Sandra's place was in the Bird Streets neighbourhood of Beverly Hills, right next to the star-packed Trousdale Estates.
The Range Rover rolled into the quarter-acre estate; Simon hadn't even stepped out when Sandra, wearing a white dress with mesh suspenders at the waist, came jogging from the villa.
Simon glanced at the cars filling the courtyard and the moving silhouettes inside, hugged Sandra, took a gift from Neil Bennett and handed it to her, then asked curiously, "Why the crowd?"
After the hug Sandra slipped her arm through his, gift cradled in her other hand, and headed for the house. "I only wanted a quiet celebration, but for the past two weeks people kept asking about it, and whether Simon Westeros would show. I couldn't say no; that'd be too embarrassing. And now… this".
Simon chuckled. "If you'd told me earlier, I could've loaned you the Palisades place".
Sandra rolled her eyes. "Forget it. I can't afford a party like your birthday bashes".
It was already evening. The moment the pair stepped inside, guests, chatting or pretending to, turned in unison.
These days Daenerys Pictures shone ever brighter: not only had its summer pair 'Pulp Fiction' and 'Basic Instinct' cleaned up, but it had cracked TV as well, 'Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?' ratings were jaw-dropping.
As the man behind it all, Simon had become the centre of Hollywood's attention.
Sure, there were controversies, but everyone knew that in Hollywood only box-office and ratings mattered; everything else was noise.
If you could deliver a hit film or a smash show, to studios and networks you were God.
Likewise, 'Pulp Fiction' and 'Basic Instinct' had reignited a slew of careers; to the army of actors chasing that break, Simon was the God who could catapult them overnight.
Busy as he was, Simon had barely attended parties lately; Sandra's birthday became prime hunting ground for face-time with him.
As the first star Simon had minted, Sandra was linked to him in endless rumours, public and private, and no one believed their relationship was platonic.
With Sandra clinging openly to his arm, Simon worked the room like a co-host for over half an hour. When they finally escaped, they ducked into a secluded second-floor sitting room.
The house wasn't huge, but the location was prime: a gentle slope to the south let the chaise on the terrace overlook downtown Los Angeles already glimmering at dusk.
Sandra brought a glass of red, perched on the edge of the lounger and, seeing Simon leafing lazily through a magazine, offered the wine. "So, why didn't Jenny come?" she teased.
Simon sipped. "You actually want her here?"
Sandra leaned down, resting on his chest. "Then will you stay tonight?"
Simon, a red-blooded male, didn't mind intimacy with Sandra, but staying overnight would open a bigger can of worms.
He gave a regretful shake of his head, mimicking Janette's tone: "Home by twelve, mister".
"That strict?" Sandra scoffed, took a tiny sip from his glass, and whispered, "Dump her. I'll let you stay till two".
Simon steadied the glass. "And what if the next one lets me stay out all night?"
Sandra frowned at the dilemma, then quickly compromised. "We can negotiate".
"I don't do spineless women".
"Hmph. Spineless man, home whenever your woman says".
As a challenge to his male pride, Simon wouldn't have it. "I do whatever I want. To prove it, I'm leaving at eleven".
"Hah".
More guests kept arriving; as hostess Sandra couldn't vanish for long, so after a while they headed back down.
When the pair re-entered the living room everyone looked nonchalant, eyes brimming with innuendo, some female guests visibly disappointed.
Not even half an hour…
Night fell and the birthday bash officially began.
The party wasn't as grand as Simon's earlier that year, but Hollywood A-listers packed the guest list.
Top brass from WMA and the major studios dropped by; many only showed their faces, exchanged pleasantries and left, yet even that dazzled the lesser starlets.
Sandra herself knew they'd come for Simon.
Just as Terry Semel's intention that afternoon, all of Hollywood knew…
Daenerys Pictures was hunting for its next film project.
'Pulp Fiction' and 'Basic Instinct' had filled Orion and Fox's coffers; the former had practically carried Orion's entire year. Seeing that, every player in town was scrambling to buddy up with Daenerys.
"Nancy is a Chicago commodities trader whose record is mediocre, she's about to be laid off. By chance she meets Nec, a demon who can see the future. Desperate for success, Nancy trades her soul for tips on whether futures will rise or fall…"
On the back lawn Simon listened patiently as Jonathan introduced producer George Crane pitching the premise, then smiled: "Interesting concept, George, but commodity trading feels distant to most people".
Crane brightened. "Good point, Simon, I'm happy to swap her to a stockbroker".
Simon didn't plan to string him along; devil-pact stories rarely surprise: the heroine repents, rejects or passes the demon's test, and true love wins.
"Tell you what, have someone send the script to Daenerys tomorrow. If it pops, I'll call you".
Crane knew that meant slim odds; after a few pleasantries he excused himself.
Jonathan watched him go. "I actually liked it. You think it's a no-go?"
Simon shook his head. "Too generic, and nothing made me sit up".
"Hollywood's never short of fresh ideas, but with tens of millions on the line everyone prefers proven templates tweaked just enough", Jonathan said, then glanced at Sandra. "Speaking of which, that 'A Fish Called Wanda' you tossed Sandy's way is a dark-horse smash, headed for maybe sixty-plus in North America alone. With her ten-percent gross deal she'll be the highest-paid actress this year".
Simon shrugged. "I was a little surprised too; at the time I just thought the script was pretty interesting".
Jonathan wore a smile, but deep down he instinctively felt this was no accident.
Having just heard the idea of striking a bargain with the devil to gain foresight, Jonathan even felt that everything Simon had shown since his debut, his Hollywood moves and last year's billion-dollar haul in the stock-index futures market, looked exactly like a deal with the devil.
He kept that thought to himself; though no hard-core atheist, he still found it rather absurd.
Once Jonathan stepped away, Sandra made no effort to hide her curiosity, sliding her hand along Simon's arm and whispering, "Hey, did you make a deal with the devil too?"
Simon gave a mysterious nod, glanced around, and said, "Actually an angel, met her two years ago when I was in the psychiatric ward".
Sandra's eyes widened theatrically. "Introduce me sometime".
Simon sighed. "Alas, she's already back with God".
While the two bantered, a tall woman in a black evening gown approached, Nicole Kidman.
"Simon, Sandy, what are you two gossiping about?"
Sandra answered breezily, "Simon says he's met God".
Nicole blinked, then managed, "Well… that's… interesting".
Simon, exasperated, he was perfectly alive, thank you, ignored Sandra and asked Nicole, "How's George's 'Dead Calm' coming along?"
Daenerys Pictures still held two options on Nicole, but with no suitable projects ready Simon had agreed she could shoot George Miller's 'Dead Calm' first.
For similar reasons, Samuel L. Jackson and Meg Ryan, who also had option deals with Daenerys, were doing the same.
"It's freezing in Australia; shooting starts around September," Nicole said, eyes sparkling. "I hear you plan to film batman there".
"Yep", Simon confirmed. "Seasonal reasons, early next year is perfect over there".
Nicole didn't hide her hope. "Honestly, Simon, isn't there any role for me, even a tiny cameo?"
Simon shook his head regretfully. "I can't bear to waste one of your options on a bit part".
"Then don't count it against the contract," Nicole said brightly. "Who could refuse an invitation from Simon Westeros?"
With such pleasantries the lively party flew by.
After ten o'clock guests began drifting off; by nearly eleven the mansion was almost empty.
Despite the crowd, Sandra hadn't hired a party planner.
Seeing her assistant Gina Kollos clearing up alone, Simon asked, "Should we call someone to help?"
"Tomorrow's soon enough", Sandra said, dismissing Gina and pulling Simon onto the sofa. Curling against him, she murmured, "So you really won't stay tonight?"
Simon slipped a fingertip through the mesh at her waist and teased, "You want to wake up to gossip headlines tomorrow?"
Sandra laughed, batting his mischievous hand away. "If I could steal Simon Westeros, I wouldn't mind".
Simon smiled, leaned in to kiss her forehead goodbye, but Sandra caught his neck and kissed him on the lips.
They lingered on the sofa awhile, yet Simon still left, gossip neither of them minded, but Janette's feelings mattered.
The next day was Wednesday.
Though Simon hadn't stayed over, the tabloids still splashed his appearance at Sandra's birthday. Few cared; a twenty-year-old with fame and fortune beyond most people's dreams was expected to generate endless romantic rumours.
Simon paid no heed, he had a thorny problem named rain man to solve.
Before last year's 'Good Morning, Vietnam', TV-honed Barry Levinson, like Robin Williams, was merely a second-tier director. But then, 'Good Morning, Vietnam' earned $123 million domestic, more than Levinson's entire prior filmography combined.
In this era any director with a $100-million North American hit became Hollywood royalty overnight.
With status came temperament; Levinson "went rogue" alongside his two male leads, doing his share to strain 'Rain Man's tight budget.
To keep the project from spiralling, Simon personally supervised production. When post-production began he handed Levinson a seventeen-page memo compiled from weekly dailies notes, hoping the director would heed his suggestions in the edit.
That was when the trouble started.
Recently Simon kept hearing Levinson publicly complain about "excessive interference". If Daenerys hadn't spiked one article, the grumbling would already have appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.
In the original deal Michael Ovitz had secured Levinson a full month of final-cut post-production.
Simon, valuing the original cast and crew, had agreed; now he regretted it.
Still, the month finally passed.
Simon refused to yield further and demanded to see the rough cut.
In Daenerys's headquarters screening room…
Three-and-a-half hours of rough cut; Simon watched barely an hour before killing the projector. Turning to Levinson he said, "Barry, in just this hour I counted at least five details I flagged in my memo that aren't in the film. I need an explanation".
Levinson shrugged. "Simon, I think it cuts better this way. Those details you mention, totally unnecessary".
Simon kept staring. "Or… Barry, you're doing it on purpose, aren't you?"
Levinson bristled. "Simon, I don't like people meddling in my work".
"But understand this", Simon said, voice cold. "I gave you this job. You've burned through 25 million of my dollars, maybe more, so you're obligated to deliver something that satisfies me".
Levinson's temper flared. "Westeros, I'm a director, not your slave. I'll make this film the best I can, my way. If you can't accept that, you shouldn't have hired me. You know how many studios would hand me twenty-five million to shoot a picture?"
"Then we're done", Simon said, rising. "Daenerys is taking over post-production completely. And Barry, under your contract you're obliged to protect this film's reputation, so I don't want to hear any more public comments about 'Rain Man'. It's better for both of us".