Los Angeles.
September 12, another new week had arrived.
Amy Pascal had barely gotten out of bed that morning when she received the overnight ratings for the first official season premiere of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?.
On the very first day of the fall season, the show drew 23.7 million viewers. Barring surprises, the season average would likely settle around 25 million, with peak episodes possibly breaking the 30-million mark.
Word from Robert Iger was that ABC was already considering another advertising rate hike.
Since the deal had been a flat buyout, the increase meant little to Daenerys.
The company's focus now was international syndication and format sales.
Though a live, time-sensitive reality show, its phenomenal buzz gave it strong syndication potential. Canadian networks were already reaching out. Given Canada's much smaller market, Iger estimated per-episode rights at roughly $250,000. Far below ABC's purchase price, but packaged for the full season it remained a handsome sum, and required virtually no additional cost.
Numerous foreign territories were also inquiring about format rights.
Buoyed by Millionaire's triumph, Amy was even more eager for the upcoming premieres of Survivor, Big Brother, and The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
On the film side, while Simon had been away for over a week, Amy had successfully closed the deal with John Hughes on Uncle Buck. The Warner co-production on Look Who's Talking still needed a few details ironed out. That morning's weekly executive meeting was held at the Burbank office; afterward Amy headed straight to Warner Bros. for a sit-down with Terry Semel.
Around noon, the two chose a restaurant near the studio lot for a working lunch.
Located in the heart of studio country, the place drew plenty of Hollywood heavyweights. No sooner had Amy and Terry settled at their reserved table than familiar faces began drifting over.
"Harry, fancy seeing you here. How's Indiana Jones 3 coming along?"
"Hey, Jessie, your work in Steel Magnolias was terrific. I'd bet on another Oscar nod."
"Batman casting? That'll wait till the boss gets back… The Sixth Sense, Michelle, your sources are impeccable. We could definitely set up a meeting. Simon's been eager to work with you… He should return this week."
And so on.
Though none of the visitors ignored him, Terry clearly sensed that Harrison Ford, Jessica Lange, Michelle Pfeiffer, and others were noticeably warmer toward Amy Pascal.
Hollywood was nothing if not pragmatic.
Terry understood: for these A-listers, Warner was rarely the only option, more often Warner had to fight to secure them.
Daenerys Entertainment had become the exception.
From Run Lola Run onward, a string of domestic hundred-million hits in under two years had catapulted the young company into the stratosphere. It now possessed the clout to elevate even established stars to the next level.
Robert De Niro was the prime example.
Few actors matched the two-time Oscar winner's prestige, yet before Pulp Fiction he had never headlined a domestic hundred-million grosser. Classics like The Godfather Part II and Taxi Driver carried immense reputation but only modest box office.
Though Pulp Fiction was an ensemble, it had broken De Niro's recent string of underwhelming performers.
Now Dead Poets Society, his current Daenerys collaboration, was entering promotion. Commercial prospects appeared modest, but the other script, personally credited to Westeros, was another story.
In fact, because of Daenerys's proven career-boosting power, Terry had fielded similar overtures before this very lunch.
Once the greetings subsided and everyone returned to their tables, Amy and Terry ordered and turned to business.
"Terry, on Look Who's Talking, you and Simon agreed to a single-film contract. Provided it crosses one hundred million domestic, Warner has no claim on potential sequels, and all rights revert fully to Daenerys. I don't want further haggling on this point."
Terry shook his head. "That's not standard, Amy. Warner and Daenerys are co-financing and co-producing; we should own fifty percent of the property and share sequel rights."
Amy held firm, tone unwavering. "If you insist, Terry, we'll simply wait for Simon's return to decide. You know how he is. Dragging out a detail that shouldn't be contentious could lead him to scrap the entire deal. Warner has already announced our partnership publicly and seen stock gains from it. Any reversal would leave you open to accusations of disseminating false information."
Terry countered, "Amy, if Simon walks, Daenerys loses Wonder Woman and The Bourne Identity too."
Amy remained relaxed. "Are you willing to test whether he actually would?"
Terry took a sip of the mineral water the waiter had just delivered and fell silent.
He wanted maximum advantage for Warner, but with Time Inc. and Warner Bros. in sensitive merger talks, complications were the last thing he needed. After a moment he conceded with a slight nod. "All right, Amy. Then, who do you have in mind for the leads?"
Seeing the issue resolved, Amy kept her expression neutral. "We're planning Meg Ryan for the female lead. Her brash-sweet vibe fits perfectly, and she still owes us one picture on her option."
Meg Ryan had vaulted to the A-list with When Harry Met Sally. Terry recalled the script and her recent work, nodded approvingly, and asked, "Male lead?"
Amy answered honestly, "We haven't settled on anyone yet."
Terry offered, "How about Mel Gibson?"
Amy considered it. "Is Mel's schedule open?"
Terry sensed opportunity. "Absolutely. He wraps Lethal Weapon 2 before year-end. Look Who's Talking is slated for late next year, plenty of time to shoot in the first half, no?"
The overture Terry had received was from Mel Gibson himself. Like De Niro, Gibson's fame had grown steadily, yet he too lacked a domestic hundred-million hit. Last year's Lethal Weapon, just over sixty million, was his biggest commercial success.
Neither Warner nor Gibson himself felt confident about next summer's Lethal Weapon 2. The original's breakout had baffled many; no one could predict sequel appetite.
Gibson needed a safety net.
Look Who's Talking seemed tailor-made.
It was a Westeros pick. Beyond that, Mel had heard the broad terms of the Warner-Daenerys pact: collaboration continued until a hundred-million domestic hit was achieved. Daenerys clearly wanted a quick resolution.
Thus the project carried strong odds of success.
After all, while Westeros had proven his curatorial eye only on When Harry Met Sally, every other Daenerys hit had sprung from his own pen. His batting average dwarfed the rest of Hollywood's.
Securing the role would give Gibson insurance against Lethal Weapon 2 risk, and, if all went well, entry into the hundred-million club.
Amy hesitated at Terry's explanation. "I remember you pushed Mel for Bruce Wayne, and Simon turned it down."
"That was because Simon wants an unknown for Batman, like Superman," Terry clarified. "Mel is perfect for this role. Perhaps we should arrange a meeting to discuss properly."
Amy thought it over. "That would come after contracts are signed, and ultimately it's Simon's call."
"Simon will agree," Terry said with a smile, gesturing westward. "He's in Australia right now. Mel's Australian too."
While Amy and Terry met, Melbourne, eighteen hours ahead of Los Angeles, was already the morning of September 13.
Simon's official business had concluded. He and Janet had woken in Brisbane, Queensland, having flown north the previous day to visit the set of George Miller's Dead Calm, starring Nicole Kidman.
Intent on cultivating Hollywood's Australian contingent, and recognizing Miller as a true visionary, Simon had carved out a full day for the trip.
Over breakfast Miller raised the very topic being negotiated across the Pacific: Mel Gibson. Hollywood was a small circle; Miller had received a call from his Mad Max collaborator. Their bond ran deeper than Mel's with Warner.
Beyond the Mad Max and Lethal Weapon franchises, Gibson had also succeeded in romantic comedy with What Women Want. The fit was ideal, and it would earn Simon a favor. He agreed readily.
After breakfast, however, Nicole Kidman quietly declined the offer to star in [?]. [TL/N: Unknown movie, lost in translation.]
The script, originally intended for Brooke Shields, did have issues. Simon did not press her.
Following farewells to Miller and the crew, Simon and Janet did not return directly to Melbourne but flew south to Hobart, capital of Tasmania.
Simon had not forgotten his ambition to claim the massive island at the edge of the world. Janet had been quietly acquiring properties there on his behalf.
With Johnston family assistance, a shell company had recently purchased over five hundred square kilometers of pristine northern forest for just seven million dollars. Though local government imposed stringent development restrictions, Simon had no intention of logging the ancient woodland, rendering the rules irrelevant.
Including other farms and tracts, he now owned roughly 150,000 acres, a substantial landowner.
Still modest compared to the Kidmans.
The Kidman family holdings across Australia totaled nearly 100,000 square kilometers, over 24 million acres. True latifundia.
Unlike the relatively small Johnston clan, however, the Kidmans were numerous. From Nicole's great-grandfather Sir Sidney Kidman onward, generations had swelled the family to over a hundred. Nicole's branch had long drifted from the core, entitled only to trust benefits with little voice, hence her reluctance to discuss the family publicly.
After a full day exploring Tasmania, it was time to head back.
That evening they returned to Melbourne and drove from the airport to the Johnston estate. Simon lounged in the back seat reviewing documents on his properties while Janet dialed a number on the car phone. No answer. She tried several more before connecting.
"What, Singapore? Why on earth is the Iceberg in Singapore again… Honestly, why keep running? She doesn't want to marry; Dad can't exactly tie her up and hand her off. Do you have her number there?… Hm, how long is the flight from here?… Hmph, just asking. I'm not chasing her down…" She hung up.
When Janet finished, Simon smiled. "Still dodging?"
"She apparently dashed off to Singapore on sudden business. I think we should stop coming to Melbourne so often. One visit and the Iceberg gets sent scurrying all over the globe," Janet said with amused exasperation. Then she added, "Though I get it. These days Dad's nothing but smiles with you. A few years ago whenever I came home he'd put on a stern face and drag me to blind dates. That's why I hid out in L.A. and didn't want to return."
Simon's curiosity about Janet's elusive aunt grew. He realized that despite knowing most of her family, he had never even seen a photograph of Veronica Johnston.
"What's your aunt like? Different from you?"
"Same in every way," Janet said. "You know Aunt Veronica is only a few years younger than Tony. Dad treats her more like a daughter than a sister. She's terrified of him too. Actually, everyone in the family is."
Simon listened to her chatter and laughed. "I wouldn't know. Your dad's been great to me."
Janet leaned over, kissed his cheek, and said, "Dad couldn't be happier with you, how could he ever be stern? But give it time. Eventually, well… you know."
Simon shook his head innocently. "I don't."
"Little rascal."
Janet scolded playfully, then settled against his shoulder. Perhaps worn out from the day's adventures, she soon slid down and ended up lying across his lap.