Chapter 128: They Don't Dare
Inside Dawnlight Films' private screening room,
Aaron sat back in his chair, eyes fixed on the glowing screen.
The film playing was raw, loud, and unlike anything else in town.
Reservoir Dogs.
Violence, irony, black humor — all colliding in a grimy ballet of chaos.
Snappy dialogue, pounding music, nonlinear storytelling — it was pure, untamed Tarantino.
When the credits rolled, Aaron couldn't help but smirk.
"That's the flavor, Quentin. The mix of violence, wit, and nerve — it's fresh.
Nobody else has the guts to do it like this."
Quentin Tarantino, jittery with excitement, leaned forward.
"You really like it?"
"Of course," Aaron replied without hesitation.
"After the new year, Brad will take you and Lawrence to the Sundance Film Festival in Park City.
Reservoir Dogs will premiere there — and by late March, we'll have it in theaters."
Lawrence Bender, the scrappy young producer Tarantino had befriended,
nodded eagerly from the side — two outsiders with the same wild, hungry energy.
"That's fantastic!" Quentin said, grinning from ear to ear.
Every inch of him buzzed with anticipation. Who wouldn't want their debut to hit theaters?
---
After the screening, Aaron returned to his office,
where Jack Wells was waiting, as usual, with a stack of papers under one arm.
"I set up that meeting for Salma Hayek," Jack said.
"She's now with an agent at WMA. They'll start her with commercials and magazine work — maybe small TV roles, too."
Aaron nodded. "Good. She needs exposure first. We'll build from there."
He leaned back in his chair. "What's the latest on Miramax?"
Jack sighed. "Nothing major. Harvey's still running around buying up finished films,
hoping one of them sticks."
Aaron laughed under his breath.
"Casting a wide net doesn't make you a shark.
Miramax doesn't have the kind of capital for that game."
He knew where the road led — Disney would eventually scoop up Miramax when it was on the verge of collapse,
and Harvey Weinstein's ambitions would be propped up by Disney's money.
They would make each other — and destroy each other — in time.
---
Jack suddenly pulled a folded newspaper from his briefcase.
"Oh, and here's something else. You probably saw it already —
but this hit Los Angeles hard last month."
Aaron chuckled. "You mean Magic Johnson's retirement?
AIDS forcing one of the Lakers' legends to walk away? That's the headline of the year."
Jack shook his head, smiling.
"Come on, Aaron. You're Hollywood royalty now — I wouldn't bring you sports gossip.
Take a look at this."
He handed over a leaked Disney internal memo, written by Jeffrey Katzenberg,
intended for Disney's CEO Michael Eisner and the board —
but somehow, it had landed in the pages of The Los Angeles Times.
Aaron scanned it quickly.
It was Katzenberg's self-critical analysis —
a sharp internal postmortem on Disney's string of recent flops:
Dick Tracy, The Rocketeer, and Billy Bathgate.
All big-budget, high-profile productions.
All massive disappointments.
Aaron smirked faintly as he read.
Katzenberg's tone was sharp, pragmatic, and painfully honest —
a rarity among studio heads.
No wonder Disney's hierarchy was shaking.
The old guard had lost touch,
and even the boldest executives were starting to realize it.
Aaron set the memo down, his expression thoughtful.
In a town where everyone wanted power —
most didn't have the courage to admit when they'd failed.
But Katzenberg had.
And that, in Hollywood, was almost scarier than ambition.
Katzenberg's leaked memo didn't just critique Disney's box office failures —
it dissected them, line by line, with surgical precision.
He compared Pretty Woman to Dick Tracy,
praising the former's emotional intelligence while subtly skewering the latter's expensive artificiality.
Not once did he mention Michael Eisner by name —
and yet every sentence pointed directly at him.
---
Aaron tapped the page, smirking.
"Seems Disney's civil war has gone public.
Katzenberg's not just ambitious — he's dangerous."
Jack Wells nodded gravely.
"Eisner still has the backing of Sid Bass and Roy Disney,
and the board basically dances to his tune.
But Katzenberg's power in the film division is growing fast.
He's got Beauty and the Beast at his back — that success changed everything."
Aaron nodded thoughtfully.
He'd already heard the rumors: the tension at Disney had reached a breaking point.
"Don't underestimate Eisner," Aaron said at last.
"He's the one who rebuilt Disney from the ground up.
He turned their merchandise and licensing into a gold mine —
and multiplied their brand value tenfold.
"Katzenberg's talented, yes. He's revived Disney Animation.
But he's still not strong enough to challenge Eisner head-on."
Right now, the company's entire focus was on the upcoming launch of Euro Disney in Paris that spring —
a project so massive it could make or break the entire empire.
---
The holidays should have been festive —
Los Angeles was glowing with Christmas lights,
and every studio was hosting its year-end party.
But one phone call shattered Aaron's good mood.
It came from the set of Indecent Proposal in Las Vegas.
The voice on the other end — Dawnlight's producer, Don Steele —
sounded tense.
"Mr. Anderson, we've got a situation.
Robert Redford's in bad shape — physically and mentally."
Aaron's brow furrowed instantly.
Indecent Proposal was supposed to wrap soon and release by summer.
They'd already shot for two months — now this?
Within hours, Aaron and Jack were on a private jet bound for Nevada.
---
The moment Aaron saw Robert Redford,
he understood.
The once-charismatic leading man — suave, magnetic, effortlessly commanding —
looked… hollow.
Heavy eyes, drawn face, posture sagging under exhaustion.
This wasn't the charming billionaire audiences were meant to fall for.
This was a man burnt out from the inside.
"How long has he been like this?" Aaron asked sharply, turning to Don Steele.
"A week. Director Adrian Lyne and producer Steven Reuther tried everything. Nothing worked."
Jack frowned. "And you're only telling us now?"
Don didn't answer, but Aaron did. His tone was calm — too calm.
"Because no one dares," he said flatly.
"Robert Redford's a legend.
Neither Adrian nor anyone else would risk offending him.
He's CAA's crown jewel — and Indecent Proposal is a CAA package."
Aaron's expression softened slightly as he looked at Don.
"You did the right thing calling me. Keep it up.
If this project pulls through, I'll give you your own film to produce."
With that, he headed straight for Steven Reuther's office.
---
Reuther rose the moment Aaron entered, looking visibly drained.
"Aaron," he sighed, "I've already called Mr. Ovitz. He'll speak with Redford personally."
Aaron crossed his arms.
"Steven, the film's scheduled for May release.
We're nearly out of time — and we've already spent twenty-five million dollars."
"You know what that number means."
Reuther nodded helplessly.
"I know. But Redford's barely sleeping. His nerves are shot.
He's physically and emotionally exhausted."
Aaron's voice hardened.
"Then find a way to fix it. I don't want excuses — I want results.
The film doesn't just need to finish. It needs to finish on schedule."
Reuther hesitated. "Ovitz will be here tonight. We'll give you a clear answer then."
Aaron said nothing for a long moment.
He knew insurance payouts from production delays meant nothing to him —
not when Indecent Proposal was already being marketed,
and every billboard in Los Angeles had Dawnlight's name on it.
This wasn't just a film.
It was his reputation.
He took a deep breath and finally nodded.
"Tonight, then."