Made In Hollywood

"Duke, I have high hopes for you and *Saving Private Ryan*."

Hearing this from an obviously Jewish, senior Academy member, Duke quickly replied, "Thank you for your support, Mr. Hoffman."

"No need to be too polite. Although some critics constantly speak ill of you in front of me, if we don't support our own people..."

The man raised his glass toward Duke and said before taking a sip, "Then Hollywood wouldn't be Hollywood."

After exchanging a few more words, Duke moved aside and took a deep breath. This was a party he was hosting at his home, specifically aimed at the awards season. Being in this industry, there were some things he couldn't completely avoid, even if he didn't particularly like them. Besides, if the film could actually win Best Picture, he stood to benefit directly.

This was the first time Duke was using the banquet hall at his estate. The hall, spanning several thousand square feet, was packed with guests, including Nancy Josephson and Panny Kellis, who were mingling among the crowd to garner support for him, as well as cast members like Tom Hanks and Leonardo DiCaprio, and representatives from the production company like Jeff Robinov.

Just like Duke earlier, they were socializing with the invited members from the Directors Guild, Actors Guild, and Producers Guild, tirelessly promoting their roles and the film, seeking support.

This scene was perhaps the most common during awards season. The Academy didn't prohibit networking; instead, it saw it as a reflection of free-market competition. During this special time of year, parties like this one were held almost daily in the City of Angels.

It wasn't just the party. Like others, Duke had prepared gifts for the attendees, including champagne, souvenirs, and VHS tapes and VCDs of *Saving Private Ryan*.

Giving gifts to the judges that were exquisite but not overly expensive was an open secret of the Oscars.

Additionally, like all top-tier Hollywood parties, Duke didn't prohibit aspiring actors or models from attending. After all, many Academy members with voting rights had a fondness for attractive young men and women, and some had special preferences. As long as both parties were willing, no one would stand in their way.

"Hey, Duke."

Amid the crowd not far away, Jeff Robinov emerged, his formal smile fading as he approached the relatively quieter spot where Duke stood. In a low voice, he said, "Many people have expressed their support for us."

"Don't forget this is a special time of year."

In Duke's view, as long as Warner Bros. and Fox's promotional teams did their job well, *Saving Private Ryan* had at least a 70% chance of winning Best Picture. As for Best Director, Duke thought he might have a chance at a nomination but doubted he'd win. According to the scattered memories he had, Mel Gibson had won Best Director in the past, not just because of his film, but also because there wasn't strong competition.

Usually, the Academy gave Best Director and Best Picture to the same film, but this year might be different. The Academy could split the two awards, playing a balancing act, something they occasionally did.

Thinking about the possibility of Mel Gibson winning Best Director made Duke frown. He was never the type to forgive and forget; he had no interest in turning the other cheek.

Shaking his head slightly, Duke stopped thinking about it and asked, "Jeff, why did Warner and Fox insist I host the party at my home?"

"This is because you need to show the public that you take the Oscars seriously."

Having worked together so many times, Jeff Robinov understood Duke's mindset and simply explained, "If you don't take the Oscars seriously or show a positive attitude toward winning the awards, the Academy will overlook you. They're not going to give the golden statue to someone who doesn't care about the awards."

Hearing Warner's CEO, Duke immediately thought of David Fincher, the famous director known for his rebellious nature. Fincher rarely cared about the Oscars, didn't like PR, and rarely attended public events before the awards ceremonies. As a result, despite being a frontrunner multiple times, he always went home empty-handed.

According to Jeff Robinov, Fincher's losses weren't surprises at all. They were the most normal outcome.

Would Duke end up like Fincher, leaving empty-handed time and again? It seemed very possible, especially considering his disadvantage of being younger. Duke never thought the Oscars were everything, and he certainly wasn't an awards-chasing maniac.

Expertly weaving through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries, and politely turning down some suggestive advances, Catherine Zeta-Jones maintained a charming smile on her face throughout the party. She thrived in such settings. Despite encountering many admirers throughout the evening, none piqued her interest. Her captivating eyes constantly sought out the host of the event.

Though this was a party hosted in a personal capacity, it was one of Hollywood's top-tier gatherings. After making just half a round, Zeta-Jones had already seen countless faces she once envied and set as her goals. Her leading role in *Chicago* had earned her an invitation, but she wondered what the quickest way to truly become a part of this circle would be.

Her amber eyes once again sought out that tall figure.

"*Saving Private Ryan* was such a huge success. How much is Duke Rosenberg making from it?"

A hushed conversation reached Zeta-Jones's ears. Turning her head, she saw Hollywood's renowned female producers, Kathleen Kennedy and Anne Hurd. Kennedy was saying, "Obviously, Duke signed a tiered profit-sharing agreement. With the box office surpassing 600 million dollars, his share will reach 20%."

Anne Hurd agreed, "Exactly. It's one of Hollywood's top director deals. Also, although the exact percentage isn't clear, he's definitely earning a share from the film's merchandise."

How much was the merchandise share? Zeta-Jones didn't know, but 20% of the box office? She could easily calculate that.

He wasn't just a successful director; it seemed he was a billionaire, too.

Just as this thought crossed her mind, Zeta-Jones overheard Kennedy saying, "I heard Duke earned even more from the box office of *Independence Day*. I have solid intel; his share from that movie is at least as much as *Saving Private Ryan*."

"It must be no less than 150 million dollars!" Hurd added.

150 million dollars?

Zeta-Jones felt a bit dizzy. Hollywood's so-called successful directors were racking their brains just to push their films past the 100 million-dollar mark at the box office. When they succeeded, they often lost themselves in excitement. Meanwhile, this 25-year-old director was making 150 million dollars from a single film?

And the most important thing was, despite such success and wealth, he continued to work hard...

Having worked in the same film crew, Zeta-Jones knew how diligent Duke was. He worked as if he were a nobody desperately striving for success, even ignoring her hints on multiple occasions.

Was success and career really that appealing? Zeta-Jones didn't know, but she was sure that if she had that kind of fortune, she would smile in her sleep.

Seeing that the host was momentarily less surrounded, Zeta-Jones thought of approaching him to say hello, but just as she took a few steps, a familiar figure approached from the side.

"Hi, Kate, I didn't expect to see you here in Hollywood."

It was Sophie Marceau, who greeted Zeta-Jones first. Zeta-Jones had no choice but to stop. "Hello, Sophie. You look beautiful tonight."

Sophie was wearing a black, short, strapless evening dress that accentuated her pale skin. The form-fitting design highlighted her alluring curves, and her voluminous brown medium-length hair, paired with a sultry makeup look, gave her the appearance of a young woman yearning for romance. Even Zeta-Jones, confident in her own assets, couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy.

"Kate, you look great too," Sophie replied before adding, "I've got some things to take care of. If you're free someday, let's have dinner."

With that, Sophie turned and headed in the direction of Duke. Zeta-Jones frowned, noticing that Sophie was heading straight for him.

Although the distance wasn't far, Sophie's mind raced with countless thoughts as she walked those few dozen feet.

After much thought and preparation, she had agreed to Mel's and CAA's demands. After all, indulging in such behavior wasn't new to her, and she knew how irresistible she could be to men. It wouldn't take much effort.

But she still had her doubts. Over the past month, she had learned more about CAA's internal conflicts. Martin Bob and Enos Martin were leading two warring factions within the agency. If Martin Bob lost the power struggle, he'd be ousted, making any promises from Mel Gibson worthless.

To her, effort should come with rewards.

Despite her hesitations, Sophie's pace didn't slow. She had another plan in mind: to use CAA's influence and schemes to benefit from this top director.

As the party neared its end, Duke had already shaken hands with and seen off many guests. Amidst the sound of high heels clicking, a tall Frenchwoman approached him.

"Sophie, when did you arrive?"

Duke was certain he hadn't invited her. As he took her hand, he felt Sophie's fingers gently scratching his palm.

"I came with a friend," Sophie responded, flashing her most charming smile. "I saw you were busy, so I didn't come over to greet you earlier."

"My apologies for not being a good host."

As the saying goes, a guest is a guest. Duke politely asked "Are you ready to say goodbye? I'll have someone see you off."

Sophie Marceau shook her head slightly, then suddenly took a step forward, leaned into Duke's ear, and whispered, "Actually, I have something I want to talk to you about alone."

.....

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