A navy Lincoln Continental idled smoothly in the driveway of a modest, well-maintained suburban home in Scottsdale, Arizona.
Duke Hauser gripped the steering wheel, he was feeling an unfamiliar, tightening sensation in the pit of his stomach. He killed the engine.
Lynda shifted comfortably in the passenger seat, unbuckling her seatbelt and turning to fully face him.
She looked casual, completely devoid of Hollywood glamuor, dressed instead in a simple cashmere sweater.
She sensed his hesitation, "You are actually nervlouse right now, aren't you?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of genuine amusement.
Duke let out a short laugh, leaning his head back against the headrest. "I have personally faced a lot of things, but at least I have some reassurance. This meanwhile is incredibly high stakes with no safety."
Lynda reached across the center console, resting her warm hand gently over his. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about, Connor," she reassured him, her thumb lightly tracing the lines of his hand.
"Just be the exact same man who I like."
Duke nodded slowly, internalizing the final message. She had previously warned him that her parents, though long divorced, maintained a cordial dynamic and had explicitly agreed to behave perfectly for this holiday visit.
They had absolutely never met him in person before, to them, he was simply a Hollywood executive who happened to be dating their daughter.
The front door swung open before they even reached the concrete porch.
Juanita Córdova stood in the entryway, wiping her hands on a white apron. She had recently retired from Motorola, where she had dedicated years of her life working the demanding assembly lines.
She immediately pulled Lynda into an embrace, burying her face in her daughter's hair before finally turning her gaze entirely upon Duke.
"So, you are the famous movie guy, Connor Hauser" Juanita stated, she ushered them inside to a clean living room smelling of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon-licorice aroma of freshly baked biscochitos cooling on the kitchen counter.
"Sit down, take your coat off. You look too stiff for a holiday weekend." Duke smiled, he smoothly removed his jacket and accepted the porcelain cup of coffee she pressed into his hands.
"It is an absolute honor to finally meet you, Mrs. Córdova," Duke said warmly, taking a seat on the floral-patterned sofa. "Lynda has told me wonderful things about your cooking, and the scent in this house is already proving her right."
Juanita offered a small, pleased smile, taking the armchair opposite him. "Call me Juanita please. So, tell me about your family, Connor. Where do you come from?"
Duke took a bite of a biscochito, appreciating the crumbly texture, using the brief moment to formulate his response.
"I am originally from Texas, ma'am," Duke answered, "Grew up mostly around Dallas. Unfortunately, I don't have much family left. It's mostly just me."
Juanita listened intently, her eyes continuing to size him up, then nodded. She then abruptly changed the subject, "Did my daughter ever tell you about the specific time she used to carry a book of facts around and bother people to tell them facts?"
Duke's eyes widened in amused surprise. He quickly recovered, setting the coffee cup down on a wooden coaster. "No, she most certainly left that particular detail out."
Lynda buried her face in her hands, groaning softly, but Duke noticed she was lightly smiling under her palms. "Mom, please don't tell that story."
Juanita completely ignored her daughter's plea, leaning forward.
"She was thirteen years old, and i bought her The World Almanac and Book of Facts 1964, she loved it, It was a heavy book crammed with random facts about everything ever." Juanita explained proudly. "Most kids have an imaginary friend. I had a tiny girl encyclopedia who didn't understand social cues.".
"I'd be in the shower, soap in my eyes, and a voice would talk from the other side of the door about how Chainsaws were invented to help with Childbirth.'" Juanita paused smiling, as she looked directly at Duke, as he, himself looked over with a slight smile at a blushing Lynda.
Colby Carter arrived roughly an hour later, pulling into the driveway in a battered vintage Ford pickup truck that sounded like a dying tractor.
He was a tall man with a weathered face. He made his living as an independent antiques dealer and dedicated furniture restorer, as he stepped out of the truck, Duke immediately noticed the carved antique mahogany armoire carefully strapped into the truck bed.
Duke immediately walked out the front door, rolling up his sleeves and offered to help the older man navigate the heavy piece of furniture down the wooden ramp and safely into the garage workspace.
Colby wiped his brow with a grease-stained rag, "I appreciate the help with lifting."
They spent the next hour standing in the garage, drinking cold beer straight from the bottle, discussing the profound differences between modern mass manufacturing and the rapidly dying art of historical craftsmanship. Of course, Lynda would come to check on them every few minutes to see they were still okay.
Later that evening, over a dinner of homemade Pozole and menudo, the conversation flowed with a surprising ease.
After two successful days in the Arizona suburbs, Duke and Lynda finally boarded a private chartered flight back to California.
Operating purely on a sudden impulse, he enthusiastically invited both Juanita and Colby to temporarily leave the state and stay directly at his Owlwood Estate for the festive week situated between Christmas and the New Year.
To Lynda's shock, both of her traditionally stubborn parents accepted the incredibly generous invitation without a single argument.
___
The appointed guest rooms at the Owlwood Estate were prepared by the dedicated household staff.
When they finally arrived at the estate, their surprise reactions were a source of joy for Duke.
He observed a moment where Juanita stood completely motionless simply staring in silence at the Olympic-sized pool.
Meanwhile, Colby immediately dropped to his knees in his room examining the hand-woven threads of a Persian rug.
___
By the time late December transitioned into early January of 1974, the holiday quiet needed Duke to go back to work.
Duke found himself seated inside a private dining room located within an upscale Chinese restaurant in the heart of Los Angeles.
The room was softly illuminated by ornate paper lanterns, and the air was filled with the scent of jasmine tea and roasted duck.
Sitting directly across the circular wooden table from him was the legendary martial artist and cinematic icon, Bruce Lee.
Bruce gently set his delicate porcelain teacup down, looking across the table with an expression of unmasked gratitude.
"I need to thank you again for the medical team, Duke," Bruce said quietly, "The medic you sent were absolute miracle workers. You quite literally saved my entire life."
Duke had hired a medical team to be on standby and just follow Bruce Lee around. Bruce Lee didn't appreciate the gesture, but Duke still keep the team, and in July 20, 1973, Bruce almost died of a brain swelling, but the standby team, used Mannitol to buy him time till he was succesfully send to the Hospital.
Duke immediately waved his hand dismissively, uncomfortable with the display of gratitude. "Please, Bruce, I absolutely need a friend like you sticking around. Besides, Game of Death certainly isn't going to somehow film itself, and I am financially invested in seeing you properly finish that masterpiece."
The tension broke, replaced by a shared, victorious energy as they seamlessly transitioned to discussing the unprecedented global phenomenon of Enter the Dragon.
In this specific timeline, the martial arts epic had been distributed by Paramount Pictures directly under Duke's visionary leadership.
Bruce broke into a grin, shaking his head in disbelief. "The executives over at Warner Brothers are currently sitting in their offices, absolutely crying into their martinis right now," Bruce laughed, highly amused by the corporate regret.
"Yeah, your money flowing into the Paramount coffers now, my friend." Duke leaned back, allowing a satisfied smile to cross his face. "I can officially confirm the latest international box office reports, Bruce. We have just crossed over forty million dollars in worldwide revenue, and the numbers are still climbing every single weekend."
As the waiter silently cleared their plates and poured a fresh pot of steaming tea, Bruce's observant eyes locked directly onto Duke's lower body.
"Did you stopped maintaining your Wing Chun routines after I temporarily relocated back to Hong Kong?" Bruce meticulously explained, detailing how the weakness in Duke's damaged leg could be improved by doing sustained use of the foundational hip-rooting techniques and the alignment principles inherent to the martial art.
"You are undeniably right, Bruce," Duke admitted without ego, he actually didnt know if he was right or not, and he didnt really care, he had already decided to go with Swimming.
Bruce smiled, immediately offering to personally re-teach Duke the foundational Wing Chun physical stance and the stepping drills.
"We are going to keep it completely low-impact," Bruce promised, "Absolutely no high kicks or aggressive sparring. We are going to focus entirely on properly aligning the skeletal structure."
Duke slowly nodded, genuinely appreciating the offer from one of the busiest man in the entertainment industry. He still didnt want to, but he would solve it later.
"I agree to the training, Bruce, but on one condition," Duke countered, "You have to actively help me design and choreograph a fight scene for the upcoming novel I am currently outlining."
Bruce laughed. "It is an absolute deal, my friend."
They raised their porcelain teacups, gently clinking them together. "To surviving," they both said unison.
___
A few days later, Duke sat behind his desk in his office in Paramount.
Standing directly in front of his desk, was a remarkably young Jeffrey Katzenberg.
Katzenberg shuffled through a highly unorganized stack of printed analytics papers.
He was focused on the anticipated animated television series Blue Beetle. "The initial broadcast ratings are absolutely strong across every single measurable demographic board, sir," Katzenberg reported enthusiastically.
"The show is aggressively drawing in the younger kids entirely for the action sequences, but more importantly, it is retaining older teens and young adults specifically for the complex, serialized storytelling format."
Katzenberg practically shoved a confidential internal memo across the polished surface of Duke's desk, pointing aggressively at the highlighted bottom line.
"Toei Animation in Japan is already calling our offices, asking about formally establishing an international toy line," Katzenberg continued, "And furthermore, a highly prominent Japanese toy manufacturing company called Bandai desperately wants to immediately license the primary character specifically for a model kit production run."
Duke steepled his fingers, locking his gaze directly onto Katzenberg. He asked the single, most critical question in the television industry.
"Will this specific animated show actually generating a direct profit entirely on its own broadcast merits, Jeffrey, or are we banking on the future promise of syndication revenue?"
Katzenberg briefly hesitated, his rapid-fire delivery momentarily stalling before he admitted the financial reality. "We are currently projected to officially break even on the production costs in exactly six months, sir. However, we will hit absolute profitability significantly faster if these proposed Japanese toy licensing deals officially close this quarter."
Duke processed the information instantly, aggressively nodding his approval. "I approve moving forward with the Bandai model kit negotiations. However, Paramount will strictly insist on retaining total creative approval over the design of any produced merchandise."
___
Im tired boss, but im not dropping this.
Strickland won, I got 160$ from wagin on him