The late afternoon sun sliced through the windowds of Ithaca Productions office, casting long, striped shadows across the desk where Duke sat.
One of his friends was sitting across from Duke right now.
George Lucas was a twenty-four years old, skinny,graduate. He wore a plaid shirt that looked two sizes too big and sneakers that had seen better days.
"It's a road trip, mostly," George was saying, staring at Duke's face. "Francis... well, Francis has this idea. He wants to break away from the studio system entirely."
"He calls it 'The Rain People.' We're going to get a caravan. A couple of vans, we are going to avoid the union rules. We drive east, and we shoot whatever happens."
Duke listened, spinning a pen between his fingers.
He knew this history. He knew that Francis Ford Coppola, the man who would eventually direct The Godfather, was currently in a state of manic rebellion against Hollywood in general.
An attitude that Coppola kept even while he grew older Duke always admired him on his past life, not just because of his masterpiece, The Godfather but because he was relentless in his pursuit for good cinema.
He knew that The Rain People would be an interesting failure, a poorly planned, improvised road movie that would lose money, but also cement the bond between Coppola and Lucas.
It was the project that would lead to the founding of American Zoetrope.
"You're going to be the assistant?" Duke asked.
"Associate, camera operator, sound guy, part time mechanic, maybe even extra," George shrugged, a small, shy smile touching his lips.
"Francis says we're going to be like hippies. No executives. No script approvals. Just what we feel is good."
He looked up then, his eyes flashing with a sudden intensity. "Look i know you have a slate, Duke and you're building something big right now. But I have to go do this."
Duke set the pen down. In another life, a producer might have been offended.
Duke had, after all, given Lucas an open door policy at Ithaca. To leave for an almost non-paying gig on a rogue production was technically a bad career move.
But Duke wasn't playing using 1968 rules.
"Go," Duke said.
George blinked. "Really?"
"You need to be in that van, George," Duke said, leaning forward. "You need to see how Francis works and get more experience. But remember if you have a project, bring it to Ithaca."
Duke reached into his desk drawer, pulled out his wallet, took off a couple 100$ bills and slid it across the mahogany surface.
George looked at it, then at Duke. "What's this?"
"Cash," Duke said simply. "This project is self financed so consider it a favor, just in case somewhere around Nebraska or Ohio, the van break downs, or you're going to run out of film stock, or you're just going to be hungry."
"Don't put this in the production budget. Keep it in your pocket. It's an emergency fund."
George hesitated, then took the cash. "I don't know how to thank you dude. I mean, I know i sound crazy for walking away from a job here to go chase a dream."
"You're not walking away," Duke corrected him.
"Watch how he handles the actors. Watch how he handles set. And when you're done, when you come back to California... you come see me. By then Ithaca should at least somewhat bigger."
George stood up, tucking the envelope into his jacket. "Could i maybe borrow a camera and some film stock?"
"Yeah, talk with Kurtz," Duke smiled. "Safe travel, George."
George Lucas walked out of the office, looking a little taller than he had when he entered.
The door had barely latched shut when Gary Kurtz walked in from the adjoining office. He was holding a sheaf of papers that looked like a legal indictment. He looked pale.
"Was that Lucas?" Kurtz asked, dropping the papers onto Duke's desk.
"Yeah, he came to tell me some news," Duke replied. "He's going to hang out with Coppola for a few months."
"Good for him. Maybe he can ask him how to get out of an insurance deadlock," Kurtz muttered, collapsing into the chair George had just vacated.
He tapped the stack of papers. "We have a problem, Duke. A Steve McQueen-sized problem."
Duke picked up the top sheet. It was a rider from the completion bond company.
Subject: Stunt Liability- S. MCQUEEN.
"They won't insure him?" Duke guessed.
"They will, but the premium is too much," Kurtz said, rubbing his bearded chin.
"Steve's agent just sent over the revised demands. He doesn't just want to do his own riding. He wants to do the cliff jump. And he wants to do the train sequence."
"The insurance guys are saying that if the biggest movie star in the world breaks his neck on our set, they aren't paying out. They want us to convince him to get a double."
"And Steve said no," Duke stated. It wasn't a question.
"Steve said if he sees a stuntman anywhere near the set, he walks," Kurtz sighed. "He's crazy, Duke. He thinks because he did some driving, he's invincible."
Duke looked at the papers, calculating.
In the original timeline, Paul Newman did some stunts, but the studio protected him fiercely. McQueen was a different man. He was a adrenaline junkie who just happened to act.
"Pay the premium," Duke said.
Kurtz's eyes widened. "Duke, it's fifty thousand dollars. That eats into the location budget, and we'll have to speak with Evans."
"It is the marketing, Gary," Duke said, standing up and walking to the window.
"Think about the poster. Think about the trailer. 'See Steve McQueen risk his life.' We leak stories to the press every week. 'McQueen almost crushed by train.' 'McQueen dangles from cliff.'"
"It adds a problem that I don't need," Kurtz countered, though he was already pulling out a pen to sign the approval. "What about George Roy Hill? Have you told him yet?"
"We're meeting him in an hour," Duke said, checking his watch. "At the Polo Lounge. With Redford."
Kurtz groaned. "Does Redford know? Does he know he's playing second male lead to McQueen?"
"Not yet, I also haven't decided whether to hire him" Duke said, grabbing his jacket. "That's what the lunch is for. Today, we sell the project."
The Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel was the sort of place where the air conditioning was always set to low.
George Roy Hill was already there, drinking a gin and tonic, he had a military bearing, a former Marine pilot who approached filmmaking with precision.
He had a reputation for being difficult, exacting, and brilliant.
Beside him sat Robert Redford.
Redford in 1968 was shocking to behold. He was thirty-one years old, with a jawline that looked carve in stone.
He was fresh off Barefoot in the Park, a rising star, but not yet a well known Icon. He looked relaxed, wearing a corduroy jacket, sipping an iced tea.
Duke and Kurtz approached the table and handshakes were exchanged.
The hierarchy was invisible but palpable. Hill was the artistic guy, Redford was the talent and Duke was the bank.
"Gentlemen," Duke said, sliding into the booth. "The Cobb salad here is excellent, but I recommend the steak tartare. It's tastier."
Hill cracked a dry smile. "I've read the revisions on the script, Duke. The dialogue is great. But I'm still seeing a lot of banter that plays better for Newman. Have we locked Paul yet? I heard rumors he was pushing the project."
Redford looked up, his blue eyes sharp. "Paul's in, right? That was the pitch. Me and Newman."
This was the moment. The pivot point.
Duke unfolded his napkin, taking his time. He looked at Redford, then at Hill.
"Paul isn't doing the picture," Duke said calmly.
The silence at the table was instantaneous.
Redford frowned, a flicker of genuine disappointment crossing his face. Newman was a friend. They had a natural rhythm. "He passed?"
"I passed," Duke lied. "I love Paul. He's charming. He's safe. But this movie... the movie I want to make, the movie we are going to make... isn't safe."
Duke signaled the waiter for a drink, letting the tension build.
"We signed the lead this morning," Duke continued. "Top billing. Creative input on the action sequences."
"Who?" Hill asked, his eyes narrowing. He hated not being the first to know, specially since he was so invested in this project.
"Steve McQueen," Duke said.
The name landed on the table like a grenade.
Redford sat back, exhaling a long breath. "McQueen."
"The King of Cool," Hill muttered, swirling his gin. "Jesus, Duke. That changes the whole temperature."
"Exactly," Duke said. He turned his full attention to Redford.
"Bob, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking Steve is too big, he will eat the screen and he's going to cut your lines."
"He does cut lines," Redford said, his voice tight. "He famously counts his lines and gives them to the other actors because he knows the camera stays on the guy who isn't talking."
"No," Duke said firmly. "Listen to me. We'll make sure McQueen behaves."
Duke leaned over the table. "Also, with Newman, you would have been a sidekick. But with McQueen? You're the serious actor."
He saw Redford pause, the actor's logic wrestling with his curiosity.
"Steve is cool," Duke explained. "That's his gift. He's going to play Butch as a man who's dangerous."
"And that will make you, Sundance, the most important person in the movie. Because you're the only one he trusts."
Duke gestured with his hand, painting the frame. "Think about the jump. The cliff jump. Newman and you would have argued about it like a married couple. It would be funny."
"With McQueen? He's going to look at that cliff like he wants to die. And you... you're the one who has to pull him back. You're the anchor."
Redford looked at Hill. "George? What do you think?"
George Roy Hill was scratching his chin, his mind racing. He was a director who loved structure, while McQueen was chaos. But he also loved tension.
"It's heavier," Hill admitted. "If Steve is Butch, the violence feels more real."
Hill looked at Duke. "But he's going to be a nightmare on set. I've heard stories. He argues about lens choices. He argues about everything."
"Let him argue," Duke said. "I've authorized a budget increase. We have the money to shoot around his ego"
"And Gary here," Duke patted Kurtz on the shoulder, "is going to handle the insurance. Steve wants to do his own stunts. We're letting him."
"You're letting him jump? Do i have to jump too?" Redford asked, incredulous.
"We're letting him think he's jumping," Duke corrected with a smile. "We'll figure out during the edit."
Redford picked up his iced tea, the condensation cold against his fingers. He looked at the script sitting on the table.
He knew the risk. McQueen could bury him. He could end up as just another guy Steve McQueen looked cool standing next to.
"And the billing?" Redford asked quietly.
"McQueen above the title," Duke said honestly. "You below. But the font size is the same. And your face is on the poster, right next to his. Equal size."
Redford stared at Duke for a moment.
"Okay," Redford said. "I'm in."
Kurtz let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since they walked in. Hill nodded, already pulling a notebook out of his pocket to start sketching blocking notes.
"But," Redford added, a sharp grin appearing. "If he tries to cut my lines... I'm fighting him."
"Fair enough, although i wouldn't recomend it" Duke laughed.
"One question," Redford said as the waiter finally arrived to take their order. "Why? You had Newman. Why mess with the chemistry?"
Duke looked at the three men.
"Because I believe, next year is going to be a violent year," Duke said, his voice low. "The world is getting harder. I want a movie that reflects that."
Redford nodded slowly, absorbing it. "I can play that."
"Gentlemen," Duke said, raising his water glass. "To Butch cassidy and the Hole in the Wall Gang."
"To the Gang," they chorused.
As they ate, the conversation turned to logistics, locations in Utah, the train set, the color palette.
Duke sat back, listening to Hill and Redford dissect the script.
He thought about George Lucas, probably packing a van right now for his trip to nowhere.
He thought about McQueen, probably waxing his motorcycle and dreaming of stuns.
Duke checked his mental list.
Midnight Cowboy in post-production.
Butch Cassidy was finally Cast and greenlitn just awaiting production.
And The Godfather in the vault.
He was three for three.
"Gary," Duke whispered as the lunch wound down.
"Yeah?"
"Book me a flight to San Francisco next week. I want to visit the set of The Rain People."
"You want to visit an indie student film in a van?" Kurtz asked, confused. "Why?"
"Because," Duke smiled, watching the ice melt in his glass. "I want to bring them some sandwiches, I would also like to talk with Lucas and a conversation with Coppola."