Chapter 89: Time to Play My Part
Los Feliz, Los Angeles.
Inside Jennifer Connelly's warm, softly lit home.
While Jennifer was in the shower, Aaron Anderson idly reached for a book from her shelf — Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton.
The novel had only been out for a few months, yet it had already topped The New York Times and nearly every major bestseller list.
Aaron flipped through the pages, his brow lifting with interest.
"Not bad at all," he murmured. "There's real depth here — genetics, cloning, DNA reconstruction, chaos theory... The science actually holds up."
Just then, the bathroom door opened with a soft creak.
Jennifer Connelly stepped out wearing a silk camisole, her damp hair cascading over her shoulders, her every movement shimmering under the warm light.
Aaron barely had time to close the book before she slid effortlessly into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply.
When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Aaron grinned and set the book aside.
"That novel's already being adapted, you know. Universal bought the rights and Spielberg's directing."
"Really?" Jennifer's voice was still husky from the kiss. "That won't be easy to film. The dinosaurs alone sound like a nightmare for the effects team."
Aaron chuckled, tracing lazy circles on her back. "They're not rushing it. Spielberg's busy shooting Hook right now."
Of course, he knew far more than that. CAA had gone all-in backing Spielberg on Hook, and Michael Ovitz had finally succeeded in signing him as a client.
Spielberg—the most sought-after director in the world—was now officially part of the CAA roster.
Aaron leaned back, deep in thought.
He remembered that while Spielberg would later film Jurassic Park, he'd also begin another project around the same time—Schindler's List.
Back when Aaron worked briefly at CAA, he'd heard that the rights to Schindler's List were originally held by Martin Scorsese.
Scorsese had wanted to direct it himself, but after The Last Temptation of Christ flopped and sparked controversy, studios had lost faith in him.
No one in Hollywood thought a film about the Holocaust would sell.
But Spielberg, himself Jewish, was deeply moved by the story. He reached out to Scorsese, and the two made a quiet exchange—Spielberg took Schindler's List, and Scorsese got Cape Fear.
Aaron smirked faintly. "Schindler's List, huh? When CAA convinces Universal to back Spielberg on that, they're going to need financing."
He paused, mind already turning.
Maybe Dawnlight Films could step in—play the generous "fool" investor.
A film like that wouldn't attract money easily. But helping Spielberg, the most influential Jewish filmmaker alive, could pay off more than any short-term return.
And besides… Aaron already knew the truth: Schindler's List would become a masterpiece.
Box office, Oscars, global acclaim—everything.
It would be the perfect investment.
Jennifer shifted in his arms, her perfume faint and sweet.
"Let's go to bed, darling," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.
Aaron smiled, tightening his hold around her.
"Wait," he teased, his tone playful, "that guy on set—Billy Campbell. He's been trying to chase you, hasn't he?"
Jennifer giggled softly. "He tried. Dinner, movies, a few clumsy invitations. I said no every time. And after tonight, I doubt he'll bother me again."
Aaron's eyes gleamed. "You sure he won't make things difficult for you on set? The Rocketeer's already behind schedule, isn't it?"
Jennifer tilted her head. "If he does, I'll handle it. I've dealt with worse."
Aaron chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"I don't doubt that. Still… maybe it's time I played my part, too."
Jennifer Connelly shook her head, her damp hair brushing softly against Aaron's chest.
"No, that won't happen. The extended shoot is mostly for the action scenes. I just have a few dialogue shots left."
Aaron nodded slightly, but his mind was already elsewhere.
---
Dawnlight Films – Private Screening Room
The projector whirred to a stop. The latest, re-edited version of Boyz n the Hood faded to black.
Aaron leaned forward, glancing at John Singleton, who looked both nervous and defiant.
"So," Aaron asked, "you think this cut will pass? The violence is toned down a bit compared to before. Should be enough for an R rating, right?"
John gave a heavy sigh. "I hope so. It's our third submission."
Aaron frowned slightly. The MPAA's rating board had always been unpredictable—
lenient with violence, merciless with sex.
But this time, they seemed determined to give the film an NC-17 no matter what.
"Alright," Aaron said finally, standing up. "I'll go over to Sony and talk to Sidney Ganis. Columbia's our distributor—
it's about time they helped us out a little."
John's eyes lit up. "That'd be great! They can put some pressure on the MPAA."
This was his first feature film—his passion project—and he couldn't afford to see it buried by censorship.
---
December arrived, and the Christmas box-office war had officially begun.
As expected, 20th Century Fox's family comedy Home Alone dominated theaters.
By mid-month, its domestic box office had already smashed the $100 million mark—
a phenomenal success.
Meanwhile, another Fox release—Tim Burton's gothic fairy tale Edward Scissorhands, starring Johnny Depp and Winona Ryder—
opened in 1,023 theaters, grossing $6.5 million its first weekend and earning glowing reviews from both critics and audiences.
Empire Magazine: "Tim Burton's Edward Scissorhands is a touching modern fable—his most whimsical and heartfelt work to date."
The Washington Post: "A visual marvel. Its cinematography, production design, and costume work are nothing short of stunning."
That evening, Aaron drove back to West Hollywood from Culver City.
As his car rolled along Fountain Avenue, he slowed down near the Fountain Theatre.
On the wall was a huge poster for Edward Scissorhands.
And right below it—
a young woman sat on the curb, quietly crying.
Aaron squinted.
"Wait… isn't that Winona Ryder?"
He frowned, pulling over to the curb. It was late; she was alone. Maybe something had happened?
He stepped out of the car and approached her carefully.
"Uh… Winona? Is that you?"
The girl lifted her head. Her mascara had run, and her eyes were red from crying.
When she saw him, she blinked in surprise.
"Aaron… it's you."
She tried to stand, but her legs gave way from sitting too long. Aaron quickly reached out and steadied her.
He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and handed it to her. "Here—wipe your eyes. What happened? Why are you out here crying alone?"
It was strange. With Edward Scissorhands a hit, Winona and Johnny Depp were being hailed as Hollywood's new golden couple.
By all accounts, she should've been celebrating, not sobbing under a billboard.
Winona shook her head softly.
"Thank you, Aaron… It's nothing, really. I just—" she sniffed, smiling faintly, "—I just got a little overwhelmed."
"Overwhelmed?" Aaron tilted his head. "What, by all the success? Or…"
He trailed off, trying to read her expression.
She didn't answer.
Aaron sighed lightly. "Forget it. Where's Johnny? You two weren't together?"
The tabloids couldn't get enough of their public displays of affection—there was hardly a day without some story about them.
"In there," Winona said, pointing down the street toward a dimly lit bar.
"Come on. Let's go have a drink, Aaron."
Aaron hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. I'll walk you over. You shouldn't be out here alone anyway."
As they crossed the street, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
People said Winona Ryder had bouts of depression—
and tonight, looking at her fragile smile and trembling hands, Aaron couldn't help but wonder if that rumor might be true.