The premiere of The Graduate at the Carthay Circle Theatre on December 20, 1967 was not just a success for Duke; it was his highest point since he came to this time period.
The klieg lights speared the night sky, cutting through the Los Angeles haze as if heaven itself were opening for a premiere.
The newly restored facade, gleaming under the spotlights, was a character in the evening's drama.
A deep crimson carpet flowed from the curb to the grand entrance, a river of celebrity and power under the relentless flash of cameras.
The air itself seemed to vibrate with a low, electric hum of anticipation and pure, unadulterated glamour.
Inside, the air crackled with a different, more frenetic energy than the private screening.
This was the full, unfiltered Hollywood circus: a sea of black tuxedos and glittering diamonds, the blinding, staccato flash of a hundred cameras creating a strobe light effect, the frantic, competing shouts of reporters "Mike! Over here!" "Dustin! Look this way!" and the gawking, excited public held back by thick velvet ropes, their faces a blur of awe and envy.
Duke stood to the side of the grand lobby, leaning lightly on his cane. He was part of the spectacle, yet deliberately separate from its chaotic core.
He watched Mike Nichols, the architect of this madness, looking simultaneously exhilarated and shell shocked, being talked in a dozen directions by a swarm of wel wishers and sycophants.
A producer had him by one elbow, a starlet was whispering in his ear, and a critic was writing something in a notepad in his face.
Nichols caught Duke's eye for a split second across the throng, his expression a silent, overwhelmed plea that morphed into a look that screamed for some help. Duke ignored him, he didn't want to aproach that chaotic part of the room.
And then there was Paul Meyers.
Duke's gaze shifted to the Embassy executive, who was holding court like a conquering hero near the arched entrance to the auditorium.
Meyers had one hand in his pocket, a fresh drink in the other, his voice a booming, confident tone that cut through the room as he addressed a captive cluster of journalists hanging on his every word.
"I told Mike from day one," Meyers announced, gesturing grandly with his glass, "Focus on making the movie and I'll deal with the rest. I had the Avco accountants, these number crunchers from New York, on the phone, and I told them, 'Gentlemen, you do not, under any circumstances, interfere with the creative process of Nichols.' I said, 'The audience is smarter than you think!'"
He shook his head with a performative sigh of weary triumph, as if he'd single handedly wrestled the film from the jaws of philistinism.
Duke took a slow, deliberate sip of champagne, the bubbles tasteless on his tongue.
He didn't feel the hot spike of anger he might have expected.
Instead, he felt only a distant, clinical contempt.
No amount of Meyers' blustery posturing could alter the fact none of the Graduate cast wanted to work with him again.
His eyes, scanning the room, then found Katharine Ross.
She was a vision in a simple, elegant gown, radiant under the lights, her professional smile perfectly calibrated as she posed for the cameras, her arm linked with that of an actor accompanying her.
For a single, fleeting second, her gaze swept across the room and locked with his.
Just as quickly, she looked away, turning her head to laugh at something the actor said, the very picture of professional poise.
They had an unspoken agreement, forged during their late night drive and solidified over discreet dinners.
It's better to keep things a secret.
---
Two days later, the last of the champagne confetti had been swept away, and the real work began. In Duke's office, the air was clear and sharp, scented with Eleanor Shaw's lemon perfume.
His core team was assembled: Eleanor, a fortress of efficiency at his right; David Chen, calm and analytical; and Mark Jensen, a new hire vibrating with a barely contained energy.
"The year end summary," Eleanor began, without preamble, handing a single typed sheet to each of them. "Jaws has spent forty two weeks on the New York Times bestseller list to date. Royalties and subsidiary rights total approximately one million dollars more or less. The film The Graduate has grossed three million dollars in its first two days but it hasnt reached number one on the box office in these two days. Projection data indicate it may become one of the highest grossing films of the year. Your three percent stake is currently valued at approximately ninety five thousand dollars, with significant future earnings not counted, that means you have almost made your invested money back."
Duke listened, his face impassive. The numbers were just data points, confirmation of a plan executed.
Chen spoke next. "The Carthay Circle Theatre is fully operational. The historical landmark designation will be approved next year, locking in our tax advantages. Acquisition costs and renovations are fully amortized. It will become from now on a revenue generating asset."
Then, Jensen a 24 year old, UCLA graduate, unable to contain his excitement. "The Godfather rights are secured. Mario Puzo is already discussing a sequel. Ithaca Records has Creedence Clearwater Revival's debut album, with 'Proud Mary' as the lead single, set for release in Q1 of 1968. We also have options on one other promising literary properties: True Grit. Oh and two producers have contacted me to inquire to hold premieres in the Carthay."
Duke let the silence stretch, letting the magnitude of their achievements settle in the room. In under two years, he had built a multimedia empire from a hospital bed and a typewriter.
"It's a good start," he said, his voice cutting through the self congratulatory atmosphere. "Now we scale. Our goals for 1968 are threefold."
He leaned forward, his blue eyes pinning each of them in turn. "One: We build our own distribution capability. I want a plan for a limited, in house distribution network by the second quarter. Chen, you'll lead the logistics."
"Two: Ithaca Productions will have a two releases next year. Targets and Night of the Living Dead for release. Three: We expand. I want a analysis of a Record distribution company to acquire. We will control the pipeline."
The orders were delivered not as suggestions, but as arragements.
The team nodded, their expressions shifting into focused determination.
"Well you guys have a Nice Christmas, I'll be sending the bonuses tomorrow alongside my chrismast card."
---
The secret romance was a delicate thing.
Three days after the premiere, Duke found himself at a small, discreet Italian restaurant in the Valley, tucked into a leather booth across from Katharine.
They spoke in low tones, their conversation a mix of easy laughter and the shared, unspoken understanding of two people navigating the strange waters of sudden, intense fame.
"Mike says the studio is already talking about his next picture," she said, twirling pasta onto her fork. "Everyone wants a piece of him now. It's like they've forgotten they were ready to fire him a few months ago."
"Success has a short memory and a long line of friends," Duke replied. "It's better to be the one building the wall than the one trying to climb it."
She smiled at that. "Is that what you're doing? Building a wall?"
"Yes, a big wall" he nodded smiling and then say in a low voice. "And the mexicans will pay for it."
"Oh, Anne Bancroft wants to have dinner with us tonight. before I go to my family to spend the holidays."
---
That night, they had a double date at the home of Mel Brooks and Anne Bancroft. The house was warm, filled with books and the smell of roasting chicken.
It was a world of New York intellectualism and sharp witted humor, a contrast to Duke's Texan reserve and Katharine's California calm.
The dinner was a boisterous affair, fueled by Brooks' relentless energy and Bancroft's dry, observant wit. They told stories of the Broadway scene, of early struggles, of the sheer, terrifying gamble of The Producers.
After dessert, Bancroft and Katharine drifted into the living room, leaving Duke and Brooks with a bottle of brandy on the patio.
The night air was cool. The manic energy slowly drained from Brooks' face, replaced by a weary anxiety.
"They're gonna bury it, Duke," he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
He stared into his snifter. "Columbia executives they're scared. They say it's too 'in your face.' Too Jewish. They don't get it. They're going to give it a one theater release in Nowheresville, Nebraska, and then shove it in a vault forever."
He looked up, his eyes full of a genuine, artistic pain. "They don't understand… it's a love letter! A bombastic, insane love letter to the theater, to chutzpah!"
Duke listened, sipping his brandy.
He thought of Meyers, of the Avco executives, of all the timid, small minded men who stood in the way of singular vision.
"What if they didn't have the final say?" Duke asked, his voice low.
Brooks looked at him, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"My distribution plan is in its infancy," Duke said. "I can't give you a wide national release. Not yet. But I can give you a platform. I can get it into the Carthay. I have meet some theater chains owners in New York, Chicago, San Francisco. I can create a little buzz. We can make it an event. The movie 'too hot for Hollywood.' Let the public decide if it's a joke or a good film."
Brooks was silent for a long moment, his expressive face working through a storm of emotions.
The offer wasn't a salvation, but it was a fighting chance.
He reached out and gripped Duke's arm, his eyes shining. "You'd do that?"
"I'm not doing it for you, Mel," Duke said, though his tone was not unkind. "I'm doing it for the movie. And I'm doing it for me. I'm in the business of making movies. Also I want to Ithacca to be the home of your future films."
Brooks let out a shaky breath, a huge, relieved smile breaking across his face. He raised his brandy glass.
"Deal. To stories," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
"To stories," Duke echoed, clinking his glass.
Inside, through the patio door, he could see Katharine laughing at something Bancroft had said.
She glanced out, her eyes meeting his, and gave him a small, private smile. He had secured his business, defended an artist, and protected something.
Of course, most importantly he had gotten a deal with Mel Brooks the future director of Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles, Spaceballs, etc.