Chapter 115: Adrenaline and Desire
Night. Hollywood.
The bass thundered through the neon-lit club as Aaron Anderson arrived with Jennifer Connelly, Quentin Tarantino, and Jack Wells.
The place pulsed with heat, perfume, and too much ambition.
Quentin, as usual, was the loudest at the table — eyes wide, voice spilling with excitement.
"I've already talked to Harvey Keitel and Michael Madsen. They're in, man. They both said yes. We'll be shooting Reservoir Dogs in less than two months!"
Jack grinned. "So it's happening right here in L.A., huh?"
"Yeah," Quentin nodded, practically glowing. "Most of it's set in a single warehouse. Simple setup — raw, contained, all dialogue-driven. The exterior shots we'll do around the city."
Aaron, holding Jennifer close, raised a brow. "No female roles at all?"
Quentin laughed. "None so far. Unless—" he turned toward Jennifer, "—Miss Connelly wants to play a cop or something?"
Jennifer opened her mouth, but Aaron was faster.
"She's not a fit," he said evenly, then leaned in to whisper to her, lips brushing her ear.
"Save your energy for Speed. That one's yours."
---
Later, on the dance floor, Jennifer looped her arms around Aaron's neck, her body moving with his to the rhythm.
Her breath tickled his ear.
"Didn't you say Quentin's the next big thing? Why not let me take a role in his movie?"
Aaron smiled against her cheek. "Because there isn't a role for you. The story's about the thieves — testosterone and betrayal. If we force a woman in, she'll end up as a background cop or some throwaway part. That won't do anything for your career."
She pouted playfully, then sighed. "Fine. I'll wait for Speed."
Aaron's hand slid around her waist. "Good girl."
Moments later, the music faded away — the heat between them didn't.
They kissed, slow and hungry, the kind of kiss that drowned out the entire world.
Not long after, Aaron took Jennifer's hand and led her out of the club.
They slipped into the car, the city lights flickering across the windshield.
"Baby," Jennifer murmured, lying against his chest, "I'll have to go back to school soon."
Aaron ran his fingers through her hair. "That's fine. I'll come visit you."
And he meant it — or at least he thought he did, in that moment.
---
Hollywood Momentum
While they tangled in the rush of youth, the film world roared on.
Terminator 2: Judgment Day had exploded into theaters, grossing $90 million in its first 10 days, and by late July, $115 million domestic.
Meanwhile, Ghost — Aaron's masterpiece — had crossed $120 million.
Overseas, Cameron's juggernaut was unstoppable: $200 million globally within two weeks, while Ghost quietly reached its first hundred million abroad.
Aaron's deal with Columbia was finally paying off:
Below $50 million, Dawnlight got 15% of gross;
$50 million to $100 million, 12%.
From the domestic $100 million alone, after marketing costs, Dawnlight cleared $23 million.
After investing $1.5 million into Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs, the studio still held about $6 million in reserves.
Aaron leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Damn," he muttered. "Money never lasts long enough."
---
Three massive productions loomed over him:
Sleepless in Seattle, budgeted at $20 million, set to roll cameras soon.
Schindler's List, another $20 million, Spielberg's passion project.
Indecent Proposal, CAA's high-profile package — $25 million to produce.
Once Seattle started, only $9 million would remain.
And next month, Aaron had to fly to Venice for the film festival — another potential goldmine.
---
He picked up the phone, dialing Steven Ruther, the producer on Indecent Proposal.
"Steven, have you locked the leads for the young couple yet?"
Ruther's voice buzzed through the receiver. "We're set on Demi Moore for the wife. Still finalizing the husband."
"Who's on the shortlist?"
"Johnny Depp, Tim Robbins, Alec Baldwin — a few others."
Aaron frowned. "Depp won't take it."
But the real selling point wasn't the husband.
It was the contrast — Demi Moore's sensuality and Robert Redford's charm.
"Redford's directing A River Runs Through It, right?" Aaron asked.
"Yeah, but that's fine," Ruther replied. "He's been prepping that one for years. Indecent Proposal will shoot first. Adrian Lyne thinks Redford's perfect — calm, charismatic, the kind of man you want to trust but maybe shouldn't."
Aaron nodded, pleased. "So he'll shoot Indecent Proposal before A River Runs Through It?"
"Exactly."
That was all Aaron needed to hear.
Between Moore's allure and Redford's timeless magnetism, the film had everything it needed to spark controversy — and box office heat.
---
After hanging up, Aaron called in Evelyn Beckett, his sharp, unflappable assistant.
"How's Basic Instinct doing over at Carolco?"
Evelyn straightened her notepad. "Production's halfway done in San Francisco. Paul Verhoeven's pushing it hard — and the studio's betting everything on Sharon Stone."
Aaron smiled faintly, tapping ash into his glass.
"Good," he murmured. "Let's keep an eye on that one. The industry's about to rediscover how powerful lust can be at the box office."
The buzz surrounding Basic Instinct refused to fade.
The film was still shooting up in San Francisco, and Aaron Anderson knew exactly how seismic its impact would be once it hit theaters.
Ever since screenwriter Joe Eszterhas sold the script for an astonishing $3 million, the project had become Hollywood legend — a magnet for both fascination and outrage.
It had endured setbacks, protests, and casting crises, yet its name never once left the trade headlines.
---
Evelyn Beckett flipped through her notes. "About Basic Instinct — there's been some turbulence on set."
Aaron raised a brow. "Turbulence?"
He already knew the production had struggled with casting. Thirteen actresses had turned down the lead role — one after another.
No one wanted to take on the film's explicit sexual content.
Eventually, the studio had settled on Sharon Stone, an unknown name at the time. She wasn't the first choice — or even the tenth. But she was the one brave enough to walk the edge.
Even celebrated European actresses like Isabelle Adjani had refused the offer. The film's eroticism — its blunt depiction of control, seduction, and violence — had frightened away every established star.
Evelyn continued, lowering her voice slightly.
"The real trouble started with the film's portrayal of bisexuality and lesbian relationships. It's caused a backlash from the LGBTQ community. Protesters show up almost daily outside the San Francisco set — waving signs, chanting against the film's narrative."
Aaron leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. "That's it?"
Evelyn blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, they're protesting. Outside. That's all?"
A tiny smirk curved his lips. "That's not exactly a production crisis, Evelyn."
She tried to hold back a laugh. "Well, the protests got loud enough that the city had to assign police units to guard the set."
Aaron exhaled a short breath, half amusement, half disbelief.
"So long as they're not storming the cameras or beating the crew, it's just free publicity."
He picked up his coffee, swirling it lazily.
"Controversy sells — especially when it's about sex. Carolco knows what they're doing. When this thing hits, it's going to explode."
He wasn't wrong.
Aaron could already see it — the outrage, the fascination, the ticket lines wrapping around blocks.
After all, scandal was just another kind of marketing.
And in Hollywood, nothing burned brighter than desire and fear colliding on screen.