Chapter 127: The Woman at the Helm
The North American release of Indecent Proposal would, of course, be handled by Dawnlight Films itself.
But as for Paramount's request to manage the film's international distribution — Aaron was far from eager to agree.
After all, Dawnlight's strongest partnership now lay with Sony-Columbia TriStar International.
If he had to pick a distributor, Columbia was his first call — not Paramount.
---
"Ron, what's your take on Sherry Lansing's proposal?"
Aaron and Ronald Meyer, president of CAA, had stepped out onto the hotel balcony.
Below them, the lights of Beverly Hills glittered like gold dust in the night air.
Indecent Proposal had been a CAA-packaged project from the very beginning,
so Meyer's opinion carried real weight.
Meyer smiled faintly. "Aaron, let me guess — you think Sherry's overstepping, right?
That it's a bit odd for a contract producer to negotiate directly with you on distribution?"
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Something tells me there's more to it than that."
Meyer's grin widened. "You catch on quick."
He set his glass down and leaned casually against the railing.
"Here's the thing — we just helped Paramount's former chairman, Frank Mancuso,
recover fifteen million dollars in unpaid compensation.
"And as for MGM — well, their owner, Francesco Ghirelli, just fired Alan Ladd Jr.
We've recommended Mancuso to take over as MGM's new chairman,
with Michael Marcus from CAA stepping in as president.
"Over at United Artists, former Warner Bros. executive John Calley will be taking the reins."
Aaron let out a low whistle. "Quite the shuffle. So what about Paramount's next CEO?"
Meyer's eyes gleamed. "You're looking at her — Sherry Lansing."
Aaron blinked, then laughed softly. "Of course. It all makes sense now."
Meyer nodded. "Martin Davis — chairman of Gulf + Western, soon to be renamed Paramount Communications —
he's been quietly grooming her for the role.
"And Martin's got a talent for surprises.
Don't be shocked if Sherry Lansing becomes the first woman in Hollywood history
to run a major motion-picture studio."
Aaron leaned back against the balcony rail, exhaling a long breath.
Now everything clicked. Lansing had been managing internal affairs at Paramount for months —
testing the waters, building alliances, tightening her grip.
If Meyer was right, the era of Hollywood's first female studio boss was about to begin.
---
Meanwhile, MGM/UA was in chaos.
Their European creditor, Crédit Lyonnais, had started a full audit and restructuring —
a polite way of saying that Giancarlo Parretti, the Italian financier who'd bought MGM,
was about to fall hard.
Aaron felt a flicker of surprise at the scale of the shake-ups,
but none of it truly concerned him.
Dawnlight Films was his world now —
and its expansion came first.
---
"As for Indecent Proposal," he said finally,
"let's keep the international release with Columbia TriStar.
Better to stick with partners who know how we work."
Meyer nodded approvingly. "Wise choice.
Columbia's straightforward, and they don't nickel-and-dime the studios they like.
"Even Spielberg swore he'd only ever work with Universal and Warner Brothers —
and look how easily that promise changed."
Aaron smirked. "In this town, loyalty always comes second to opportunity."
He looked out over the glittering Los Angeles skyline —
the city of angels and ambition —
and wondered just how many thrones would be empty by the time the next awards season came around.
Ronald Meyer nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Truth be told, CAA would have preferred Dawnlight Films to remain solely a production company —
leaving distribution entirely to the big studios.
Unfortunately for them, Aaron Anderson's ambition was far too large for that.
And worse for everyone else — he actually had the talent to match it.
---
"By the way, Aaron," Meyer said casually, "you're juggling a lot these days.
Have you thought about bringing in someone to help manage the company?"
Aaron arched an eyebrow. "Oh? You have someone in mind?"
Meyer took a measured sip of his drink before replying.
"Jon Peters. You know — the former Sony executive.
He's got experience producing Batman and other major titles."
Aaron let out a short laugh.
"Ronald, Dawnlight doesn't need a hairdresser-turned-producer running the place."
His grin widened. "As long as I'm here, the company's fine.
When the time comes, I'll find my own people — carefully."
Jon Peters.
CAA might be Hollywood's most powerful agency,
but sometimes it treated successful studios like a dumping ground for its wayward clients.
No thanks.
---
A week later, Christmas was approaching.
Los Angeles glowed under strings of lights;
shop windows sparkled with tinsel and decorated trees,
and street performers filled the air with carols and brass.
After the Golden Globe Nominee Gala,
Aaron invited the Ghost team to a nearby bar to celebrate the season.
Kevin Costner, Kathy Bates, Edward Zwick, and David Fincher —
all were there, the bar alive with warmth and laughter.
In a quiet corner, Nicole Kidman leaned into Aaron's embrace, her lips brushing his neck.
"Mmm," she whispered, smiling, "don't tell me you're sneaking away already?"
Aaron grinned. "Just heading to the bathroom."
"Should I come with you?" she teased, her eyes glinting.
He leaned close, his voice low at her ear.
"Not yet. Save your energy for later — you'll need it."
Nicole blushed and playfully pushed him away as he stood up.
---
When Aaron returned, he noticed David Fincher sitting alone,
his expression tense and distant.
"What's wrong, David?" Aaron asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Rough night?"
Fincher gave a thin smile. "Hey, Aaron."
"Come on, talk to me," Aaron said, sliding into the seat beside him.
"This about Alien 3, isn't it?"
Fincher sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Yeah. We just wrapped filming, but Fox locked me out of the editing room.
I've never had such a miserable time in my life.
Giler and Hill wouldn't listen to a damn thing I said."
Aaron frowned. He'd heard the stories.
The Alien franchise was sacred at 20th Century Fox —
born from Ridley Scott's vision, elevated by James Cameron's sequel.
And Fincher?
A music video director, thrown into the fire as a last-minute replacement —
a "backup to the backup," as the crew put it.
He was a director-for-hire, not a voice with authority.
"Drink up," Aaron said, lifting his glass. "And listen —
if you've got something you really want to make one day,
bring it to Dawnlight.
I know your potential, David. You deserve to be in control of your own film."
Fincher's eyes flickered, the first sign of real gratitude that night.
"Thank you," he said simply.
Aaron smiled.
He respected Fincher deeply — far more than someone like Tarantino.
Quentin's films were bold but niche,
while Fincher's precision, intelligence, and aesthetic made him a director who could bridge art and mainstream cinema.
And Aaron wanted that kind of director under his banner.
---
"Oh, speaking of which," Aaron said after a pause,
"Quentin's shooting his first feature this year, isn't he?"
Fincher nodded. "Yeah. It's called Reservoir Dogs.
A weird, anti-traditional crime film. Very… him."
Aaron laughed. "Sounds about right.
It'll premiere at Sundance in January, if I remember correctly."
He raised his glass, his smile confident.
"I have a feeling it's going to shock everyone."
Fincher chuckled softly. "You always know when to bet right."
Aaron clinked glasses with him.
"In this town, that's how you survive."