Chapter 198: The First Actor

"Mel Gibson actually had the nerve to say I shouldn't work with you! Who does he think he is?" When two massive egos collided, the fallout was bound to be severe.

Tom Cruise's eyes blazed with fury. "I have the freedom to work with any actor, director, producer, or studio I want! Never mind Mel Gibson, even his agent Martin Bob doesn't have the authority to stop me!"

"You do indeed have that right."

Duke raised his glass in a toast. Tom Cruise tipped his head back and drained half his champagne, snapping, "Does Mel Gibson think he can dictate to me just because his agent controls CAA?"

"Tom, there's no need to get this angry over such a little thing, is there?" Duke asked.

It sounded like an attempt to calm him down, but it worked like pouring gasoline on a fire.

Tom Cruise downed the rest of his champagne. "It's not just that. He actually laid into me for working with a Jewish pig..."

He caught himself quickly and added, "Sorry, Duke. Those were Mel Gibson's exact words."

"It's fine," Duke said with a magnanimous smile.

"We're partners, and we're friends, Duke." Tom Cruise looked the picture of fiercely loyal brotherhood, though perhaps only Mel Gibson knew how genuine that sentiment actually was. "That's why I got into a fight with him in the first place."

Duke was absolutely certain the situation wasn't nearly as simple as Cruise made it out to be.

Sure enough, Tom Cruise continued, "He... that vulgar Australian savage actually said all I do is sell my face on screen! He said I don't have a shred of acting skill! He said I'm only successful because of my looks!"

Those words had clearly struck a nerve.

Cruise's expression was thunderous. "What is he anyway? Duke, he's nothing but your defeated opponent! He's just a pathetic loser!"

Seeming to imagine the champagne flute was Mel Gibson, Tom Cruise slammed it down onto the small round table with a sharp clink.

Resting his chin on his left hand, Duke looked straight at Tom Cruise with an expression of utmost sincerity. "Tom, the person I admire and respect most in this world is my mother."

Tom Cruise looked slightly confused, not understanding why Duke was suddenly bringing up his mother.

Duke smiled. "My mother once told me that words are the weakest form of counterattack."

"Bring the absolute best version of yourself to Chicago. I believe I will succeed, and I believe you will succeed, too!" Duke leaned in, his voice firm. "When you win that Oscar Golden Statuette, will he still be laughing? When you walk right up to Gibson holding that Golden Statuette, you can savor the look on his face..."

Cruise nodded at first, but then frowned. "Braveheart is gunning for the awards right now. Do you think he'll win?"

"Action is the best form of counterattack," Duke said mildly.

"We just have to wait for the right opportunity." Tom Cruise stood up. "I'm going to pay him back double for the insults he threw at me today!"

Watching Tom Cruise walk away, Duke suddenly felt that coming to this party tonight had been the right move after all. He had unexpectedly gained an enemy of his enemy.

How exactly should he use this deteriorating relationship between Tom Cruise and Mel Gibson? That was a question Duke would need to consider carefully.

Tom Cruise's mood hadn't improved as he walked away. He hadn't clashed with Mel Gibson just because the man tried to interfere with his freedom to choose roles, or because he mocked him for being nothing but a pretty face. It was also because Cruise had heard rumors from elsewhere: a year ago, when Nicole Kidman returned to Sydney, she had been seen at a hotel with Mel Gibson. And they had stayed there for a full three hours...

That was one of the reasons he had gotten into such a massive argument with Nicole Kidman the other night.

Meanwhile, as he walked into the palm grove on the left side of the garden with Mel Gibson, Martin Bob's face looked just as awful. First, CAA had Tom Hanks working with Duke Rosenberg, and now Tom Cruise was working with him too. This didn't just expose the sharp internal conflicts within CAA to the outside world; it told all of Hollywood that he didn't have total control over the agency.

This would inevitably deal a blow to his prestige and standing within CAA. Martin Bob knew full well that Eno Martin was secretly behind this. The man was his most powerful competitor and was constantly plotting to take his position. If Eno actually managed to unite the majority of the partners—people like Pat Kingsley—then he would be in serious danger.

In truth, the voices questioning his leadership had been growing louder over the past few years. The most direct cause was that the package projects he spearheaded consistently underperformed or outright failed. Take Braveheart, for example. No matter how much he tried to spin it, he couldn't change the fact that the film was a box-office flop.

The film's North America box office hadn't even reached 25 million dollars so far, and the global box office sat at just over 73 million dollars. Forget turning a profit; the producers were still light-years away from simply breaking even.

The film's biggest hope for a turnaround was the Oscar. If they could snag a heavyweight award like Best Actor, Best Director, or Best Picture, they could turn the tide in the Videotape and television broadcast rights markets, just like The Shawshank Redemption did last year.

The Oscar was Braveheart's last hope. Even if the ancillary markets failed to turn things around, as long as it won major awards, it could still be considered a victory for CAA.

Under the bright lights, Martin Bob and Mel Gibson walked slowly forward in silence. Perhaps because the night was growing late, the howling sea breeze swept through the trees, rustling the leaves.

They ran into a few actresses trying to strike up a conversation along the way, but neither was in the mood to entertain them. They turned off onto a secluded path and found a random bench to sit on, racking their brains for some unique way to curry favor with the School judges present tonight and secure their future votes.

It would be so much easier if those old guys were interested in Mel Gibson.

Martin Bob glanced at the Australian savage beside him. If they were, he would absolutely make Mel Gibson bend over and stick his ass out.

Footsteps approached from a distance, and a few people came to a halt several dozen feet away. Because a few thick palm trees blocked their line of sight, Martin Bob and Mel Gibson couldn't see who was coming, but they could hear their discussion.

"Levi..."

It was an elderly voice. "Out of the films that have already been released, who are you leaning toward?"

"Old friend, have you forgotten our rules?"

Hearing that, both Martin Bob and Mel Gibson pricked up their ears. They had met the owner of that voice earlier tonight. It was Levi Roseman, the rotating chairman of the School!

"We've been friends for over fifty years." It was the other voice again. "Levi, this is just a private discussion. It doesn't violate the School's rules."

Martin Bob and Mel Gibson exchanged a look and focused all their attention on the conversation. They were definitely discussing the Oscar.

Levi Roseman's voice sounded again. "Unless a truly eye-catching film comes out in the upcoming slate, I think Saving Private Ryan and Duke Rosenberg are the most fitting choices."

"Don't you think he's a bit young? Besides, his reputation among the critics isn't exactly great."

"I know that." Levi Roseman didn't try to forcefully persuade his companion; his tone remained flat. "The media is always criticizing us for lacking the drive to reform. We have to show them something of substance eventually. The age record for Best Director is going to be rewritten sooner or later..."

His voice suddenly grew stern. "Why shouldn't the person who rewrites it be of Jewish descent?"

"You have a point. Duke Rosenberg is one of our own, after all."

The discussion continued over there, but Martin Bob and Mel Gibson's expressions turned incredibly ugly. They knew all too well just how powerful the Jewish Influence was in Hollywood.

"Damn Jewish pigs!"

Mel Gibson cursed under his breath. 'Why weren't all these damn bastards wiped out by the Nazis?'

A few minutes later, the discussion faded away. Footsteps sounded again, and soon the surroundings returned to silence, save for the howling wind.

"Is this the result of Warner and Fox's PR?" Mel Gibson asked.

Martin Bob nodded. "It's possible."

He went on, "Duke Rosenberg's ethnic advantage might introduce some uncontrollable variables."

Not even Mel Gibson could deny that. He slowly tapped his left hand against his right, his brows drawing together as a deeply thoughtful look settled into his eyes.

Half a minute later, he suddenly spoke up. "Martin, remember how I brought up Sophie Marceau?"

"Sophie Marceau?" Martin Bob hesitated for a moment. "We need to be careful with this!"

"The Oscar is Braveheart's last chance, and Duke Rosenberg and his movie are our biggest competitors!"

That name seemed to have become a curse in his mind. Mel Gibson simply couldn't forget the trouble Duke had caused him and the crushing defeat he had suffered in their competition. Furthermore, this was the key to his shot at the most prestigious award in the industry. Judging from the current situation, if he won, Best Director would be well within his reach...

"Martin, although there isn't any concrete proof, I'm sure CAA hasn't shied away from using... special methods in past Oscar races, right?"

Martin Bob's silence served as tacit agreement.

"Have you forgotten the losses Duke Rosenberg inflicted on the projects you spearheaded?" Mel Gibson asked, looking as though he were William Wallace roaring "Freedom!". "Or has your ambition been completely worn away?"

"I'm considering concrete strategies." A sharp glint flashed in Martin Bob's eyes. "Thinking about what it will take to move Sophie Marceau."

"Have you thought of anything?" Mel Gibson asked.

"Jodie Foster spent the night with a lesbian producer to secure the lead role in The Accused. Julia Roberts slept her way through all the producers for Pretty Woman. Demi Moore attended the producers' wild orgies for Ghost. As long as the benefits and the bait are big enough, these fame-chasing actresses will take their pants off and walk right onto the red carpet!"

Martin Bob stood up. "I've decided to take your advice. We're going to see Sophie Marceau."