Chapter 207: Scheming Bitch

A small circle of Jewish men had gathered. As members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, their conversation naturally revolved around tonight's Golden Globe Awards and the upcoming Oscars.

"Saving Private Ryan is certainly excellent, and Duke Rosenberg has shown obvious improvement, but I don't think he's suited for Best Director."

The white-haired, slightly balding old man was Arthur Miller.

"He's too young and still has plenty of room to grow," he told his companions. "Giving him an Oscar now might actually become a hindrance. I think Mel Gibson is a more suitable choice."

"Mr. Miller, I don't see it that way."

Even though the older man would serve as the Academy's next rotating president after the Oscar Awards Ceremony and might even become his father-in-law this year, Daniel Day-Lewis did not agree.

"Both Braveheart and Saving Private Ryan are too commercial and lack strong artistic expression," he said. "I think Tim Robbins and his Dead Man Walking are far more suitable."

"Have you forgotten?" Frank Pierson suddenly chimed in. "Duke Rosenberg is naturally one of us."

The group fell silent.

Arthur Miller, the Hollywood veteran and Marilyn Monroe's ex-husband, nodded in agreement.

"Frank, you're right," Miller said. "If he were ten years older, even if Roger Ebert and David Denby called me ten times a day, I would still..."

Daniel Day-Lewis suddenly tugged his arm, and Arthur Miller cut himself off mid-sentence. Tina Brown of Vanity Fair and David Firth of the Los Angeles Times were walking over. Some topics were fine for private discussion, but they were not meant for the ears of the press.

"Mr. Miller, Mr. Pierson..."

As the editor-in-chief of Vanity Fair, Tina Brown was a smooth social operator. She wanted to pry some information about the Oscars out of these Academy members, especially core figures like Arthur Miller and Frank Pierson. But the two men were sly old foxes who wouldn't leak anything so easily.

The atmosphere between them grew noticeably quiet and a bit stagnant.

Unable to dig up a big scoop, Tina Brown was not about to give up so easily.

"Mr. Miller, I heard..." she probed again.

"Duke Rosenberg, you damn Jewish pig!"

The sudden roar interrupted her. Tina Brown whipped her head around and, out of pure professional instinct, pulled a pen and a notepad from the clutch dangling at her wrist.

Beside her, David Firth, the entertainment editor-in-chief of the Los Angeles Times, did almost exactly the same thing. He instantly pulled a fountain pen and a small notebook from the inner pocket of his suit.

A damn Jewish pig?

As Jewish men—especially ones born before World War II who had lived through those dark years—Arthur Miller and Frank Pierson were exceptionally sensitive to those roared words. They immediately snapped their heads in that direction.

Daniel Day-Lewis and the other Jewish guests looked over as well.

Just as they turned their heads, the furious voice rang out again.

"Do you think just because you directed Saving Private Ryan, you can cover up the crimes of the Jews? You Jewish pigs should be held responsible for all the wars in the world..."

Instantly, all conversation in the vicinity died. Countless eyes turned toward the commotion, but that drunken, furious voice didn't stop.

"Anyone with Jewish blood is a piece of trash! Don't even think about controlling Hollywood!"

Many people in the banquet hall were stunned, completely clueless as to what was happening.

Tina Brown's hands were shaking. Not from anger, but from excitement. Mel Gibson was publicly insulting Duke Rosenberg... no, he was insulting all Jewish people. This was a massive scoop that Vanity Fair could not get even if they waited a whole year!

David Firth took down Mel Gibson's words verbatim. Tomorrow... tomorrow, the entire country would be in an uproar, wouldn't it? And even if it wasn't, the press would hype it up until it was!

A sharp glare shot out from his dim, yellowish eyes. Arthur Miller had rarely been this furious in recent years. He had just been thinking about pushing for Mel Gibson to win at the Oscars, and now this bastard was publicly insulting the entire Jewish community in front of everyone. It was nothing short of a slap in the face. How were his old friends supposed to look at him now?

Frank Pierson stared coldly at Mel Gibson. If he were thirty years younger... no, even just twenty years younger, he would absolutely throw away his so-called gentlemanly demeanor, march right up, and viciously beat that barbarian to a pulp.

Everyone was looking in that direction, staring at Mel Gibson and the other key player in the incident... Duke.

The Australian barbarian standing opposite him looked like a drunken gorilla, spewing curses like "Jewish pig." He was so loud and drew so much attention that even if Sophie Marceau had stripped naked right there, she wouldn't have come close.

This completely exceeded Duke's best expectations, allowing him to achieve his goal with absolute ease.

Mel Gibson was still breathing heavily, reeking of alcohol. His face, just three feet away, looked exceptionally hideous and repulsive. Suddenly, a large hand shot out and grabbed Duke by the collar, striking the first physical blow.

At a moment like this, there was no way Duke was going to hesitate. He balled his right hand into a fist. His right arm—the same one that used to easily throw a seventy-yard pass—swung out fiercely and smashed heavily into Mel Gibson's right cheek. The alcohol-laced curses came to an abrupt halt. The force snapped Gibson's head back, staggering him several steps backward.

Before he could even recover his senses, a middle-aged man darted out from the side and delivered a vicious kick to Gibson's leg. The Australian barbarian couldn't keep his balance any longer and collapsed onto the floor with a heavy thud.

This sudden turn of events momentarily stunned Duke. But once he saw who had jumped out, he wasn't surprised. It was Daniel Day-Lewis, the British Jewish actor who had started out as a street hooligan and was notorious for his eccentric temperament. Much like his universally acclaimed acting skills, his personality was widely recognized as entirely unpredictable.

In other words, he could be considered an artist among ruffians and hooligans.

This commotion naturally alarmed many people. Right after Daniel Day-Lewis landed his kick, several people immediately rushed between Duke and Mel Gibson, completely separating the two.

Standing on the periphery, Tom Cruise had been playing the role of a bystander all along. Right now, he felt incredibly satisfied. He suddenly thought that Duke Rosenberg might actually make a decent partner; that punch had truly been satisfying to watch. Most importantly, he knew that Mel Gibson's career was about to face a definitive turning point, plunging straight from its peak into a downward spiral.

Racial discrimination was a forbidden zone that public figures could not touch. Tom Cruise knew this very well. If Gibson had insulted Black people, he could have made some excuse about being drunk, offered a sincere apology, kept quiet for a year or two, and eventually found a chance to make a comeback. But he had insulted Jews! He had insulted all Jewish people, and he had done it right to the faces of Hollywood veterans like Arthur Miller and Frank Pierson!

Then there were high-profile media figures like Tina Brown and David Firth—would they ever let a story like this go? How massive was the influence of Vanity Fair and the Los Angeles Times? Among the executives and shareholders behind them, how many were of Jewish descent? Would they let Mel Gibson's blatant insult against the Jewish community slide?

'You're finished!'

Tom Cruise cast a look of pure mockery in that direction and began calculating how he and his team could kick Gibson while he was down.

Duke shook out his slightly aching right hand. His gaze pierced through the crowd, resting coldly on Mel Gibson. Now restrained by venue security and waitstaff, Gibson kept shaking his head, seemingly trying to sober up.

Withdrawing his gaze, Duke didn't spare Mel Gibson another glance. This Australian barbarian had tried to use despicable tactics to frame him as a rapist, trying to make him as miserable an outcast as Roman Polanski. Naturally, Duke had to deliver a heavyweight response. He just wondered if Mel Gibson would be able to withstand the pressure of the impending storm.

The Jewish people had always been sensitive. It wouldn't even be an exaggeration to say that Jewish groups suffered from a sort of persecution complex. In Hollywood circles especially, any hint of anti-Semitism would invite a ferocious counterattack from the Jewish Club.

What was the root cause of this incident? Arthur Miller had no interest in finding out. Some things could be thought, and they could even be whispered in private, but spewing them out in public meant there would be a price to pay.

"Frank..." he said to the man beside him. "You take charge of contacting our friends in the media. This matter cannot be suppressed."

"Daniel..."

Daniel Day-Lewis, who had already stepped back, looked at him.

"If we need witnesses, can you help out?" Arthur Miller continued.

"It is my duty."

The Oscar Best Actor winner nodded without a second thought. He was well aware that his current standing in the industry owed much to the support of certain powerful factions.

Besides, with so many people present, there was no way something like this could be buried anyway.

Duke was equally clear on this point. That was precisely why he had specifically chosen the Golden Globe Awards afterparty to test whether a drunk Mel Gibson was truly as arrogant and loose-lipped as he used to be. The final results proved that, even ten years ahead of schedule, Mel Gibson's views on the Jewish community were deeply ingrained.

Even in the worst-case scenario, this would still be enough to sabotage Mel Gibson's chances at Best Director.

At some point, Duke realized that Sofia Coppola had walked up beside him.

"I just saw Arthur Miller," she whispered in his ear. "He looked furious."

"Monroe's ex-husband and the next rotating president of the Academy?"

Seeing Sofia nod, the corners of Duke's mouth curled up slightly. If they weren't in a public setting, he definitely would have burst into laughter. Miller had been deeply rooted in Hollywood for decades; his influence was incredibly vast.

Stifling a smile before it could fully form, Duke leaned into Sofia's ear.

"Inform Nancy and Penny Kalis about this," he said. "And Warner and Fox, too. I remember Disney still owes me a favor. Michael Eisner and Michael Ovitz are also of Jewish descent; they ought to do something about this as well."

The night was long, and a massive storm had only just begun.