Chapter 91: The Fresh Prince of Wells
The 48th Golden Globe Awards nomination luncheon was being held at the Beverly Hills Hilton, and the buzz in Hollywood was electric.
Dances with Wolves had scored multiple nominations — including Best Director, Best Motion Picture – Drama, and Best Actor for Kevin Costner.
"Not bad at all," Aaron remarked with a satisfied smile as he read the list in Dawnlight Films' office.
"Costner's really having his moment. And look here — Kathy Bates got a nomination for Misery too, Best Actress in a Drama."
He couldn't help but grin. Both Kevin Costner and Kathy Bates were part of Ghost, the film Aaron had personally produced. Their success only reflected back on him.
Still, his attention shifted to the upcoming competition.
Warner Bros. was planning to release a film called New Jack City in March — a gritty story about Black gangs in New York.
That would make it a direct rival to Boyz n the Hood, which focused on the Black communities of Los Angeles.
One East Coast, one West Coast — the comparison was inevitable.
---
That evening, at Club 42 in Hollywood.
Aaron Anderson and Jennifer Connelly sat together on a plush velvet sofa, sipping drinks while a live act took the stage.
On the small platform, a hip-hop duo from Philadelphia — DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince — had the crowd roaring. The two had won the Grammy Award for Best Rap Performance just the year before, and their energy was infectious.
Aaron found his gaze drawn to the younger of the two — a tall, charming 22-year-old with easy charisma.
Will Smith.
Back then, he was still just a rapper — fresh-faced, full of rhythm, and not yet the movie star he'd one day become.
"They're pretty popular," Aaron noted, watching the crowd cheer and dance.
Jennifer nodded, her smile soft in the neon light. "Yeah, their album's been doing really well. I actually like their upbeat, fun vibe — kind of a breath of fresh air compared to all the aggressive stuff out there."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "You know quite a bit about them, huh?"
She laughed lightly. "I read it in the papers. Will Smith's been in trouble lately — spent all his money, didn't pay his taxes. The IRS hit him hard. They've seized a bunch of his stuff and frozen his income. He's practically broke."
Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. "So that's why he's hustling harder. Interesting."
Jennifer leaned closer, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"I heard NBC and Warner Bros. are giving him a shot — a sitcom called The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. He's going to star in it."
Aaron's eyes lit up. "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, huh? Yeah, I've heard of that project."
He smiled knowingly. That's the one that'll make him a household name.
Among Black actors, Will Smith and Denzel Washington were the two Aaron had his eye on. Both had that rare mix of talent, charisma, and crossover appeal.
Sooner or later, he'd find a way to work with them.
---
Aaron turned back to Jennifer. "So your scenes for The Rocketeer are done, right? Heading back to school soon?"
Jennifer brushed her hair back and smiled. "Not yet. I'm going to New York first — I'll go back to Yale after Christmas."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly.
"Come with me to New York?"
Aaron chuckled. "New York in December? No thanks. Too cold. Everyone's flying south to Miami or the Caribbean — I think I'll stay warm in L.A."
She pouted playfully but didn't press.
After leaving the club, they drove back through the glittering heart of Hollywood. When they passed Grauman's Chinese Theatre, they slowed to a crawl — the street was packed.
A red carpet premiere was underway.
The Godfather: Part III.
Flashbulbs exploded. Reporters shouted. Fans screamed from behind barricades.
Aaron rolled down the window slightly, taking in the scene — the chaos, the glamour, the hunger.
"Welcome to Hollywood," he murmured. "Where everyone wants a piece of the throne."
The red carpet stretched down Hollywood Boulevard like a river of light.
Reporters crowded the barricades, flashbulbs bursting like fireworks, and the night hummed with the energy of stars, producers, and publicists.
Jennifer Connelly stood still for a moment, taking in the spectacle.
"So this is what a true Martin Scorsese premiere looks like," she murmured, eyes reflecting the glow of camera flashes.
Aaron Anderson chuckled beside her, his arm draped casually over her shoulder.
"It's actually Francis Ford Coppola's work," he corrected with a grin. "The Godfather Part III. Sure, it got a handful of Golden Globe nominations, but the early screenings didn't impress much. Word is, it's underwhelming."
Jennifer tilted her head. "I remember auditioning for the role of Michael Corleone's daughter."
Aaron nodded. "Yeah, but Coppola ended up giving that part to his own daughter — Sofia Coppola."
Jennifer laughed softly. "And I heard her performance was… less than ideal."
Aaron smirked. "That's putting it nicely. Critics are calling it the weakest part of the entire film. Pacino's fine, of course, but the story just doesn't have the same fire. The magic's gone."
He shrugged. "Still, better you didn't get involved. It's not exactly a career booster."
Jennifer smiled knowingly. "I've filmed in Italy before. Family means everything there. It doesn't surprise me that Coppola cast his daughter. That's how Italians are — they keep it all in the family."
Aaron nodded. "Yeah. Coppola's an Italian-American through and through. Look at his casts — Pacino, De Niro… all Italian blood."
He took a slow breath and gave a small, almost regretful smile.
"Still, I think Coppola's era is over."
He said it not with disdain, but with the clarity of someone who saw Hollywood's tides turning.
Coppola was a legend — the man behind The Godfather saga and Apocalypse Now. His name was carved into cinema history.
But beyond those masterpieces, most of his later films were commercial and critical disappointments.
And now, he was back to the Godfather well — not out of inspiration, but out of necessity.
---
By Christmas, The Godfather Part III had opened in over 1,900 theaters across North America.
Its first weekend box office: $6.38 million.
Not terrible — but far below expectations for one of Hollywood's most famous franchises.
The critics were merciless.
The Los Angeles Times wrote:
"Anyone who remembers the majesty of the first two Godfather films will shudder at how Francis Ford Coppola has reduced their power to the level of a daytime soap."
Empire Magazine was even harsher:
"A crushing disappointment. The film drags, offering no new insight into the corruption of power. It's not a disaster, but it feels like a ghost of its former glory."
Back at Dawnlight Films, Jack Wells lowered his newspaper and frowned.
"Is The Godfather III really that bad?"
Aaron, lounging comfortably in his chair, swirled a glass of red wine.
"It's not terrible," he said evenly. "Just… not The Godfather. When the first two films are untouchable, anything less feels like failure. That's all it is — disappointment born of high expectations."
He took another sip, then smiled faintly.
"Can't blame Coppola, though. After the success of the first two, he funded Apocalypse Now out of his own pocket — nearly ruined himself financially. Every film he made after that — One from the Heart, Rumble Fish, The Cotton Club — lost money. Art or not, the studios stopped trusting him."
Jack nodded slowly.
"So The Godfather III was basically a lifeline."
"Exactly," Aaron said. "He needed a win to climb out of debt. And The Godfather name is still gold — even a weaker sequel will turn a profit. It's not a bad film, just not what people wanted."
Jack closed the paper and grinned. "By the way, I've set up your meeting with Al Pacino for tomorrow night. Don't forget."
Aaron's smile deepened.
"Don't worry," he said calmly, a spark of anticipation in his eyes.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world."
---