He pulled his car onto the gravel shoulder near the Malibu warehouse.
The building looked like a little abandoned.
He grabbed his cane and stepped out. The phantom ache in his leg was a dull pain. He walked to the loading dock and pushed open the heavy sliding door.
The interior was a cathedral of technology. It was no longer the empty, dusty box it had been a month ago. Gary Kurtz had been busy.
Several Arriflex 35mm cameras sat stacked, tape recorders were lined up on workbenches, and in the corner, a pair of Steenbeck flatbed editors stood.
George Lucas was hunched over one of the Steenbecks, his glasses pushed up onto his forehead as he checked things.
He was staring at a strip of film with intensity. Gary was a few feet away, meticulously stripping down a lens housing with a tiny screwdriver.
Neither of them looked up when Duke entered. In this room, the work was the only thing that mattered.
"The 50mm lens has a scratch on the rear element," Gary said, his voice flat. "The guy from the auction lied. He said it was 'mint.' It's not mint. It's been used and maybe even fell."
"Fix it or bury it, Gary," Duke said, leaning against a stack of film cans. "We can't afford bad equipment on the next one."
George finally looked up, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the room. "The next one? You mean the five movies Levine wants? Or the three Evans is offering?"
Duke smiled. News traveled fast in a crew this small. "You've been talking to Jeffrey."
"Jeffrey called to see if I needed more film stock for 'practice,'" George said, his voice dripping with irony.
"He also mentioned that Joe Levine is currently telling the trades that Ithaca Productions is a subsidiary of Embassy, and to ask you about it."
"Levine is dreaming out loud," Duke said, moving toward the card table in the center of the room.
He sat down heavily, resting his cane on the table. "And Evans is trying to buy us to help him restore Paramount. He offered me a three-picture deal. Total creative control, or so he says."
Gary stopped his work and looked up. "Creative control at a studio the size of Paramount is a myth, Duke. They give it to you in the meeting, and they take it back in the edit suite. They'll 'note' us to death."
"I know," Duke said. "I sat in that office and it didn't feel right. But Evans seems to only want the movie, maybe we could work something out."
George walked over, leaning against the Steenbeck. "So what's the move? We stay with Levine? He's a businessman, but at least we know he won't interrupt us much. He doesn't pretend to be an artist. He just wants our movies to move tickets."
Duke shook his head. "Embassy is a boutique studio. He was great for the launch, but he doesn't have the reach I want. If we want to really get involved in the industry, not just make a hit, we need the majors."
"We need their distribution muscle. We need their theater relationships and we need their funding."
"You're talking about a partnership," Gary said, his producer-brain beginning to whir. "Not a deal. Not selling stock, just a deal until we can scale things up."
"Exactly," Duke said. "I'm going back to Paramount tomorrow. But I'm not going back as a director looking for work. I'm going back as the head of Ithaca Productions. We're going to negotiate a distribution-only deal."
"They put up the P&A, they handle the prints, they take a fee. But we own the negative. We own the equipment and we shoot at location.."
George looked around the warehouse. "You think they'll let us? I don't think Paramount would accept this deal. They think location shooting is a headache and trust theirs producers a lot."
"They don't have a choice, George," Duke said, his voice hard. "They're bleeding. Love Story just crossed fifteen million."
"By the time it's finishes it's run, it'll be one of the biggest movies in the last few years. I have the leverage. I'm going to use it to buy us a good contract.'"
He looked at George directly.
"And it's not just for me. This deal at Paramount... it's a bridge. Once I've got the distribution locked down, Ithaca starts producing other people."
The room went quiet.
"It's a lot of pressure, Duke," Gary said softly, "Being the guy who says 'no' to Joe Levine and 'maybe' to Bob Evans. Everyone is going to be waiting for you to trip."
Duke looked down at his cane.
"I've been shot before, Gary," Duke said, looking back up with a tired but steady smile.
"A few studio executives with cocaine addictions don't scare me. We're going to Melrose tomorrow. We're going to tell them how it's going to be."
"What if Evans says no?" George asked.
"He won't," Duke said. "He's a showman. He knows that if he doesn't sign us, I'll go to Warner Bros or Fox."
Duke stood up, his leg giving a sharp, familiar jab of pain. He ignored it.
He walked over to the stack of Arriflex cameras and ran a hand over the cold, matte-black metal.
"We're somewhat known now, boys," Duke said. "Let's act like it."
Gary went back to his lens with a smile on his face. George turned back to the Steenbeck to keep checking things.
Duke walked to the loading dock door and looked out at the ocean.
He took a deep breath of the salt air in relaxation, things were working out.
---
The air in Robert Evans' office at Paramount was thick with the scent of expensive Cuban tobacco.
Duke walked in, and he didn't wait to be invited to seat. He dropped into a velvet chair, crossed his legs, and watched Evans light a cigarette.
"Duke! Baby, look at you," Evans rasped, his voice a melodic growl of practiced charm.
"The town is vibrating right now with both The Graduate and Love Story. A lot of people are asking who the hell you are. They say you've got a good 'touch."
Duke didn't smile. He knew the history of this office.
He knew that in a few years, Evans would be a sort of semi-king of Hollywood, and eventually, a victim of it.
"Three pictures is a long time, Bob," Duke said, his voice cool. "The world is changing faster than you think."
"If I'm going to tie myself to Paramount, I need more than a paycheck and a parking spot. I need Total Creative Control. I want the final cut. I want the casting. I want to pick the scripts from the slush pile before anyone else."
Evans leaned back, a thin cloud of smoke drifting between them.
He chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. "Creative? Sure. You're the artist. I love the artist. But let's talk reality. Paramount isn't a charity; it's a corporation owned by Gulf+Western."
"Charlie Bluhdorn doesn't care about 'vision,' he cares about the bottom line. I'm putting a Paramount producer on your shoulder for every frame."
"They handle the budget. They keep the clocks running. That's the deal. Also, no one gets final cut in this town unless they have proven themselves."
Duke stared at Evans. He knew the "Paramount producer" was a leash. He also knew that if he played his cards right, he could make that producer irrelevant.
As Evans continued to talk about the romance of the cinema, Duke's mind drifted
He thought about the properties that were currently sitting in junk drawers or being shopped around.
I need the anchors, Duke thought. If I take this deal, I need to take advantage of it.
He looked at Evans, who was mid-sentence about the magic of the silver screen.
"I can live with a budget watcher, Bob," Duke interrupted.
"As long as he stays in the trailer and out of the editing room. But if I'm giving you three pictures, I want my first one to be something specific. I want Midnight Cowboy."
Evans stopped talking. He tapped his cigarette into a crystal ashtray, his eyes narrowing.
"Cowboy? That's a gritty book, Duke. It's about a hustler in New York. It's... it's not exactly the Paramount 'look.'"
"Besides, I heard United Artists has a lock on it. Waldo Salt is already working on the screenplay, and Schlesinger is attached."
Duke leaned forward. He knew UA was nervous about the film's potential X-rating. He knew they were hesitating because they didn't think a story about a male prostitute could find an audience.
"United Artists hasn't signed them yet," Duke said firmly. "I know that the producer and a director are shopping it around."
Evans looked intrigued.
"Get that project for me and we have a deal," Duke replied. "UA hasn't decided. Call the producer and tell him that Paramount is willing to take over the project."
Evans stood up and began to pace the length of his office, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sharp trousers. "So then if I get you Cowboy, you give me the three-picture deal? With my man on the budget?"
"And my hand on the film," Duke added. "No interference once the cameras roll."
Evans stopped pacing. He looked at Duke with a mixture of suspicion and genuine admiration.
"I'll get it for you," Evans said, pointing a finger.
"I'll make the call tonight. If they're still selling, I'll have the rights by Monday. But you better be right about this, Duke. If I bring Bluhdorn a gay smut movie that bombs, it's my head and even your career on the block."
Duke nodded, but his mind was already onto the next move. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook.
In it, he had scribbled names and titles that would mean nothing to Evans yet, but were worth a lot in the future where Duke came from.
Star Wars.
Alien.
The Godfather.
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
"What's in the book?" Evans asked, trying to peer over his glasses.
"My grocery list," Duke said with a small smile, closing it with a snap.
"You get me Midnight Cowboy, and I'll sign, Evans."
Evans smiled, a genuine, shark-like grin. "I like the way you talk. You're a hustler, Duke. Let's go get some lunch at Romanoff's and talk about who we're going to cast. I'm thinking maybe someone established..."
"No," Duke said, standing up to leave. "We're going with a guy named Jon Voight or James Caan and the short guy from The Graduate, Dustin Hoffman."
Evans watched him go, then picked up the phone. "Get me Jerome Hellman," he told his secretary. "I want to talk about their cowboy project."
Walking across the Paramount lot, passing the towering soundstages and the starlets in beehive hairdos, Duke allowed himself a small smile.
He knew Midnight Cowboy would go on to be the only X-rated film to ever win Best Picture.
'Are Oscar relations like what Winstein used to do, a thing now?' He couldn' help but wonder as he walked.