Made In Hollywood

"Mel."

Hearing the clear voice of a woman, Mel Gibson turned his head and saw Sophie Marceau approaching. He immediately asked, "How did it go?"

"I've made arrangements with him, just waiting for the party to end," Sophie Marceau leaned in a little closer and quietly reminded him, "Don't forget your promise."

After speaking, she gestured to a waiter behind her, taking two glasses of alcohol from the tray and handing one to Mel Gibson. "Won't you wish me success?"

Mel Gibson glanced at the golden liquid in his glass, feeling a little puzzled. Why did this woman prefer such a strong drink like whiskey? But now wasn't the time to dwell on that. Getting Sophie Marceau to take the lead was the key.

They clinked glasses, and both downed half a glass of whiskey.

Maybe it was the effect of all the drinks he'd had tonight, but as Sophie Marceau walked away, Mel Gibson's mind wandered. He envisioned Duke Rosenberg being arrested by the Los Angeles police for assaulting women, his reputation destroyed by scandalous news, and eventually being sent to state prison...

It was a pleasant thought, wasn't it?

Slightly tipsy, Mel Gibson's lips curled into a smile.

"Hey, Mel."

The greeting came again, and when Mel Gibson looked up, he saw tonight's Best Actor, Nicolas Cage. Mel Gibson reluctantly shook his extended hand, "Hello, Nicolas."

"Congratulations on winning Best Director."

Seeing Nicolas Cage raise his glass to him, Mel Gibson quickly apologized, summoned a waiter, and grabbed a random glass of red wine. After clinking glasses with Cage, he reluctantly drank the wine.

After the polite congratulations, Nicolas Cage didn't leave. Instead, he just looked at him. Mel Gibson, his brain a bit sluggish from the alcohol, realized that Cage, as Best Actor, was probably waiting for some kind words in return.

At an event like this, compliments and congratulations were all about maintaining appearances, after all.

Summoning more wine, Mel Gibson clinked glasses with Nicolas Cage once more. After their toast, Cage walked away, and Mel couldn't help but let out a small belch.

Not far from Mel Gibson, Tom Cruise was declining the advances of a few women. His gaze occasionally drifted toward the Australian "savage."

In Tom Cruise's mind, there were currently two people he despised. Duke Rosenberg was second, but the first was Mel Gibson.

For a man, nothing is harder to endure than the possibility of being cuckolded without realizing it.

Duke Rosenberg was working with him on a new movie, his major project this year. As long as it was a collaboration, using Duke to deal with Mel Gibson didn't weigh on Cruise's conscience at all.

Although he didn't know Duke Rosenberg's full plan—Duke hadn't told him much—Tom Cruise decided to go along with it. All he had to do was have a few drinks with Mel Gibson. Even if things didn't turn out as planned, he had nothing to lose.

But if it worked...

Tom Cruise couldn't help but recall Duke Rosenberg's methods when it came to blackmailing people. That young director was nothing short of a demon.

One by one, more people approached Mel Gibson to congratulate and toast him. Although the Australian "savage" was merely taking small sips, Tom Cruise could see that he was already a bit drunk.

No longer hesitating, Tom Cruise walked straight toward Mel Gibson.

"Hey, Mel."

Given a little hint, Tom Cruise could be quite clever. Having accepted Duke's plan, he didn't appear foolish in the slightest. "Congratulations on winning Best Director."

"Tom!"

Seeing that it was Tom Cruise, with whom he'd had a falling out last time, Mel Gibson's voice rose a bit, though he managed to control himself, suppressing his annoyance. "What are you doing here?"

"We had a few words last time, but that was work-related," Cruise said, softening his tone, knowing full well that Gibson might be in trouble soon. "That shouldn't affect our personal relationship, right?"

It seemed like a gesture of submission. Tom Cruise grabbed two glasses of champagne from a nearby waiter, and he and Mel Gibson raised their glasses. The Australian "savage" looked more pleased. After all, making Tom Cruise bow his head made him feel quite proud.

"Shall we find a place to talk alone?"

After probing with that suggestion and seeing that Mel Gibson had no objections, Cruise pointed toward the bar area of the banquet hall. "How about we go have a drink? There's something about my conflicts with Duke Rosenberg that I'd like to talk over with you. I know you don't like him either, maybe we could..."

Cruise shrugged.

"Tom, you shouldn't be working with him!" Gibson brought up an old argument. Cruise didn't disagree. "I'm beginning to think so too. I'm planning to break my contract as an actor, but the penalty fees are a hassle. Maybe you could give me some advice."

Led by Cruise, the two made their way to the bar, found a quieter spot, sat on the high stools, and started a candid conversation about how much they both hated Duke Rosenberg.

When it came to his hatred for Duke, Mel Gibson would certainly rank in the top five in Hollywood. Exchanging low-voiced ideas with Tom Cruise about how to deal with him, Gibson felt a surge of joy, as if the director were already doomed. But in his alcohol-addled brain, he failed to notice that Cruise had ordered a whole bottle of whiskey and was continuing to pour him drinks.

Mel Gibson didn't seem to understand the saying "a thousand cups with a kindred spirit are too few." Under Tom Cruise's encouragement, he kept downing glass after glass of strong whiskey. Being someone with a fondness for drinking, Mel Gibson was one of those who, once tipsy, would never admit they were drunk. As long as someone kept cheering him on, he would keep drinking.

From afar, Duke, chatting with Sophie Marceau, kept an eye on the scene. Nicolas Cage, Tom Cruise, and the others had done an excellent job, even though they had no idea what his real goal was.

"Martin Bob was invited away by Enno Martin tonight, and Gibson's assistant was taken for coffee by mine," Sophie Marceau glanced at Duke. She wasn't sure if these things were coincidental or meticulously planned, but she whispered, "Everyone knows Mel Gibson loves his drinks, and they know his temper. No one's going to stop him."

There was no need for Sophie Marceau to say it—Duke could see it clearly. This was Hollywood. Everyone thought of themselves first. Why would anyone go out of their way to intervene in someone else's affairs? Besides, interference was rarely appreciated and could often lead to conflict.

"What are you planning to do?" Sophie Marceau asked in a small voice.

This kind of situation never had a guaranteed outcome, so Duke merely shook his head. "Just watch."

With that, he abruptly changed the subject. "How did the tape I cut myself turn out? Darling, you really are beautiful."

Holding that tape in her hand, Sophie Marceau finally let go of the last shred of hope she had. While she could try to fight back and possibly drag Duke down with her—it wasn't exactly a secret that she had a free-spirited reputation—Duke's demands weren't excessive, and she could walk away relatively unscathed. Cooperation seemed far more advantageous than confrontation.

"Duke..."

Suddenly, Sophie Marceau grabbed his hand, gazing into his eyes with an expression of pure sincerity, as if she were speaking through her soul. "Will you let me be your girlfriend? I'll make up for all the mistakes I've made."

Duke couldn't tell whether she was acting or not, but after everything that had happened, only a fool would agree to that.

Ignoring Sophie Marceau, Duke's attention remained on Mel Gibson. There was now a change in the situation. Clearly drunk, Gibson had refused another invitation from Tom Cruise, standing up from the bar, weaving his way unsteadily through the small groups of people, and heading toward the restroom.

Assessing Gibson's likely path, Duke began walking toward him, pausing occasionally to greet a few people. His eyes were fixed on the approaching figure of Mel Gibson, the distance between them shrinking.

With sharp eyes, Duke quickly scanned the surroundings, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He picked a spot where there weren't many people, but among them were media figures like Tina Brown and David Fess, as well as a few Jewish Academy members. Striding forward, Duke made sure to time it perfectly and collided head-on with Mel Gibson.

"Mel, fancy seeing you again!"

Just before they met, Duke stopped and maintained about five feet of distance between them. "What a coincidence."

Mel Gibson had already seen Duke but made no effort to avoid him. He was the winner tonight—why should he make way for a loser?

"Loser!" he slurred, his breath heavy with alcohol.

Raising his right hand, Duke waved it lightly in front of his nose and said, "The one who wins an Oscar is the true winner of awards season!"

"You think you'll win an Oscar?" Mel Gibson sneered. "I've won almost every major Best Director award this season! What makes you think you'll win?"

He took a step closer, as if trying to use his imposing physique to intimidate Duke. "What... makes you think you can win?"

Duke didn't back down, his sharp gaze meeting Gibson's, and he spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear. "Because you and your father are Nazis! Extremists!"

"You..."

Hearing those words, Mel Gibson's already excited, drunken mind instantly heated up,

But before he could do anything, Duke whispered, "Just because I'm Jewish! Just because I'm a natural member of the Hollywood Jewish Club! Just because all Jews in Hollywood will hate Nazis like you..."

.....

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