The January sunshine of central Florida streamed through floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the suite.
Duke Hauser stood motionless before the windows, a steaming cup of black coffee resting comfortably in his hand.
He was already dressed for the demands of the day in tailored, dark charcoal wool trousers and a starched white oxford dress shirt, his cuffs rolled up to his forearms.
In his past life he didn't wear as many suits as he had during his years in this timeline.
Resting on the glass surface of the coffee table was a black leather-bound binder containing the complete, highly confidential 1974 production slate for Paramount Pictures.
The peaceful morning was suddenly shattered by the frantic sound of a key turning in the wooden door.
Robert Evans practically stumbled into the sunlit room, immediately bringing a highly caffeinated energy directly in with him.
Evans looked undeniably exhausted, his eyes were bloodshot, framed by dark purple circles.
His normally impeccable, custom-tailored silk shirt was rumpled, and partially unbuttoned near the collar to openly reveal a messy, tangled patch of chest hair and several thick gold chains.
He clutched a ceramic mug of hotel coffee in his hands. He had just successfully flown directly in from Los Angeles at two o'clock in the morning, arriving fresh off a contentious post-production of a film.
From deep within the bathroom attached to the suite, an electric hair dryer hummed to life.
It was accompanied by the sound of Lynda joyfully singing popular radio tune 'Runaround Sue' over the noise of the small appliance.
Duke didn't even bother to turn his head to acknowledge Evans's entrance into the room.
He simply continued to stare out farming aura before slowly turning, taking a slow appreciative sip of his bitter coffee.
"You physically look absolutely terrible, Robert," Duke noted calmly.
Evans let out a theatrical groan, collapsing his exhausted frame directly onto the orange mid-century modern sofa.
He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, "Do not even try to playfully joke with me right now, Duke."
"I am currently existing entirely on nothing but airplane peanuts, black coffee, and unadulterated, hatred for Roman Polanski. The man is determined to drive me into an early grave."
Evans reached forward, pulling the leather binder directly toward his chest. "But despite the migraines, we successfully locked the final edit."
Duke walked over to the sofa and sat down in the leather armchair located opposite the exhausted executive.
He flipped open the binder.
The absolute crown jewel of the entire studio, positioned at the very top of the list, was The Godfather Part II.
It was currently in the final stages of pre-production, completely scheduled for a highly publicized theatrical release precisely during the Christmas season of 1974.
"Francis is demanding completely authentic, historically accurate street recreations of early 1920s New York City, and he wants to personally shoot location sequences directly in Cuba despite the... political climate."
Duke didn't even blink, he simply picked up a pen and placed a checkmark directly next to the 11 million dollar budget. "I completelly approve every single penny of the requested budget, Robert,"
"Let's trust Coppola, I want you to aggressively push the marketing campaign incredibly hard directly toward the Academy Awards. I want this specific film to completely sweep the Oscars next year."
Evans let out a sigh, he eagerly flipped the page to the next major release.
"Chinatown," Evans announced, "The picture is currently locked in post-production, completely on schedule for a wide release in late June. Total working budget is sitting comfortably at 6 million dollars."
Duke nodded slowly, "Polanski is a difficult personality, but his specific visual style is absolutely perfect for exposing underlying corruption."
"Next on the list is The Great Gatsby. Filming is currently wrapping up directly in England. The working budget is holding steady at roughly 7 million dollars, currently scheduled for an early release in March."
Duke paused, looking closely at Evans's uncomfortable facial expression. "You clearly have reservations about this adaptation, Robert. Speak your mind."
Evans rubbed his temple, fighting off an incoming migraine. "I am worried that we have missed the emotional mark on this picture, Duke,"
"Robert Redford absolutely looks the part of the handsome tragic billionaire, and Mia Farrow is certainly delivering a competent performance, but the dailies coming back from the English sets are felt hollow."
Duke raised an eyebrown, and answered, "If the picture ultimately flops critically or fails to resonate with the general audience, we will simply, blame the casting choices and the sterile direction, not the source material."
Duke continued, "We will leverage Redford's star power to guarantee at least a lucrative opening weekend at the box office, trying to recoup our initial financial investment, and then immediately move on to the next profitable project.
Evans perked up for a moment, "The Parallax View is currently filming with Warren Beatty, carrying a tight 5 million-dollar budget,"
Evans reported smoothly. "But my bet is on Death Wish where a grieving architect starts roaming the streets of New York, is going to be the sleeper hit of the year."
Duke smiled, thoroughly trusting Evans assesments about movies.
Evans laughed, "Gone in 60 Seconds. We fully acquired the global distribution rights for under one million dollars. It is essentially plotless minutes of terrible acting, directly followed by a destructive continuous police car chase that physically destroys half of Southern California. We are scheduling it for a drive-in theater release this summer."
"And what about Mel Brooks projects?" Duke inquired.
Evans grinned widely, "Blazing Saddles is completely finished, locked in post-production. And Young Frankenstein is currently gearing up for pre-production."
Duke finally reached the last controversial page of the binder.
"The Texas Chain Saw Massacre," Duke read aloud.
Duke loved the fact he got both Black Christmas and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which were the foundational films for the future slasher genre.
Suddenly, the loud noise of the hair dryer ceased, Lynda's voice softly called out from behind the slightly ajar door. "Duke, I need your opinion! Should I wear a simple gold chain or a silver chain?"
Duke, remained engrossed in the dense Paramount slate, simply waved his hand vaguely in the general direction of the bathroom door without actually breaking his visual focus from the printed pages.
"They both look great on you," Duke replied absently.
Before the exhausted Robert Evans could even begin to pack away the production binder, a rapid loud knocks rattled the wooden door of the hotel suite.
Duke reached for his bag, and took a hold of his gun, a Korth PRS wondering whether it was his security.
Evans let out another groan. "Please, God, let me rest," Evans pleaded to the ceiling.
Duke calmly stood up, walking across the room, and opened the heavy door, with a hand behind his back. Ever since he had become a millionare, Duke had become very worried about his security.
Specially since every week, he would get death threats by Left wing extremist groups.
Standing in the hallway was Steven Spielberg with Duke's security, Russell beside him.
Spielberg was casually dressed in a windbreaker and a well-worn pair of white Nike sneakers, looking more like a lost college student rather than one of the most promising young directors in all of Hollywood.
Evans slumped deeper into the sofa, covering his bloodshot eyes with his hands. "Oh, dear God in heaven, these directors how do they even find me," Evans muttered completely under his breath.
Spielberg ignored Evans's commentary, "I have a brilliant, original concept for my very next feature film, Duke," Spielberg announced loudly.
"It is a historical biographical comedy period piece. It is officially titled: 'Flushed with Pride: The Story of Thomas Crapper'."
Evans let out a strangled noise that sounded exactly like a man actively choking on a large piece of dry toast.
Duke, however, maintained his calm exterior, crossing his arms over his chest. "Walk me through the narrative."
Spielberg launched into an elaborate pitch, pacing around the hotel room, "It is the triumphant story of the historical 19th English plumber who popularized the complex modern indoor flush toilet,"
Spielberg explained rapidly, serious about the bizarre subject matter. "It is fundamentally an inspirational underdog story. Think of it like The Sting colliding with The Great Escape, but instead of heists or prison breakouts, it revolves around complex, innovative Victorian-era plumbing mechanics."
Evans, watching pitch from the sofa, could no longer contain his wit. "It's The Godfather of plumbing! Instead of a horse head in a bed, someone leaves a crap in the bowl!"
Evans laughed loudly, "The gritty detective corners the corrupt city official and goes, 'You're going down the drain, pal and I'm the guy who holds the handle.'"
Spielberg visibly struggled to maintain a completely straight professional face, biting the inside of his cheek.
Duke was completely silently.
Most traditional conservative studio executives would have immediately, thrown Spielberg out of the luxurious hotel room for wasting their valuable time on such an absurd premise.
But Duke was not a traditional executive, he trusted Spielberg, and even if Spielberg failed then he would just push him for the stories he did in his past life.
A warm smile broke across Duke's handsome face.
"You possess an undeniable creative passion, Steven," Duke stated warmly, "Go ahead and write the bizarre script. We will shoot the picture directly on location in England specifically to exploit the international tax rebates."
Spielberg looked stunned by the victory, "Thank you! Thank you so much! I absolutely promise you, I will personally deliver a polished first draft of the entire screenplay to your office in exactly six weeks!"
Spielberg promised wildly, his mind already visualizing the camera angles required for Victorian-era plumbing.
Evans just slowly shook his head in disbelief, muttering something under his breath about how he needed to sleep since the hallucination were becoming too real.
Evans opened his eyes wide, as he remembeered something, "I need to remind you that George Lucas has been calling the studio. He wants to secure financial backing to direct a Flash Gordon science fiction movie. He has been completely obsessed with developing theconcept ever since he successfully wrapped production on American Graffiti."
Duke immediately frowned, "Lucas undeniably possesses a brilliant visual stlye," Duke acknowledged thoughtfully. "But I purchased DC Comics in 1972 for a reason."
"Flash Gordon is entirely owned by the King Features Syndicate. Tell Lucas to come and speak directly with me in my office next week. If he agrees to direct the picture and has a script, I will purchase the underlying global rights to the character."
Evans slowly nodded, writing a note down on his rumpled shirt cuff with an expensive pen. "Understood completely. Also, an annoying independent European producer named Ilya Salkind has been hounding the legal department for three weeks. He wants to purchase the global film rights to the Superman character."
"I deliberately purchased the entirety of DC Comics specifically to vertically integrate their intellectual property," Duke stated.
"Superman is absolutely not for sale. Not today, not tomorrow, not absolutely ever. We will produce that superhero film entirely ourselves directly within this studio."
Just when Duke was about to tell Evans about his plans for Superman and an Atari videogame tie in alongside the movie, Lynda finally stepped out wearing a white Sundress, and with her hair and makeup done.
Evans noticing the moment got up and took Spielberg with him out, while Duke started grabbing the things for them to go lunch
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This was supposed to be a longer chapter, but im tired, prob will publish tomorrow early
Double chapter tomorrow
The flushing story is real, and it's one of Spielberg rejected projects