The drive to the Beverly Hills Hotel was a blur of orange streetlights.
Duke drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his bag.
Inside that bag was the script of Love Story.
He arrived quick to the Beverly Hills Hotel in the pre-dawn hours. The valet took his keys with a sleepy nod, and Duke made his way toward the bungalows, his cane clicking sharply against the stone path.
Bungalow 3 was glowing. Light spilled out from behind the heavy drapes, Duke didn't knock, he used the heavy brass knocker.
Three seconds later, the door swung open.
Joe Levine didn't quite look like a mogul.
He looked like a man who had been interrupted while wrestling a bear.
He was short, round, and wrapped in a silk robe that seemed expensive.
He had a deli sandwich in one hand and a thick cloud of cigar smoke surrounding his weirdly shaped body.
"You're late," Levine barked. He checked a gold watch that disappeared into the folds of his wrist. "Twenty-eight minutes, I said thirty. You almost missed the window."
"I parked myself," Duke said, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation. "Valets are slow this time of night."
Levine grunted, gesturing toward a velvet armchair.
The room was a mess of telegrams, half-empty scotch glasses, and film canisters.
"Nichols told me you're an author. He says you've got a great script. I don't like speaking about scripts. I like money. Talk to me about money."
Duke sat, leaning his cane against his leg.
He didn't open the bag yet.
"I'm not here to talk about the artistic merit of the script, I'm here to talk about an untapped market," Duke began.
For the next twenty minutes, Duke laid it out.
He didn't talk about the tragedy of the film or the societal standard.
He talked about the female audience.
He talked about the millions of women who went to the movies to find something that spoke to their hearts while their husbands wanted to see some guys shoot each other.
"Every woman in America is going to read this book," Duke said, leaning forward.
"And then they're going to drag their husbands to the theater to see the movie. It's not a one-ticket sell. It's a two-ticket minimum. Maybe even more if they liked the film."
Levine chewed his sandwich slowly, his eyes narrowed.
He was a man who had made his fortune importing Godzilla and Hercules, so he understood spectacle, but he also understood a "sure thing" when it was explained in terms of sheer volume.
(Embassy pictures distributed 'Godzilla, King of the Monsters!' in 1956 and 'Hercules' in 1958)
"Paramount offered you a deal," Levine said, a bit of mustard on his lip. "Evans is the type of man who wouldn't reject a good script. What did you ask for?"
"I want the Director chair," Duke said.
"And I want a partner who doesn't put a leash on me before we even start production. Evans wants a probation clause. He wants to fire me if he doesn't like the dailies."
Levine laughed, a sound like gravel in a blender. "Evans is a coward. He's playing with the studio's money and even then doesn't take risks."
He reached out a meaty hand. "Give it here."
Duke handed over the script.
Levine didn't read it like a scholar.
He flipped pages, looking for the highlights. After ten minutes, he tossed it onto the coffee table.
"It's a weepie," Levine said. "A high-class weepie, but I like it. As for you... you're a gamble, kid. You've got a lame leg and you also talk too fast."
"If I back this, I don't want a co-production with Paramount. I want to own the full rights."
"You get a piece of the pie," Duke countered, "but I direct. No probation. I bring in my own crew. You provide the muscle and the distribution."
"I'll think about it," Levine said, standing up.
It was a dismissal. "I'll talk to my people. I'll talk to the lawyers. Go home, kid. Get some sleep. You look like hell."
"I'll be waiting for the call," Duke said.
The sun was coming up as Duke pulled into his driveway. His head was spinning.
Inside, his house felt quiet. He sat at his desk and looked at the half-finished manuscript of the Love Story novel.
Writing Jaws he had been focused in tension.
Writing Cujo he had been focused on the dog.
But this? This required a vulnerability he hadn't ever experienced before.
He started to write.
"What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died?"
He stopped. He thought about the original Erich Segal.
He thought about the way the world was in 1970, and the way it was now, in late '67. The world was harder now. The summer of love was ending, and the winter of reality was setting in.
He remembered that the main character was originally written as a combination of two Harvard roommates that Erich Segal had meet back in the day.
Al Gore and Tommy Lee Jones.
Yeah, the future Vice-President and the famous actor.
Althoug, he really didn't know where Seagal got inspiration for a dying girl.
After some time, he feel asleep tired.
By noon, the phone rang. It was Jeffrey.
"Duke? I just got off the phone with Doubleday. Aldrich is losing his mind after i told him about your romance book. He's terrified you're going to ruin the Blackwell brand. He wants to see the pages."
"He can see them," Duke said, his voice raspy.
"But he's seeing them under a different name. I'm not kidding, Jeff. I would never put my Horror brand at risk"
"He's probably going to fight you on the advance," Jeffrey warned. "He's paying for the name."
"Then tell him the advance is for both Cujo and Love Story. Either, he takes both or takes none."
Jeffrey sighed. "You're a nightmare to represent, Duke."
"That's why you get fifteen percent," Duke said.
The final week on The Graduate set was a period of transition. He spent his time watching the technical side of the craft.
He followed the cinematographer, Robert Surtees, around everywhere. He watched how they used the rack-focus to emphasize Benjamin's isolation.
He watched how the lighting changed to reflect the mood of the scene.
During a setup for a scene getting reshot, Mike Nichols found him leaning against a soundstage wall.
"Heard you're leaving us," Nichols said. It wasn't a question.
"Im trying, but i'm still here for a couple of days still" Duke said. "I plan to start pre-production in three weeks."
Nichols pulled out a cigarette but didn't light it. "Directing is a lonely business, Duke."
"Everybody on that set is going to ask you a question every ten seconds. 'What color is the chair?' 'Should she cry on this line or the next?' 'What is the importance of recording this scene?'"
Nichols looked him in the eye. "Remember, if you don't have the answer, make one up. Never let them see the doubt."
"Also, you should get a producer willing to cover for you, not everyone in this town is willing to respect a young guy with a cane."
"Thank you for the advice, Mike," Duke said. "Don't worry, I've seen the movie already in my mind."
Nichols smiled, a genuine, rare smile. "I believe you. May God help us both."
Duke was back at his kitchen counter, the same place where the United Artists rejection had landed weeks ago. This time, the phone call was different.
"It's done," Jeffrey said. "Evans rejected the project."
"Levine is our financier now. He has agreed to the Director clause. No probation. You have total creative control over the final cut, provided you stay under a certain budget."
Duke felt a weight lift off his chest, replaced by a cold, sharp adrenaline.
"What's the budget?"
"Eight hundred thousand. It's a pittance, Duke. You're going to be eating dirt to make this work."
"We are going to be eating dirt to make this work,, also I don't need a million dollars to show two people falling in love," Duke said. "I just need the right two people."
"And the book?"
"Doubleday accepted the pseudonym," Jeffrey said. "Gregory House is officially a Doubleday author."
"We've got a six-month window before Cujo hits. We're going to saturate the market."
Duke hung up the phone. He walked over to his desk and picked up the completed manuscript of the Love Story novel.
He looked at the title page.
LOVE STORY by Gregory House
He grabbed his cane and headed for the door. Pre-production started at 8:00 AM.
He had a cast to find, a cinematographer to convince, and a world of cinema to change.
---
Not a long chapter, maybe another chapter today.