The evening began at Dan Tana's in West Hollywood. In 1988, this was the ultimate clubhouse for the Hollywood elite, known for its red leather booths, dim lighting, and absolute privacy. It was the kind of place where million-dollar deals were made over dinner without the fear of paparazzi. Despite the discretion of the staff, the rest of the patrons couldn't help but stare at a corner booth. The three men sitting there held the attention of the entire room.
On one side sat Martin Scorsese, leaning forward with a kinetic, nervous energy, his hands moving as fast as his speech. Beside him was the quiet, watchful presence of Robert De Niro. Across from them sat Alex Hayes. To the onlookers, it was more than just dinner. It looked like an alliance between the legends who built modern cinema and the biggest star in the world today.
Alex took a moment to observe the two men. Their relationship was the bedrock of modern cinema, a creative marriage forged in the early 70s. From the raw, street-level desperation of Mean Streets (1973) and the haunting isolation of Taxi Driver (1976), to the brutal, operatic self-destruction of Raging Bull (1980), they had spent fifteen years deconstructing the American masculine psyche.
By 1988, Robert De Niro was firmly established as one of the greatest actors of his generation, standing in the same elite circle as Jack Nicholson and Al Pacino. He had already secured two Academy Awards: Best Supporting Actor for his quiet, bilingual performance in The Godfather Part II and Best Actor for his visceral transformation in Raging Bull.
He was a profound inspiration to every young performer in the industry, synonymous with a fearless, "method" approach that had redefined modern screen acting. His filmography was a list of modern classics; Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, The Deer Hunter, Once Upon a Time in America, and The Mission. His recent role as Al Capone in the 1987 blockbuster The Untouchables had once again reminded Hollywood of his immense box-office power. Now in his mid-forties, he remained at the very top of his game. At the table, he sat quietly sipping a glass of Barolo, watching Alex with steady, unreadable eyes.
Throughout the dinner, they didn't talk about the film. Instead, they spent hours discussing their favorite books and classic films. However, as the main courses were cleared away and dessert was placed in front of them, the atmosphere shifted.
Alex took a slow bite of his ice cream. He set his spoon down and looked Scorsese in the eye. "Coming to the issue at hand, Marty," Alex said. "I have to ask—is this film for them or for you?"
Scorsese laughed, acknowledging the unspoken rule of his career. In Hollywood, his "one for them, one for me" strategy was a well-known survival tactic.
The "one for them" referred to the big, commercial studio movies—the hits that made money and kept the executives happy. These films were his insurance. By delivering a box-office success, he earned the "creative credit" needed to make the "one for me"—the personal, risky artistic projects that the studios usually feared. For Scorsese, the commercial films were the engine that allowed his more meaningful, private visions to reach the screen.
"I've wanted to film a movie like this for a long time," Marty said, leaning over the table. "The world of the street, the life I saw growing up. But for years, it didn't quite have a shape. It was a 'one for me' project that I couldn't get off the ground. Then I found the book, Wiseguy, and it all came together. This is the story I've been waiting for.
Alex nodded, taking another scoop of his dessert. He savored the cold sweetness for a moment before looking back up. "I don't want to seem like I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth, but... what made you choose me?" Alex asked.
"Because I saw exactly what Henry Hill needs in your past performances,"Scorsese replied instantly. "In The Color of Money, you had that cocky, electric spark. In Moonstruck, you showed a restless passion. But in Platoon, you had an edge—a coldness you kept hidden under a layer of humanity. That's Henry Hill. He's the guy who sees a man beaten in the street and wonders if the guy's shoes are his size."
"It's more than that," De Niro added, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "You pull the audience into your head without saying a word. You blend charm with danger. They have to love you even when you're doing the unforgivable. Not many can do that."
Alex tilted his head. "Was I your only choice?"
Scorsese coughed lightly, leaning back. "I considered Ray Liotta. I saw him in Something Wild—he had this mercurial, terrifying energy. I thought he had the manic soul for Henry. But his commitment to an Oliver Stone film made the choice easy. Once his schedule was tied up, I knew there was only one person who could actually carry the commercial weight of this vision while keeping the soul intact."
Alex leaned back, a small smirk playing on his face. "And I assume this choice has nothing to do with my current box-office standing?"
Martin and Robert both burst out laughing. De Niro pointed a finger at Alex, a rare grin breaking his stoic expression. "Oh, that too. You're the star now, kid. Nobody in this town wants to make films that don't make money."
"Exactly," Scorsese added, his eyes burning with excitement. "With you joining the cast along with Robert, there is enough commercial appeal that it may actually become a 'them' film. The studio will leave us alone because they see the dollar signs, and that gives us the freedom to make a great film."
Alex laughed at that.
"So, are you in?" Scorsese asked.
Alex didn't hesitate for a second. "Hell yeah."
"To our collaboration, and to the success I know we can achieve together," Scorsese cheered, raising his glass. They clinked together, the sound of crystal ringing out like a bell marking a new era in Alex's career.
********
Late that night, Alex sat by the fireplace in his Hollywood Hills home, a copy of Nicholas Pileggi's Wiseguy open on his lap. He was already starting to feel the character. This was broken by the sharp ring of the telephone. It was Paula.
"I have the status on the scripts you pulled from the discard pile," she said, sounding tired but satisfied.
"Go ahead," Alex said, resting the book on his knee.
"Total Recall is first," Paula began. "It's based on the Philip K. Dick story. The film rights are currently held by De Laurentiis Entertainment Group (DEG), but it is in deep financial trouble. The company is practically in liquidation. If we move now, we can buy the rights for a fraction of their value."
"Buy it," Alex said firmly. "What about The Last of the Mohicans?"
"Owned by Morgan Creek Entertainment," Paula reported. "James G. Robinson is the head there. Their current plan is... well, they don't have one. They're sitting on it because they can't find a director who can handle the logistics of a 1757 setting. It's stuck in neutral."
"Leave that one for now," Alex decided. "It's a project for another day. What about the others?"
"3,000 is still with the writer, J.F. Lawton," Paula said. "He's still trying to get studios interested in it, but they're all passing. They think the story is too dark for a major film."
"Make him an offer," Alex said immediately. "I want to buy the script outright. But Paula—don't mention my name."
"You want to keep it quiet?"
"If the studios hear I'm interested, they'll all want a piece of it," Alex explained. "The price will go through the roof and everyone will try to get their hands on it. I want to own it before they even realize what it is."
"Smart," Paula agreed. " As for the Ghost, that's still sitting at Paramount," she said. "The executives think it's 'too soft.' Bruce Joel Rubin is the only one fighting for it. If you show interest, they'll greenlight it right away."
Alex leaned back, the firelight reflecting in his eyes."Alright, Paula. Buy Total Recall and 3,000. And make sure we own those scripts entirely. I want total control."
"And Ghost?" Paula asked.
"Contact Paramount. Tell them I've read Rubin's script and I want to play Sam Wheat. Tell them if they green light it, I'm in."
"Paramount is going to lose their minds," Paula chuckled. "They've been trying to figure out what to do with that for months. To have the most bankable star in the world ask for it... it's going to be a frenzy."
"Let them be in a frenzy," Alex said calmly. "I'm going back to my book. I have a lot of history to learn."