Chapter 130: Decadence and Illusions
Christmas, 1991.
On television, Mikhail Gorbachev solemnly announced his resignation.
The red Soviet flag was lowered from the Kremlin for the last time.
The Soviet Union had officially dissolved.
Russia would inherit the embassies, assets, and debts —
and with it, the Cold War that had defined the second half of the twentieth century finally came to an end.
The bipolar world order — gone.
But inside the former Soviet republics,
food was scarce, industries collapsing, and the economy in freefall.
---
In his Bel-Air villa, Aaron Anderson sat back on the couch, the television glow flickering against his face.
He watched the broadcast for a moment, then sighed, switching off the screen.
History was ending — but Hollywood was just getting started.
He reached for the phone and dialed Al Pacino's number.
There was still business to discuss.
---
New Year's Eve, Beverly Hills.
In the heart of Benedict Canyon, a sprawling $8 million mansion glittered under the glow of champagne lights.
The air was filled with laughter, perfume, and jazz.
Inside, one of the most extravagant parties of the year was in full swing —
its host, the flamboyant Italian financier Giancarlo Parretti.
Ever since he'd engineered the controversial MGM acquisition,
Parretti had turned his villa into a revolving door of Hollywood excess:
actors, moguls, models, and opportunists — all drawn to his orbit.
Aaron arrived hand-in-hand with Nicole Kidman, exchanging greetings and toasts as they entered the marble hall.
"I've never met the man before," Aaron said, his tone somewhere between amusement and curiosity.
Nicole smirked, glancing around the room.
"Be careful. He's got a reputation — apparently, he's been having the time of his life in Hollywood."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"Though from what I hear, he couldn't care less about the actual movie business."
Aaron smiled faintly.
"Of course not. He's just a pawn — an errand boy for the Italian financiers pulling the strings."
He took a slow sip of his drink.
"Lyon Credit Bank already smells blood. They've started moving in to restructure MGM.
The end's coming."
Nicole's eyes swept the room.
The guest list was absurd: studio executives, top agents, A-list stars, and models draped in silk and diamonds.
"This is quite the circus," she said with a laugh.
Aaron nodded, amused.
Sean Connery, Robert De Niro, Barbra Streisand, and Sylvester Stallone mingled with studio chiefs like
Terry Semel (Warner Bros.), Joe Roth (20th Century Fox),
Samuel Goldwyn Jr., and Mario Kassar from Carolco Pictures.
Everywhere he looked, the air shimmered with wealth, ambition, and quiet desperation.
Nicole leaned in with a teasing smile.
"Should I even be here? I see enough glamorous women in this room to fill a fashion week."
Aaron chuckled. "Relax. I'll only be a minute — someone wants to talk."
---
Moments later, Giancarlo Parretti himself appeared, cutting through the crowd with a smile that tried too hard.
He was in his forties, short and unremarkable —
a man who had somehow leapt from being a concierge at London's Savoy Hotel
to the ostentatious figurehead of a billion-dollar studio acquisition.
Aaron turned to face him, extending a hand with polite calm.
So this was the man trying to play king in a city built on illusion.
Giancarlo Parretti had thrown himself completely into Hollywood's glittering chaos —
a man drunk on champagne and illusion,
drowning in the very decadence he pretended to control.
When Aaron arrived, Parretti greeted him with a broad, gleaming smile.
"Aaron! My friend, it's such a pleasure to finally meet you!"
Aaron returned the handshake with his usual calm, unreadable poise.
"Since you came to Hollywood, Mr. Parretti," he said lightly, "the city's been far more… lively."
Parretti laughed, delighted.
With MGM in America and Pathé in France under his name,
the man was surrounded by a swarm of filmmakers, agents, and hangers-on —
people drawn not by respect, but by the scent of money.
"Come with me, Aaron," Parretti said, leading him out toward the pool.
The scene was pure Hollywood excess —
a dozen bikini-clad models lounging under the moonlight,
their laughter mingling with the rhythm of music and the splash of water.
Blondes, brunettes, redheads —
a kaleidoscope of color and skin.
Parretti spread his arms, beaming.
"So, what do you think? Not a bad way to ring in the new year, eh?"
Aaron's face didn't change.
If this was supposed to impress him, it was a poor attempt.
"Not bad," he replied evenly. "Seems you've adapted to Hollywood life quite well."
Parretti leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"You're the brightest young producer in the business, Aaron.
Ever thought about collaborating with MGM?"
Aaron smiled politely but said nothing.
A few hours later, he and Nicole Kidman slipped away from the mansion
and headed to Universal Studios for the city's official New Year's celebration.
Fireworks painted the night sky in waves of gold and red.
Bands played on makeshift stages, and the streets overflowed with laughter and champagne.
At a small bar near the park, Nicole nestled in Aaron's lap,
watching him stare absently into his drink.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly.
"Nothing serious," Aaron replied, though his tone betrayed him.
"Tomorrow I'll fly to Las Vegas — check in on Indecent Proposal.
See how Redford's recovery is going."
In truth, his thoughts were elsewhere.
During his brief conversation with Parretti,
Aaron had felt it — a storm brewing on the horizon.
The man thinks he can lure me in with wine and women, Aaron mused.
He's a fool.
MGM was teetering on the edge,
and everyone in Hollywood knew Parretti was just a puppet,
a smiling face for the Italian financiers behind him.
Lyon Credit Bank had already moved in,
cutting and restructuring MGM from the inside.
Only an idiot would choose this moment to climb aboard a sinking ship.
Nicole's lips brushed his cheek, pulling him back.
"So, if Redford doesn't recover," she murmured,
"what will you do — really replace him?"
Aaron nodded.
"I've already spoken to Al Pacino.
If Redford can't finish, Pacino will step in.
And I've promised him — Scent of a Woman will be his Oscar vehicle."
Nicole tilted her head, a smile playing at her lips.
"Then you'd better hope Redford doesn't bounce back too quickly."
Aaron chuckled.
"Let's see how things look in Vegas first."
He glanced down at her, his tone softening.
"As for you — your Sleepless in Seattle shoot's moving to Pennsylvania and New York soon.
Everything fine with the crew?"
Nicole arched an eyebrow.
"Do you really think anyone would dare give me trouble?"
Her smile turned teasing.
"I'm your woman now, remember?"
Aaron smirked, though the thought lingered.
When she filmed Ghost, her salary had been a modest $150,000.
Now, for Sleepless in Seattle, it had jumped to $2 million —
a tenfold increase, proof of her meteoric rise.
But in Hollywood's eyes, even fame didn't shield a woman like Nicole from being treated as… property.
He knew it.
And so did she.
---
Later that night, they checked into one of Universal Studios' luxury hotels.
The celebration spilled outside their windows —
a city dancing itself into a new decade.
Inside, the room was quiet.
Only the sound of their breathing filled the space.
Afterward, Nicole curled against his chest, her skin warm and flushed.
"The Palisades villa is finally ready," she whispered.
"I'll be moving in soon. You'll visit me there… right?"
Aaron smiled, brushing her hair aside.
"Don't like it? It's a big upgrade from your West Hollywood apartment."
"I like it," she murmured, gazing up at him.
But beneath her calm tone, something uncertain flickered.
Then, softly — almost like a confession —
"When are you going to marry me?"
Aaron froze for a moment.
"Marry?" he repeated, buying himself time.
"We're still young," he said finally. "Isn't it a bit early to think about that?"
Nicole blinked, her smile fading into something wistful.
They were young, yes.
But she knew that wasn't the real reason.
She had seen enough to understand what kind of man Aaron Anderson was —
a visionary, a builder,
and a man who belonged to the world far more than to any woman.
Aaron kissed her forehead gently, ending the moment.
"Don't think too much," he whispered. "Sleep."
The fireworks outside faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the city.
Inside the darkened room,
the young mogul closed his eyes —
already thinking about Las Vegas.