinned. "He just needed a little fire. Come, let us leave them. Show me the rest of your company."
Duke and Dario slipped out the heavy side doors of Stage 28, emerging back into the warm, bright California afternoon.
They began to walk slowly down the main avenue, heading toward the post-production editing suites.
"It really is a beautiful place, Duke," Dario said, looking around at the bustling activity.
Carpenters carrying lumber, actresses in full makeup rushing to lunch, executives in suits riding bicycles. "This place has good energy."
"We're trying," Duke said, keeping his pace leisurely. "It's all about finding the right people. Like Steven in there. Which reminds me... I have something I want to show you."
"Oh?" Dario looked intrigued. "A new project? horror?"
Duke laughed, shaking his head. "Actually, the exact opposite. I have a just finished the rough cut of my new film. It's coming out next year. It's called Annie Hall."
"A romance?" Dario asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A nervous romance," Duke corrected. "It's funny, and it breaks the fourth wall quite a bit. It's an experiment in tone. I'd love to get your eyes on it."
"I would be delighted, Duke. Truly. I am here for one more week. We watch your romance, and we talk about cinema."
They reached the corner of the avenue, Dario stopped and looked at Duke, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes.
"And Duke, my friend..." Dario said.
"Yes, Dario?"
"I have recently become a free man," Dario said, flashing a grin. "The divorce is finalized. The paperwork is signed. I am a man released from his chains."
Duke couldn't help but laugh at the delivery. "Congratulations on your freedom."
"Thank you," Dario beamed. "Now, as a single man in the film industry, surely you host gatherings? Parties? Celebrations of art? Events where, perhaps, beautiful women of Hollywood gather to discuss... the history of cinema?"
Duke shook his head, clapping Dario on the shoulder as they continued their walk toward the editing suites.
"Dario," Duke smiled, "I own Paramount Pictures. I think we can find a party for you."
___
Should Duke had said 'Do you know what a freak off is?' in that last part?
I watched Rental Family (2025) and wow did it make me cry, what a beautiful honest movie.