The telex machine sat in the corner of Barry Diller's office on the Paramount lot. In 1972, it was the fastest way to move text across the Pacific Ocean.
Duke sat in a leather chair across from Diller, drinking black coffee, and wondering whether Starbucks existed already.
He watched the machine suddenly clattered to life. The mechanical keys began striking the paper roll.
Michael Eisner walked into the office. He looked at the machine, then at Duke.
"Is that the report from Seoul?" Eisner asked.
"It should be," Duke said. "The Ministry of Culture promised the overnight ratings by noon our time."
Diller stood up. He walked over to the machine and tore the paper sheet off the roller. He read it in silence. Then, he looked up, his expression was completely flat.
"Well?" Eisner asked. He still believed deep down that Duke had given away the store by subsidizing the Korean broadcast rights.
Diller handed the paper to Duke.
"You did good," Diller said simply.
Duke looked at the paper. The numbers were amazing considerjng.
In 1970, South Korea had approximately 379,000 television sets, a very small amount compared with America's, where television ownership was nearly universal, with over 60 million households owning at least one set.
The premiere of Mission: Impossible on the KBS network had captured an unprecedented share of the available viewing audience. But the numbers were only half the story. The telex included translated notes from the Ministry's cultural observers.
The phrase "This tape will self-destruct in five seconds" had been translated into Korean. It had aired on Tuesday night.
By Wednesday morning, it was everywhere. Children were saying it on the playgrounds in Seoul and some people were using it as a joke. It had become an instant catchphrase.
"They understand the format," Duke said as he placed the paper on the desk. "They like the structure of the show. The team, the mission and the technology."
"It's a phenomenon," Diller admitted. He sat back down. "And the Blue Beetle animation?"
"Airing Saturday," Duke said. "But the beachhead is established. We are part of their weekly routine. When the Korean economy shifts into high gear, we will be the dominant cultural brand in the market."
Duke finished his coffee and stood up.
"Keep the pressure on Mattel," Duke told Eisner. "I want the Beetle figures ready for production regardless of their financial issues."
"Where are you going?" Diller asked.
"I have a flight to catch," Duke said. "I'm going to Germany."
The air in Munich was surprisingly filled with significant air pollution and smog, Duke used a facemask that reminded him of the covid times.
The city was hosting the 1972 Summer Olympics. Everywhere Duke looked, he saw the specific, deliberate design of the games.
The official colors were light blue, silver, and bright green. The signage was clean. It was an entire city rebranded to project a modern, peaceful, highly efficient West Germany.
Duke appreciated the aesthetic and took some pictures as he was drove to his destination.
His black Mercedes pulled up to the Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten Kempinski on Maximilianstrasse. It was supposed to be one of the finest luxury hotels in Europe.(I copied and paste it, I have never visited germany so idk if thats the correct name)
Duke did not travel lightly. The political climate of the 1970s was volatile. He carried a heavy security footprint.
Two private guards, flanked him on either side. A third guard was already upstairs, sweeping the suite.
He was here for a vacation. He was here to watch the swimming events. But mostly, he was here to relax.
He rode the elevator to the top floor. His security nodded to him and unlocked the wooden door to the suite.
Duke walked inside. The room was massive. It smelled nice, but expensive.
Barbara Bouchet was already sitting on the velvet sofa in a tight dress.
She looked up and smiled.
"You made it," Barbara said.
"I always make it," Duke said. He walked over and kissed her.
It was a comfortable, established dynamic. They were not building a life together. They were basically providing a service to each other, or at least Duke like to think that way.
Duke did not mention Lynda Carter. In Duke's mind, there was no conflict as long as he kept his worlds separated.
Barbara sighed heavily. She leaned her head against his chest. She looked exhausted.
"Four movies," she muttered. "I shot four movies this year, Duke. The directors are crazy. They shoot without scripts. They scream at the crew. European cinema is a madhouse and unserious compared to Hollywood."
Duke poured two glasses of champagne and handed her one.
"You need to structure things better," Duke said. He sat down next to her.
"I need sleep," she corrected. She took a long sip of the champagne. "But I am glad you are here."
"Let's not waste energy," Duke said.
"We have the whole week," Barbara said. Her eyes brightened. The exhaustion began to fade. "I have a plan for us. We are going to see the city. We are going to eat real food. No set catering. And relax."
"Whatever you want," Duke said. "But tomorrow, I want to see the swimming. Mark Spitz is going for the records."
"Swimming," Barbara laughed. "Fine. We will watch the Americans swim."
The peace of the Olympic village shattered on September 5th.
The news broke over the television in the hotel suite. A hostage crisis. A terror attack that showed the brutal reality of the world.
Duke reacted instantly.
He locked down the floor. He ordered his security team to secure the elevators and the stairwells.
He doubled the guard outside the door. He called the local authorities and arranged an emergency extraction route to the airport, just in case.
Barbara was terrified. She sat on the sofa, watching the grim news reports on the German broadcast. Duke sat beside her holding her hand.
"Are we safe here?" she asked. Her voice was shaking.
"We're safe, they only want the israelis" Duke said. "Either way, i rented it so no one comes on this floor."
They stayed in the suite. While he tragedy played out to its horrific conclusion at the airbase. The world mourned. The games were suspended.
When the International Olympic Committee decided to resume the games a few days later, Duke and Barbara finally left the hotel after Barbara complained about the attacks ruining her schedule. The security detail shadowing them closely.
Duke had missed Mark Spitz win his medals during the lockdown. But there was another event that caught his attention.The Men's Basketball Gold Medal game. The United States versus the Soviet Union.
They secured prime seats, the arena was tense. The Cold War was playing out on the hardwood.
Duke watched the game with intense focus.
It was close. It was brutal.
Then came the final three seconds.
Duke leaned forward. He watched the chaos unfold.
The Americans hit free throws to take a 50-49 lead. There were three seconds left. The Soviets inbounded the ball. They failed to score. The horn sounded. The Americans celebrated.
But Duke saw the Soviet coach at the scorer's table entering a furious argument.
The head of FIBA, William Jones, come down from the stands. Jones had no authority to intervene, but he did it anyway. He ordered the clock to be reset.
"What is happening?" Barbara asked. The crowd was confused.
"Bureaucracy," Duke said simply. His eyes were locked on the officials.
The Soviets got a second chance. Three seconds on the clock. The horn sounded again during the play. The officials stopped it again. The clock was reset for a third time.
Duke watched the power dynamics. The Americans were complaining about fairness. The Soviets were working the referees. The Soviets were using the rules to break the rules.
On the third attempt, the Soviet player threw a full-court pass. Aleksandr Belov caught it. He laid the ball in the basket. The horn sounded.
Soviet Union 51. United States 50.
The arena erupted in shock and anger. The Americans had been robbed. A chaotic, controversial, theft of a gold medal.
Barbara shook her head. "That is terrible. They cheated."
There were rumors around the stand that the Communist party had bribed the officials because they wanted the USSR to win 50 gold medals at these Olympics in commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the Soviet Union.
The games ended.
Barbara wanted to get out. She wanted to show Duke the city, away from the arenas.
They started the next morning at Marienplatz, the central square of Munich. Duke took pictures of the Gothic architecture.
They left the square and walked down into the U-Bahn. The Munich subway system had been built specifically for the Olympics. It was brand new.
Duke stood on the platform. The trains arrived with down-to-the-minute precision, Duke was pretty dissapointed as he remembered the state of trains in America, late, ugly and expensive. Here, even the people moved on and off efficiently.
It was the exact opposite of the New York subway.
They boarded the train. Duke sat on the hard, molded plastic seat as he studied the transit map above the door.
"You are staring at the map," Barbara laughed. "You are supposed to be looking at me."
Duke smiled. He reached out and took her hand. "I am looking at the infrastructure. American infrastructure is too behind."
"America is the most advanced country in the world," Barbara argued gently.
"Not in trains at least," Duke argued back.
They rode the train and then they walked to a traditional German tavern.
The restaurant was located in the basement of the Town Hall. It smelled of roasted pork, heavy gravy, and sharp mustard. The noise level was incredible. Hundreds of people were talking, drinking, and eating.
They found a quiet booth in the corner. Duke ordered pork knuckles, potato dumplings, and two large beers.
As he looked at the beer, he remembered how in his past life, he once dated a german girl who while drunk stuck a 14 inches german beer bottle on herself. (true story btw)
Barbara ate with genuine enthusiasm. The Hollywood diets and the Italian glamour standards vanished. The tension in her shoulders was finally gone.
"This is better," she said. She took a drink of the dark beer.
"It is a very warming food," Duke agreed. He cut into the heavy meat. It was rich and filling.
He enjoyed seeing her like this. He liked providing the environment where she could drop her guard.
After lunch, they took a private car to the Deutsches Museum. It was the largest museum of science and technology in the world.
They spent hours walking through the massive halls. Duke looked at the early steam engines. He looked at the aerospace exhibits and the evolution of the printing press.
"You are very quiet again," Barbara said. She linked her arm through his.
"I am learning," Duke said.
Their final stop of the day was located near the Olympic Park. Duke had specifically requested to see it.
The car pulled up to the edge of a massive construction site. The building was almost finished. It was the new global headquarters for BMW.
Duke stepped out of the car as he looked up.
It was called the "Four-Cylinder" building. It was a staggering piece of modern architecture.
Four massive, silver, vertical cylinders stood suspended from a central tower. It looked like a giant engine block in the middle of Bavaria. Beside it was the bowl-shaped BMW Museum.
"The design is... ugly," Barbara stated. She wrinkled her nose. "It looks bad. These germans have no sense of style."
"It's... a uniq- a memorable design," Duke countered.
Duke stood there for a long time. The late afternoon sun hit the silver panels of the BMW building, making it shine against the Munich sky.
The BMW Museum had been a temple of polished steel and industrial uglyness, so they walked toward a small, tucked-away cafe nearby.
The cafe was filled with the scent of roasted beeans, and the low hum of German murmurs.
They took a small, circular table in the back corner, away from the windows. Duke sat down first, his movements stiff. The damp German cold was a relentless enemy to his leg.
Barbara didn't ask how he felt. She didn't need to.
As the waiter set down two small cups of espresso and a shared plate of Apfelstrudel, that reminded Duke of 'Inglourious Bastards'.
The conversation was sparse, Duke reached across the table. He didn't take her hand in a grand gesture, instead, he noticed the collar of her silk blouse was tucked awkwardly under her lapel. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward.
His large, calloused hand moved with surprising gentleness, his fingers hooking under the silk and smoothing it flat against her skin. He lingered there for a second, the heat of his hand resting against the side of her neck, before he pulled back.
Barbara offered a faint smile.
Barbara responded in kind. Under the heavy white linen of the table, she found his hand. She guided his hand to her lap, threading her fingers through his and squeezing firmly.
When Duke reached for his espresso, his movements were slightly hampered by the angle of his chair. Barbara silently shifted the cream and sugar closer to his side of the table, clearing a path so he wouldn't have to overextend.
Duke caught the movement, but didn't say anything.
As the rain intensified outside, drumming a steady beat against the glass, they sat in the warmth of the cafe as time went by .