On the 21 Club on West 52nd Street as Duke Hauser stepped into the dim, wood-paneled interior.
Steve Ross was already there, tucked into a semi-circular leather booth.
"Duke," Ross said, rising just enough to show respect. "I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of 61 Latour. I didn't remember your wine preference so i went for the bold stuff."
Duke sat, acknowledging the gesture with a nod. "How is it going, Steve? I wasn't expecting the invitation."
Ross laughed, the sound rich and genuine.
For the first hour, Ross talked about his vision for Warner, a world where music, film, and publishing lived under one roof.
"We're moving toward a borderless world for entertaiment, Duke," Ross said, swirling his wine.
"The Europeans and the Japanese are hungry for American films. My distribution arm is already the best in the business. Let Warner handle Ajax's international theatrical releases."
"We'll take the headache of the local tax laws and the subtitling off your plate. In exchange..." He paused, his eyes twinkling. "We license the Atari patents. A modest fee. We call it a co-operation between friends."
Duke set his glass down. "It's a generous offer, Steve. Truly. But I've already signed the preliminary agreements with Toei and a consortium of independent distributors in Paris and Munich."
Ross's smile didn't flicker, but his facial feature hardened ever so slightly. "Independence is a lonely road, Duke and an expensive one. You're holding a monopoly on arcade technology."
"The Department of Justice, they don't like monopolies. But a duopoly? A world where Ajax and Kinney dominate the field together? That looks like competition. That looks like Capitalism."
"Go on," Duke replied.
Ross leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let's be blunt. You have patents on that my boys can't break. If I can't break them, I have to go to the patents office and argue they were granted in error."
"Or I can lobby. I have a lot of friends in DC who can be convinced that the arcade business needs 'oversight'."
Duke didn't blink. "Is that a threat, Steve?"
Ross waved a hand dismissively. "It's a reality check. But I do have a, sweetener. I can get your machines and mine into every major movie theater lobby in the country by 1975."
"Think about it. A kid pays three dollars for a ticket, but he spends ten dollars on the machines while he waits for the show to start."
Duke felt a genuine jolt of surprise. In his memory of the future, the theater owners and the MPAA had been the primary enemies of the arcade, fearing that "electronic toys" would cannibalize the monen on the movie-goers pockets.
Ross was proposing an acceleration of history that was staggeringly ambitious.
"The MPAA won't like that," Duke noted.
"The MPAA will do what we tell them to do," Ross said with a grin. "They want our movies and support. It's not even a certainty that Valenti will stay past this year at the helm of the MPAA."
"Now, name your price for the license. What do you want, Duke? Money? A stake in something?"
Duke took a breath. This was the moment. "I don't want your money, Steve. I want the properties you aren't using."
Ross narrowed his eyes. "Be specific."
"I want National Periodical Publications. The whole company. DC Comics, the distribution contracts, and the Termite Terrace catalog, Bugs, Daffy, the whole Looney Tunes library. I'll give you fifty million dollars and a ten-year license for the Atari arcade patents."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Ross stared at Duke as if he had just asked to trade a gold-plated Cadillac for a collection of rusty metal.
To Ross, DC Comics was a headache, a declining medium with a disgruntled staff. And Looney Tunes? They were old shorts that ran on Saturday mornings.
"Fifty million?" Ross asked, his voice incredulous. "Duke, the arcade business is going to be worth billions... why?... When can we sign?"
"I like the characters of DC," Duke said simply.
Ross leaned back, his mind already feeling the victory.
He thought he was fleecing Duke. He would get the patents he needed to dominate the tech space, Fidty million in cash to fuel his next acquisition, and he'd offload a dying publishing house.
"We haven't reached a deal today," Ross said, lifting his glass for a final toast. "But we've reached an understanding. You're a foward looking man, Hauser. I think we're going to be very good for each other."
___
Three days later, Duke was back in Los Angeles, standing in the center of a brand-new facility in Burbank.
This was the Paramount Animation Studio.
Stanley Jaffe was waiting for him, looking more energized than Duke had seen him in months.
"We're doing it, Duke," Jaffe said, gesturing to the rows of animation desks. "We've got sixty animators already. But the big guy he... the big guy is in the corner office."
Duke walked toward the glass-walled office at the end of the hall. Sitting there, sketching with a blue pencil, was Milt Kahl.
Milt was a legend, one of Disney's "Great Old Men."
He was the man who had breathed life into Pinocchio, Peter Pan, and Shere Khan.
He had left Disney for Paramount, tired of the creative stagnation that had set in after Walt's death.
"Milt," Duke said, stepping inside. "How's the transition?"
Kahl looked up, his eyes sharp behind thick glasses. He was famously cantankerous, a perfectionist who didn't suffer fools, but today he looked revitalized.
"The air is better here, Hauser," Kahl grunted. "At Disney, they spent half the day wondering what the exectutives want done. Here, Jaffe just asks me what I want to do."
"And what do you want to do, Milt?"
Kahl turned his sketchbook around. It was a girl, tall, elegant, with a face that felt timeless.
"I want to make a classic," Kahl said, his voice softening. "A princess story. But not a 'once upon a time' fairy tale that's all lace and singing birds."
"I want to use the full weight of the medium. Hand-drawn, lush, high-frame-rate animation. I want to do for the 1970s what Snow White did for the 30s."
Duke looked at the sketches. They were breathtaking drawings. "We have a five-year plan, Milt. We are somewhat planning release in 1976. The Year of the American Bicentennial, and give the country something beautiful."
"It'll cost a fortune," Kahl warned. "I don't do cheap or scratch animation."
"I'm not asking for cheap," Duke said. "Jaffe will get you whatever you need."
Jaffe and Duke walked out of the office, the sound of Kahl's pencil scratching against paper following them.
"We launch the Princess film in '76," Jaffe noted. "In the meantime, we need content for the TV division. Diller is already asking for animated specials."
"Give him what he wants," Duke said. "But the features are our crown jewels. Remember, we don't want to compete with Disney, we aim to replace them."
___
The final trip of Duke's week took him to the Connecticut plan of PULSE Weekly. The building was a hive of activity. The success of the distribution had turned the magazine into a cultural phenomenon.
Archie Goodwin was waiting for him with a stack of data that would have made any other publisher weep with joy.
"750,000 copies, Duke," Archie said, his voice cracking with excitement.
"We're gaining 50,000 readers an issue. But we're hitting a ceiling on the characters. Ben 10 and Slam Dunk are carryng the book, but the kids are asking for more 'Traditional' heroes. The kind we don't have the rights to."
Duke sat down and told Archie about the meeting at the 21 Club.
Archie's jaw dropped. "You... you're buying DC? You're buying Batman? Duke, that's insane. If we put Batman in the same magazine as Transformers, we can surpass Archie and Marvel in a year."
"That's the plan, Archie. But Ross hasnt accepted yet so i'm still just waiting."
Archie leaned back, thinking. "Well, if you're looking for a bargain, there's a title over at Marvel that's essentially dead. It's been in reprints for years. No one wants to write it and no one wants to draw it."
"Which one?" Duke asked.
"The X-Men," Archie said. "It's a story about 'mutants outcasts'. It's too weird for the current market."
"Stan Lee and Jack Kirby started it as a copy of DC's Doom Patrol, but it never really found its footing."
"Martin Goodman would probably sell you the entire copyright for the price of a mid-sized house just to get it off his balance sheet. A few hundred thousand dollars, maybe."
Duke felt a cold chill run down his spine. In his memory, the X-Men were the kings of the 1990s.
They were the multibillion-dollar film franchise that kickstarted the modern superhero era. Wolverine, Storm, Magneto, they were names that would eventually be very recognizable.
"The Uncanny X-Men.," Duke whispered.
Archie chuckled. "They aren't that uncanny. What, you think there's a future in the mutants?"
"Archie," Duke said, standing up and walking to the window but he couldn't see outside since the curtains were closed but he didnt want to lose aura by opening them.
"Find out the exact price. Call their legal team tomorrow. Don't use the Ajax name, use a shell company. I want the mutants. I want the school, the mansion, and every character associated with the title."
Archie didn't ask questions. He just nodded and started making notes. "Mutants. School, Mansion, Whole team."
___
Been watching knight of the seven kingdoms and its better than House of the Dragon