Chapter 124: You Really Dislike Him
Mid-November, England.
Aaron arrived at Pinewood Studios in Buckinghamshire —
the northwest outskirts of London, where Bram Stoker's Dracula had officially entered production.
The air smelled faintly of rain and paint. Massive Gothic sets loomed beneath the sound-stage lights,
and Francis Ford Coppola's booming voice cut through the echo of footsteps.
"Cut! Fifteen-minute break! Winona — come here a second."
Coppola frowned, motioning for Winona Ryder to step aside for a quiet talk.
From across the set, Aaron exchanged a look with Michael Apted, the film's co-producer.
They both sensed the same problem — there was no chemistry between the leads.
Ryder and Gary Oldman, playing Dracula himself, kept an uneasy distance,
their dialogue brittle, the atmosphere colder than the London drizzle outside.
Aaron lowered his voice. "What happened? Their rehearsals went fine last week."
Apted shrugged. "Seems they've had… a disagreement."
Aaron sighed, glancing toward Coppola as he continued speaking softly with Ryder.
"They're professionals," he said finally. "They'll sort it out soon enough."
Apted nodded, then changed the subject.
"By the way — you mentioned Spielberg's Schindler's List before. How's that coming along?"
"Oh, it's moving," Aaron replied. "Spielberg's already in Poland, prepping the set."
He didn't sound worried. Schindler's List was in good hands.
If anything, what frustrated him was that Scent of a Woman had fallen behind schedule again.
The lead actor, Al Pacino, had asked to push filming into next year.
His recent romance drama Frankie and Johnny — co-starring Michelle Pfeiffer — had underperformed, barely earning $20 million after more than a month in theaters.
On top of that, Pacino was still reshooting scenes for The Godfather Part III.
---
A few days later, Dracula finally found its rhythm.
Coppola, pragmatic as ever, postponed the more intimate scenes between Ryder and Oldman until later in the shoot,
giving the tension between them time to cool.
Then one afternoon, Aaron's phone rang.
He glanced at the caller ID — Steven Spielberg.
"Aaron, I'm in New York right now."
Aaron blinked. "New York? I thought you were in Kraków — at the concentration-camp site."
"I was," Spielberg said. His tone carried the weight of moral exhaustion.
"I originally planned to shoot inside Auschwitz. We even got permission.
But then the Jewish Council sent me a letter… asking that I not disturb the peace of the dead."
Aaron's expression softened.
"So," Spielberg continued, "I've decided to build a replica near the site instead.
It'll add about a million dollars to the budget."
Aaron exhaled slowly, half-smiling.
"That makes sense, Steven. We'll cover the extra cost through Dawnlight.
You're right — it's better not to film on the actual grounds. The dead deserve their rest."
There was a pause, then Spielberg said quietly, "Thank you, Aaron."
He had flown back to the U.S. personally to apologize to the council
and would soon return to Poland to find a new location.
Aaron's answer was simple:
"It's the right call, Steven. Really."
After he hung up, Aaron leaned back in his chair and shook his head with a wry smile.
Good thing it's Poland, he thought. Labor's cheap — even building an entire camp won't break the budget.
Still, as he glanced back toward the Dracula set — where fog machines hissed and crimson lights pulsed —
he couldn't help feeling the chill of irony.
Hollywood loved to recreate tragedy,
as long as the tragedy looked beautiful on film.
Spielberg had mentioned "a million," but Aaron knew the true figure was closer to two —
two million dollars to rebuild an entire concentration camp set from scratch.
It wasn't just money — it meant weeks of delay, new permits, more logistics.
By afternoon, Aaron left Pinewood Studios, his driver waiting by the entrance.
He had business in London that evening.
"Heading back to London, Aaron?"
A familiar voice called from behind. He turned to see Winona Ryder walking toward him,
a wool coat wrapped around her small frame, her expression equal parts curiosity and exhaustion.
"Yeah," he nodded. "You too?"
She hesitated, then smiled. "If I say I'd like to grab a drink first, would you say no?"
Aaron chuckled. "Of course not."
---
Later, in a cozy bar near The Savoy Hotel, they took a corner booth by the window.
The glow from the streetlights shimmered off the Thames beyond.
Aaron ordered two pints of ale, then asked casually,
"You're Jewish, right?"
Winona nodded. "Technically, yeah. Russian-Jewish descent.
But I don't really practice the religion."
Aaron smiled faintly.
"Figures. Half of Hollywood's Jewish by blood — hardly any of them actually go to temple."
She laughed softly.
"I heard you're investing in Spielberg's Holocaust film — Schindler's List.
That's… incredible, Aaron. Really."
Aaron raised his glass slightly. "Thank you. And next year, don't forget —
you'll be doing that little cameo in Scent of a Woman for me."
Winona grinned. "I haven't forgotten. And honestly, I owe you one.
You've been good to me on this project."
Aaron smirked. "Speaking of which — you really don't seem to like Gary Oldman.
You don't even have many intimate scenes with him — just a few embraces and a kiss or two, right?"
He said it lightly, but she frowned immediately.
"It's not the scenes, Aaron. It's him."
She sighed, lowering her eyes. "He made this… disgusting joke one day.
Something crude and unnecessary. I can't stand that kind of behavior."
Her tone hardened. "And his acting — it's too much.
He goes so deep into character that it feels… dangerous. Like he forgets it's just acting."
Aaron nodded slowly.
He'd seen it before — the kind of method acting that blurred the line between performance and obsession.
"Don't worry," Winona continued. "I keep my distance off set, but when the cameras roll,
I'll be professional. Always."
She wasn't exaggerating — during breaks, Winona kept far away from Oldman,
chatting with her assistant or other crew members.
And more often than not, when she did talk to someone… it was Aaron.
---
"Thanksgiving's tomorrow," she said suddenly. "Aren't you flying back to the States?"
Aaron shook his head. "Not this year. I'll head back next month.
We've got some Oscar-season events for Dawnlight to host."
"Oh." Winona swirled her drink. "And after that? Will you still be around the set much longer?"
Aaron tilted his head. "Not really. Most of my work here's done.
Once everything's in place, Coppola and the team can handle the rest."
Then, with a teasing grin, he added,
"By the way — Sadie told me you're naturally blonde. That true?"
She laughed, brushing her dark hair behind her ear.
"Yeah, but I hate it. The color in Edward Scissorhands? That's my real hair."
Aaron chuckled. "Hollywood's never been kind to blondes. Too many dumb-blonde jokes."
Winona leaned forward, smiling mischievously.
"Speaking of blondes — Sadie Frost is gorgeous, isn't she? English, confident, sexy…
You mean to tell me she hasn't caught your eye?"
Aaron laughed outright. "What, you think I'm that easy?"
She raised a brow, playfully unconvinced.
He stood, tossing a few bills onto the table. "Come on. Let's go walk around.
London's doing its own version of Thanksgiving this year — might as well enjoy it."
"Alright…" she said, smiling as she followed him out.
---
Outside, the streets were alive with lights and laughter.
Passing the Savoy Theatre, Winona stopped suddenly, gazing up at a movie poster.
"Beauty and the Beast! The reviews are amazing!"
Aaron nodded. "And the box office too — twelve million opening weekend in the U.S.,
and twenty-six million after ten days. Disney's on a roll."
But his eyes had already shifted to another poster nearby —
The Addams Family.
It had opened the same week in America,
debuting with twenty-four million and now sitting comfortably at fifty-five.
It had just premiered in the U.K., and Paramount had struck gold.
Orion, however, had sold the rights to both The Silence of the Lambs and The Addams Family —
two monster hits that could've saved the studio.
Aaron couldn't help but smirk.
Winona caught it immediately. "What's so funny? Neither of those are your films."
He shook his head, still smiling. "Nothing. Just… thinking about irony."
Because luck — in Hollywood — was as dangerous as it was fickle.
And Orion, once a rising star, had gambled away both its miracles.
Aaron turned toward the square, where a street performance was beginning.
The air was cold, but the laughter was warm,
and Winona, watching beside him, forgot about Oldman, Coppola, and all the tension for a while.
For tonight, it was just London — and the soft, uncertain beginnings of something else.
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