Daenerys Entertainment headquarters, December 31, the final day of 1988.
That afternoon Simon received a special visitor: Stan Lee, current chairman and publisher of Marvel Comics and the creator of Captain America, Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, and many other superheroes.
Stan still lived primarily in New York for work and had come to Los Angeles only for the holidays.
In the months since the acquisition of New World Entertainment, Simon and Stan had met several times, but they had never found the opportunity to discuss Marvel's future development in depth.
With Batman about to start shooting and Stan always passionate about bringing Marvel heroes to the screen, he took advantage of his year-end vacation to visit Simon and raise the subject.
"Stan, Daenerys will definitely develop Marvel superhero films, but the timing isn't right yet. We both know that, compared to Superman or Batman, characters like Spider-Man or the Fantastic Four are far more difficult to film."
"But we could start with the easier ones, couldn't we?" Stan dropped his usual humor when business came up. At sixty-six, he was deadly serious. "Simon, The Punisher would be perfect. He has no superpowers, no need for special effects. Why cancel that project?"
Jennifer brought in a pot of coffee just then. Simon continued without pause. "Stan, you've surely read the script. It's just a Stallone-style Rambo shoot-em-up. It completely misses the essence of the Punisher."
Stan accepted a cup from Jennifer with thanks and pressed on. "Scripts can be rewritten."
Simon sipped his own coffee. "Then we'd have to scrap the whole thing and start over. And frankly, Stan, I don't see strong box-office potential for The Punisher."
Stan shook his head. "I really don't understand you, Simon. You own the rights to every Marvel superhero, yet you're making DC's Batman."
"I'd already begun preparing Batman before I acquired Marvel."
"What about Superman? Wonder Woman?"
Simon smiled at the visibly frustrated older man. "Stan, don't you think there's a certain satisfaction in holding Marvel's heroes and DC's heaviest hitters all in the same hand?"
Stan considered it, then chuckled despite himself. "All right, Simon. But how long do we have to wait?"
"Five years," Simon said. "In five years Daenerys will begin planning Marvel superhero projects. Until then, I want to gain technical experience and expertise through DC films."
Simon was now Marvel's boss. With his mind made up, Stan did not push further. They moved on to operational details for Marvel Entertainment, and more than an hour passed unnoticed.
As the workday ended, Simon walked Stan to the door. Jennifer, seated in the outer office, handed Simon a prepared invitation.
He passed it to Stan. "This is for Daenerys's New Year's Eve party tonight. It starts at seven at the Palisades house. Come if you'd like."
Stan took it with a grin. "I'll be there on time."
After seeing Stan out, Simon glanced around the outer office, now temporarily Jennifer's domain.
Susan Landis had been let go the previous Friday. The two scripts Simon had prepared The Rocketeer and Fire Birds were now in Paramount's hands. [TL/N: I know it, that bitch is suspicious!]
There was no room for misunderstanding. After selecting them, Simon had simply left them in his office without contacting the rights holders or mentioning them to anyone.
Last Friday Jennifer made a few exploratory calls. Suddenly both long-dormant projects landed at Paramount. Hardly coincidence.
Susan had been Simon's secretary since the earliest days of Daenerys. Some sentiment lingered. Since no real damage had been done, Simon saw no need to make an example of her; simple termination sufficed.
The incident had sharpened his focus on security, however.
It was New Year's Eve. Once Stan left, Simon headed home early to the Palisades hillside mansion.
The party officially began at seven. Simon arrived before five-thirty. After parking in the courtyard and asking a few bustling party staff, he found Janet and Katherine upstairs.
Janet, choosing gowns, dismissed the stylist who had been quietly advising her, came over for a quick kiss, and said, "Perfect timing. Help me decide which dress for tonight."
Simon glanced at Katherine, already in a silver gown that perfectly suited her cool elegance. "As long as you don't match Kate."
Janet eyed Katherine too and smiled. "I'd never pick something that makes people afraid to come near."
Katherine protested softly, "Why would anyone be afraid of me?"
Janet pointed at Simon. "Look. He's keeping his distance."
Katherine shot Simon a faintly resentful glance, suddenly unsure.
Simon settled on a nearby sofa with a laugh. "Only because you're here. You distract me."
Janet held a dress against herself and gave him a sidelong look. "Should I leave you two alone for a while?"
"An hour would do."
"Little bastard."
Katherine flushed. "If you keep this up, I'm leaving."
After a few more teasing exchanges, Janet settled on her favorite wine-red gown, put it on for good, and called back the blonde stylist who had been sneaking flirtatious glances at Simon since he arrived to help with makeup next door.
Perhaps reluctant to follow, Katherine lingered, idly rearranging dresses on the rack, acutely aware of the young man's gaze behind her.
Soon warm hands circled her waist, his breath drawing closer. She murmured, "Jenny's right there."
Simon only hummed, fingers gliding over the smooth silk of her gown, brushing a kiss against her neck. "Take off the heels, please. When you wear them I really don't dare come near."
Katherine stood 180 cm barefoot; five-centimeter heels put her above Simon's just-over-180 frame.
"Little… rascal. I won't… indulge you."
She whispered it in fragments yet obediently kicked off the shoes, leaning weakly against the rack.
[TL/N: No Segs! I'm planning on...]
After six the mansion grew lively.
Janet greeted arriving guests at the entrance until six-thirty. When Simon appeared beside her, she smiled through a hello to Jessica Lange and her husband from Steel Magnolias, then, once they passed inside, pinched his waist without mercy. "Jerk. You really took a whole hour."
Simon caught her hand and squeezed. "No, we just talked."
"Pfft."
Janet rolled her eyes hard. Seeing Robert Reme and his wife approaching, she let him off.
At seven the party officially began.
Compared to past gatherings at the mansion, the scale was modest, but the star power was unmatched. After Daenerys's miraculous year in film and television, many top names who had once kept their distance now actively sought connection.
Moreover, few guests tonight could still dwell on Simon's age. Most regarded him with unmistakable awe. Producing seven films in one year, every one a $100 million domestic hit and destined for the annual top ten that feat had never happened in Hollywood.
Perhaps no one except Simon Westeros himself would ever break the record.
"Ms. Pfeiffer, the lead in Innocent Moves needs an all-American sweetheart vibe. You're too stunning, and your aura leans cool and glamorous. It isn't the right fit."
On the illuminated back lawn after dark, amid the bustling courtyard, Simon stood at the buffet intending to ease his growling stomach. Michelle Pfeiffer, in an aqua low-cut evening gown, approached and struck up conversation.
Since Simon entered Hollywood, her name had often come up. At thirty, she was at the absolute peak of her beauty. Daenerys had considered her several times Mia in Pulp Fiction; she had even auditioned but nothing had come of it.
"In that case, Simon, is there any other role in a Daenerys project that might suit me?"
Michelle sipped her red wine, eyes flickering with clear suggestion.
Simon was genuinely hungry and, in other respects, recently sated his resistance at maximum. He answered simply, "If something comes up, I'll definitely reach out."
Seeing no expected spark in his gaze and noting his still-laden plate, she tried, "Then how about a dance, Simon? Are you really that hungry?"
"Yes," he said honestly. "Though, Michelle, didn't you bring a date tonight?"
He vaguely recalled she was married.
Michelle shook her head. "I just got divorced."
"Oh, that's unfortunate."
"Not really," she said. "If two people can't stay together, it's better to part."
They spoke a little longer. When Simon showed no further interest, Michelle tactfully withdrew.
She had barely gone when Sandra Bullock arrived arm-in-arm with Courteney Cox.
Simon, plate finally filled and about to move, paused at their closeness and remembered the joke he had made to Sandra recently.
She wouldn't actually be acting on it, would she?
A closer look at Courteney's expression, however, showed the two women were not as intimate as they appeared.
"Hey, what were you talking about with that woman?"
Simon smiled. "When a man and woman talk, naturally it's about men and women."
Sandra rolled her eyes at the evasion, snatched a shrimp ball from his plate without ceremony, and chewed. "I heard someone just stole two scripts from you."
Simon had not hidden the matter of The Rocketeer and Fire Birds; he had quietly spread the word. He wanted Hollywood to understand that projects Daenerys valued would not necessarily succeed in other hands.
In truth, success in Hollywood often depended on the person behind it. The same widely known superhero property could explode spectacularly or flop miserably.
He could not explain that to Sandra and Courteney, of course.
He led them to nearby seats and said lightly, "Just two scripts. If they're taken, they're taken."
Sandra noted his casual tone but grew more suspicious. She did not believe he truly felt indifferent; there had to be something she did not know.
Simon changed the subject and spoke with Courteney.
Compared to Sandra's easy familiarity, Courteney was clearly reserved.
Everything that had happened over the past year had stripped away any regret she might once have felt toward Simon. Instead she felt quietly grateful still to share some connection with the young man before her.
Watching him speak with Michelle Pfeiffer just now had reminded her of a conversation long ago. Back then both had been nobodies, he arguably down on his luck. She had dreamed of becoming a star like Pfeiffer; he had taken it lightly, even jokingly suggesting he might date Pfeiffer someday, earning her mockery.
Moments ago she had seen the woman she once could only admire showing unmistakable deference to him.
He had truly reached the point where most of Hollywood could only court and look up to him.