Chapter 86: Enjoy Your Retirement
"Hey, Mr. Warren Beatty—feeling lively tonight, huh?"
Aaron glided over with a casual swagger, a half-smile curling at his lips as he stopped beside Warren Beatty's table.
Beatty turned his head, clearly irritated to see who it was. "I'm always in high spirits," he said coolly.
"Oh? How high?"
"About three stories high," Beatty replied with a forced grin.
Aaron chuckled. "Didn't expect you to be that funny, Mr. Beatty. Shame though—I heard Samsung Pictures passed on casting you as the lead in Bugsy."
He tilted his head with mock sympathy. "If they had, we'd be in for another great show. I mean, opposite Annette Bening? The tabloids would've had a field day. Looks like The New York Post and The National Enquirer are missing out on some juicy headlines."
Beatty's face darkened instantly. "Aaron, don't think a few lucky hits make you untouchable. Hollywood isn't as simple as you think."
Aaron smiled, eyes glinting with quiet malice. "Oh? What's the plan then, Warren? You gonna pull a Dick Tracy on me—whip out a Tommy gun and start blasting?"
Beatty's jaw tightened. "You—"
Aaron's expression sharpened, the smile vanishing.
"You've been running your mouth about me to the press these past few months, haven't you?"
He took a step closer, voice dropping cold.
"Why waste your remaining energy trash-talking me when you could spend it chasing women? You're washed up, Warren. Don't mistake my patience for weakness."
He leaned in, tone icy but calm.
"Next time you sit down for an interview, choose your words carefully. Because if you cross me again, I'll make sure you can't get a single film greenlit in this town.
Ten million isn't enough? I'll spend twenty. You can test me if you want."
Aaron straightened, his eyes hard. "Hollywood doesn't bow to age or nostalgia—it bows to money and power. And I have both."
He turned to leave but added, almost casually,
"Do yourself a favor, Warren. Retire gracefully. Enjoy what's left of your fame. Because if you keep pushing me, I'll have a team of lawyers digging into every dirty little secret you've buried. I promise—your scandals alone could buy you a one-way ticket to prison."
Without another word, Aaron walked away, leaving a red-faced Warren Beatty sitting frozen at the bar—his forced composure cracking.
Beatty knew damn well what Aaron was talking about.
As for Aaron, he was already thinking ahead. Once I've built real power in this town, he mused, I'll make sure Warren Beatty never works again.
Enjoy your retirement, old man.
Because at this point, with his trail of scandals and bad press, there weren't many directors left willing to touch him anyway.
From across the bar, Nicolas Cage, who'd witnessed the confrontation, felt a chill. He raised his drink nervously, muttering under his breath.
"Damn… I thought Aaron might actually throw a punch."
For a moment, even Nicolas Cage had been afraid that Aaron might lose his temper and beat Warren Beatty bloody right there in the bar.
"Man, thank God you didn't," Cage muttered, pulling Aaron back to their seats. "When you suddenly walked over, I had no idea what you were about to do."
Aaron laughed and shrugged. "What, me? I'm a law-abiding citizen. You think I'd do something as uncivilized as that?"
He raised his glass with a grin. "Anyway, I just spotted a few lovely ladies across the room. Come on—let's go say hello."
Cage exhaled with relief. He'd been genuinely worried that the fiery young producer might do something rash; Hollywood was full of sharks, but Aaron had a way of biting back harder than most.
---
As Thanksgiving approached, My Own Private Idaho officially began filming in Portland. With both the producer and director fully in control, Aaron didn't need to micromanage.
Still, when he heard that Keanu Reeves had also joined the cast of an upcoming action film, Point Break, something clicked in his mind.
Right. "Speed."
A bus rigged with a bomb, racing down the highway. A young cop and a terrified passenger trying desperately to save everyone on board.
Explosions, suspense, momentum—it was the perfect modern action thriller.
And with James Cameron producing Point Break, Aaron's instincts told him this could be the start of a new kind of blockbuster.
He spent several days drafting a rough version of the script idea, then called for his assistant.
"Evelyn, take this concept to the Writers Guild and register it," Aaron instructed, handing her a neatly typed document.
Evelyn Beckett flipped through it with curiosity. "Speed? Huh… this doesn't feel like the usual action flicks."
Aaron leaned back in his chair, smiling.
"Exactly. Today's action movies are all about muscle-bound heroes—Stallone, Schwarzenegger, Gibson, Willis. They all punch the same, shoot the same, move the same. It's getting dull."
"My version," he continued, "is fast, sleek, technical—packed with real tension and stunts. No bulky guys, no slow brawls. A smart, good-looking lead—someone like Keanu—would draw in the female audience, too. Not everyone wants to watch sweaty muscles all the time."
Of course, what Aaron didn't say was that those muscle stars now cost a fortune—
Stallone was earning $15 million per film, and once Terminator 2: Judgment Day came out next year, Schwarzenegger would match that easily.
Evelyn nodded, impressed. "Got it. A fresh kind of action movie."
---
She hesitated, then added, "By the way, boss—Al Pacino just wrapped Frankie and Johnny. But he's already started on Bugsy."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "That fast, huh?"
He was planning to approach Pacino for the lead role in Scent of a Woman.
The timing was perfect.
"Send his agent the Scent of a Woman script after Christmas," Aaron said.
"This role's a real challenge—a blind, retired colonel. Much more interesting than the usual gangster or romantic leads."
He smiled faintly. "Once The Godfather Part III drops and people realize it doesn't live up to expectations, Pacino will be hungry for a strong comeback role."
---
That evening, the Beverly Wilshire Hotel glittered with lights for one of the biggest events of the year—
Panasonic's gala, celebrating its acquisition of MCA/Universal.
Aaron arrived with Nicole Kidman on his arm, both elegantly dressed. The ballroom was filled with Hollywood power players and Japanese executives.
On stage stood Mr. Matsushita, chairman of Panasonic, alongside Toshio Tani, the new company president.
Meanwhile, Lew Wasserman and Sid Sheinberg, MCA's legendary duo, would remain in charge of Universal's operations.
Aaron took a sip of champagne and said dryly, "Huh. Looks like Panasonic's skin isn't quite as thick as Sony's."
Nicole tilted her head, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"They're keeping the entire American management team," he replied. "Wasserman, Sheinberg, even Tom Pollock over at Universal Pictures—none of them were replaced."
"Ah," Nicole chuckled. "Unlike Sony, right? They at least fired everyone and brought in their own people."
Aaron grinned. "Exactly. MCA's most valuable asset is Universal Pictures, and they didn't touch a single executive."
Nicole giggled. "Last time Sony took over Columbia, they made the Torch Lady wear a kimono. I wonder what Panasonic will do this time."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Let's just hope it's not a full-on Japanese invasion."
They both laughed softly, clinking their glasses as the orchestra played.
Outside, flashbulbs popped, executives smiled, and yet another foreign flag quietly settled over the hills of Hollywood.