Simon finished briefing Robert Remme and sent him off to oversee the Steel Magnolias promotional meeting, then settled into a small conference room to wait for the discussions to wrap up and speak with a few executives.
He had just taken a seat and begun reviewing media feedback on Steel Magnolias when the door was knocked. A tall young woman poked her head in—Julia Roberts.
Bored of waiting in the lounge, Julia had touched up her makeup in the restroom and happened to spot Simon talking with Remme in the hallway. Once they parted, she quietly followed him here.
Simon did not question how she knew where he was; he simply smiled. Noting her long hair, he remarked, "Your hair grew back fast."
In Steel Magnolias, Julia's character Shelby cuts her hair short midway through due to illness. Simon had always thought she looked better with short hair than long.
Julia understood immediately. "It was a wig. Cutting it for real would have been a hassle, it takes forever to grow out."
With that, she stepped inside and closed the door.
Turning to face the man at the table, however, she suddenly felt shy, unsure what to do with herself.
This was Simon Westeros, after all.
Noticing her hesitation, Simon smiled again and gestured to the chair beside him. "Come, sit here."
Julia crossed the room and settled in next to him, glancing at the files in his hands. "Simon, what are you reading?"
"Media reactions to Steel Magnolias. A lot of critics say you were excellent."
He answered casually. They were sitting close; he made no effort to hide the way he studied her. Julia was at the height of her famous beauty, black turtleneck sweater, white slacks, long legs stretched out as she angled toward him, radiating effortless allure.
Feeling his gaze, Julia shifted slightly. "Everyone was wonderful. Simon, do you think the film can hit a hundred million?"
"I'm not sure," he said. "It depends on whether audiences embrace it."
In the original timeline, Steel Magnolias had been a classic sleeper hit, no one expected much, yet it exploded, earning over eighty million domestically without breaking a hundred. For its era, that was impressive.
Now, with Daenerys pouring far more resources into it than TriStar ever had, and with rave reviews confirmed after the previous day's screenings, Simon was confident in this quiet holiday season.
"When Harry Met Sally, Pulp Fiction, Basic Instinct, and now Scream," Julia counted on her fingers. "That's four in a row. It would be a shame to break the streak with Steel Magnolias."
"Nothing to be ashamed of," Simon said. "We have to leave some room for others to make a living." Remembering why she was here, he added, "The meeting is about to start. Aren't you going?"
"My agent can take notes. I'll do whatever Daenerys decides."
Simon chuckled. "You know how to talk."
Julia noticed his left hand lift slightly, the way his eyes flicked she realized he had almost reached out to tilt her chin, a playful, flirtatious gesture. From anyone else she would have been annoyed, but she felt only faint regret that he had stopped himself.
Leaning a fraction closer, she continued, "Simon, I still have four films left on my Daenerys contract. Could you write the next script personally for me?"
"Your next one is already set," he said. "The script is still being revised. Prep starts early next year; release is Valentine's Day the year after."
Julia's curiosity flared. "What's it about? Can I read the script now?"
"A love story, something like La Traviata," Simon said lightly. "You'll get it once it's finished. No rush."
She nodded, then realized something else.
Prep early next year, shooting probably mid-year, release the following Valentine's—meaning no film of hers in theaters all next year?
Looking at the man who seemed oblivious to the gap, Julia made a small gesture in the air. "Simon, before that one starts shooting, could I take another project somewhere else?"
"If something suitable comes up, I'll arrange it for you."
She tested further. "And if nothing suitable turns up at Daenerys… could I accept an offer from another studio?"
Simon shook his head. "No."
With Meg Ryan and Nicole Kidman, Daenerys had held first-refusal rights. When no suitable projects were ready, Simon had generously allowed them to work elsewhere. The results had not been gratifying.
For instance, in the current negotiations for Hook, CAA had demanded five million for Meg Ryan—double the budget Daenerys had planned for the female lead and equal to Mel Gibson's pay.
Equal pay for male and female stars in Hollywood had always been a joke.
In the original timeline, after Pretty Woman made Julia a global star, she earned only $2.5 million for Hook while Spielberg, Dustin Hoffman, and Robin Williams took home forty percent of the net profits on top of hefty upfront fees.
Now, with CAA asking for the moon, Daenerys had countered by dropping Meg's quote to two million. Negotiations were stalled.
Lessons learned. Simon had no intention of repeating unnecessary generosity.
Hearing the finality in his tone, Julia instinctively shrank back. Still, she pressed on. Her hand ventured over, fingertip tracing lightly along his forearm. "Simon, maybe we could discuss it privately sometime. Tonight?"
He shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Not tonight. How about right now?"
"Ah?"
Julia glanced around, then at the door, she had forgotten to lock it.
Simon seemed utterly unconcerned by her hesitation, almost as if he had already forgotten his own suggestion. He calmly returned his attention to the files.
After a moment, Julia made up her mind. She rose, locked the door, and came back. Standing beside him, her eyes darted—to the table, the chairs, the floor.
Finally settling on him.
Damn man.
Muttering inwardly, she grasped the hem of her sweater to pull it off just as a knock sounded at the door.
Simon did not react. Julia jumped, courage evaporating instantly.
The knock came again. Simon gestured toward the door. Julia, emotions tangled, opened it to find Simon's ponytail-sporting assistant Jennifer holding a thick stack of files.
Jennifer's eyes flicked away briefly as she greeted them with practiced nonchalance. "Hello, Miss Roberts. Is the boss in?"
Still rattled, Julia missed the odd note in Jennifer's expression. She stepped aside to let the assistant enter, then said, "Well, Simon, I should get to the meeting. Um… you can call me anytime."
With that, she left.
Jennifer acted as though she had not heard. She approached the table with her back to Simon, deliberately slow as she set down a pencil and spread out the files, sulking silently, refusing to face him.
Then his voice came from behind her. "Eavesdropping outside?"
Jennifer froze.
Something's wrong here.
Why was she the one feeling guilty every time he tried to do something bad?
When the meeting ended, she had hurried over with the files he needed and spotted Julia Roberts sneaking into the room. She had almost walked away, but curiosity won; she lingered outside, heard his infuriating words, and finally knocked to ruin his moment.
She had no intention of answering. She was not guilty. She started to leave without a word.
Her heart ached sourly.
He wouldn't really let me go, would he?
She had taken one step when his arm circled her waist from behind. She struggled lightly, then gave in, still facing away, mind racing, should she be cold, angry, or scold him first?
After Saturday's meeting, under Simon's direct supervision, Daenerys Entertainment swiftly implemented changes.
Simon had always wanted to be hands-off, but he knew he could only step back once the company's culture was firmly established. Then it would run like a well-oiled machine, following set rules even without him at the controls.
The new week brought the nation's biggest event: Tuesday's presidential election vote. After months of fierce campaigning, George Bush and Michael Dukakis would face their final showdown.
Most things had not changed much due to Simon's presence, so he was fairly certain of the outcome.
In Hollywood, the election commanded attention, but the weekend box-office numbers still drew keen interest.
From November 4 to 6, Scream, in its second week, held firmly to the top spot with another $12.66 million over the weekend. After ten days, its cumulative total stood at $33.37 million.
Universal's new release The Last Temptation of Christ opened second with only $4.63 million.
The gap was enormous; the rest of the chart barely registered.
Except for Steel Magnolias.
Playing on just twenty-two screens nationwide, the film—bolstered by relentless marketing and unanimous critical praise—earned $1.13 million in its opening weekend. That placed it eleventh for the week, but no one could ignore the fact that it was on only twenty-two screens.
Its per-screen average of over $51,000 stunned many.
Studios scrambled to analyze what made it work, hoping to chase the trend, but most concluded they did not understand why a women's picture was resonating. In the end, the industry credited Daenerys's lavish marketing spend.
Initially, everyone had assumed the female-centric story would limit its appeal.
After extensive discussion, however, the team decided to downplay the "women's picture" label and market it as warm family holiday fare.
Though Thanksgiving and Christmas were still ahead, the limited-release numbers confirmed the strategy.
November 8, Tuesday.
The forty-first United States presidential election officially began.
Voting was a novelty for Simon. In the end, he simply did not go. He spent the day working as usual.
North American media, long fascinated by Simon Westeros's political leanings, hounded him from dawn. More than a dozen reporters staked out Daenerys headquarters all day, yet saw no sign of him leaving to vote. CNN mentioned it in live coverage, inviting pundits to analyze solemnly before concluding that Simon Westeros was apolitical.
That afternoon, with counts still coming in, networks declared George Bush the winner, securing more than half of the 538 electoral votes.
By the next day the results were final: Bush took 428 electoral votes in a landslide; Dukakis managed only 111.
With Bush victorious, many events Simon remembered were now inevitable. Privately, he began preparing for what was to come.