East 79th Street, Upper East Side. A red-brick apartment building just off Third Avenue.
The party was small—little more than twenty people, all close friends of the Rebould family, men, women, and a handful of kids.
After the usual round of greetings and introductions, Simon and James Rebould settled into the sitting room next to the living room. James wasted no time getting to something that had been on Simon's mind.
"I put together a file on New World Entertainment," he said. "You can take it with you when you leave. Before the crash, they were doing decently. The film division was nothing special, but television and comics were both profitable. That NBC show in third place this fall—The Rockford Files—that's theirs."
New World Entertainment had been restructured from last year's New World Pictures.
James brought the company up because it was now Marvel's parent. In November of last year, New World had bought Marvel Entertainment Group out of bankruptcy liquidation.
[TL/N: Wait, something's not right. The year in novel right now should be 1981. But New World Entertainment bought (MEG) on 1986 from Candence Industries. Fuck the timeline is a lil messed up.]
Simon pulled his attention away from a middle-aged ABC executive across the room. "And now?"
"After the crash," James said, "the stock's down fifty-one percent from its peak. Market cap's under one hundred ninety million. But their debt's over two hundred twenty million—mostly owed to General Electric."
Simon didn't need it spelled out. He could already see where New World was headed.
Film and TV companies live or die by outside financing. Pre-crash, they'd been fine. Now the stock had plunged below book value and the banks weren't touching them. No money meant no projects, no projects meant no revenue—a straight road to bankruptcy.
Still, one detail nagged at him. "How did New World end up tangled with GE?"
"GE bought NBC last year," James explained. "FCC rules from the mid-seventies still forbid the networks from producing most of their own programming. So GE propped up New World as a house supplier."
Simon hadn't realized a giant like General Electric was standing behind them. He'd only ever cared about the Marvel piece. But as the numbers James had just given him clicked into place, another idea took shape.
Movies were mediocre, but TV and comics made money—almost a perfect complement to Daenerys Films. Swallow the whole company and he'd get Marvel plus instant entry into television. Daenerys would finally stop looking like a mom-and-pop outfit.
The risks, though, were glaring.
Market cap: $190 million. A full takeover would demand a premium. Then there was the $220+ million in debt—he'd be eating that too.
Buying was the easy part: write a check. Running it was another matter. He had zero experience, and he wasn't sure Amy could handle something this size either.
He started to glance back toward the living room to continue the conversation—then noticed the ABC exec, Robert Iger, heading their way with two girls around eleven or twelve in tow.
When they reached the sofa, Iger made the introductions with a grin. "Simon, my daughters—Kate and Amanda. Big fans." [TL/N: Phew~ good thing that it's his daughter. I thought it was... sigh nvm]
Before Iger even finished, the shorter one, Amanda, bounded forward. "Simon, you play guitar so good! Will you teach us? Just Flight of the Bumblebee, pleeease?"
Simon smiled. "That piece has no secret—just practice."
Amanda shook her head vigorously. "Nuh-uh. Kate and I have been taking lessons for over six months and we're still nowhere near as fast as you."
"Then I'm sorry there's no guitar here," Simon said kindly, "or you could play and I'd see where you're tripping up."
Both girls visibly deflated.
It was a family party; interruptions were fine. James jumped in. "Jennifeqr has one upstairs. You girls go ask her. I saw that Good Morning America clip too, by the way—I wouldn't mind hearing Simon play live again myself."
The girls bolted off in search of Jennifer.
Simon gestured for Iger to sit, then looked at the man who, in another timeline, would take Disney to new heights after Eisner. "Actually, Bob, I've always wondered—how exactly did you guys find that tape?"
Iger studied the young man across from him, surprised. "You don't know?"
Simon frowned. "Know what?"
Iger glanced at James. "Jim, you neither?"
James looked even more confused. "Am I supposed to be part of this?"
Iger suddenly grinned. "In that case, my lips are sealed."
Simon and James locked eyes for half a second, then said in perfect unison: "Jennifer?!"
Iger lifted his hands innocently. "I said nothing."
Jennifer came downstairs a minute later with the girls, Amanda clutching an acoustic guitar.
Word had spread—pretty much everyone at the party had heard about the Flight of the Bumblebee clip. When they realized Simon was about to give an impromptu lesson, people drifted over and formed a loose circle around the sitting room, some standing, some grabbing chairs.
Simon didn't put on any airs. He let the girls play first, offered a few gentle pointers, then—urged on by the crowd—played a couple of pieces himself.
Ever since coming downstairs and catching the teasing looks from her dad, Simon, and Bob, Jennifer had known her little secret wasn't secret anymore. Cheeks warm, she'd slipped out of the spotlight. Seeing everyone gathered in the sitting room, she lingered in the doorway, watching him laugh and chat through the crowd.
A moment later a wine-red figure appeared beside her. Janet. Jennifer gave a small nod.
Janet cradled a glass of red wine and watched quietly for a while before leaning in. Noticing Jennifer still had her hair in its usual ponytail, she whispered, "He really likes it, you know."
Jennifer's gaze flicked involuntarily to where Janet was looking. Already flustered, her pale face turned scarlet. She stared at the floor, pretending she hadn't heard.
Janet went on as if she hadn't noticed the meltdown. "But be careful. That little bastard can be awful."
Jennifer had no idea how to respond. She waited, but Janet didn't elaborate.
After a few seconds she couldn't help stealing a glance. Barely audible: "…What?"
Janet's mischievous hand darted out, caught the ponytail, gave it one slow, deliberate stroke down its length, then let go. She leaned close to Jennifer's ear, voice dripping with wicked amusement. "One night he absolutely insisted I put my hair up. And then, you know… like riding a horse. it's so painful."
Like riding a horse.
That.
Yeah.
She should definitely pretend she hadn't understood.
Only the image was already looping vividly behind her eyes. Her cheeks felt on fire. In the end she couldn't take it—she stepped back, gripped the doorframe, muttered some mosquito-thin excuse, and fled upstairs.
[GodOfReader: I'm busy with my school works, sorry for not updating these past few days.]