"Congratulations, Sofia. You've taken another step toward winning Best Director." At the after-party, Gilbert offered his friend his congratulations.
Sofia, usually known for her monotonous nasal tone, actually sounded grateful this time. "I should be thanking you. If it weren't for your help, I wouldn't have gotten this nomination."
"No need to be so polite, Sofia," Gilbert waved his hand dismissively. "But winning Best Director won't be easy."
Sofia acknowledged that she understood. Even getting nominated this time had been an unexpected surprise—winning was nothing more than a distant dream.
Gilbert had played a significant role in securing her nomination, along with the deep connections of the Coppola family within Hollywood and the Italian-American voting bloc at the Academy.
But winning an Oscar? That was a different story.
Gilbert himself had been nominated three times for Best Director before finally winning on his third attempt. The Academy's excuse had always been that he was too young and lacked the necessary experience.
However, thanks to his contributions to the global expansion of Hollywood films—and the strong support from Italian-American and Squidward-voting members—Gilbert became the first director under thirty to win Best Director.
To put things in perspective, Martin Scorsese, another Italian-American director, still hadn't won an Oscar for Best Director.
But Scorsese was making big moves recently. He had assembled Daniel Day-Lewis, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Cameron Diaz for his upcoming film Gangs of New York.
Coincidentally, Gangs of New York was a project handled by Michael Ovitz in collaboration with Miramax Films.
Given past tensions between Michael Ovitz, the Weinstein brothers, and Gilbert, one might have expected them to sideline anyone associated with him. Yet, they still chose Cameron Diaz for a major role.
Even Diaz herself was surprised. She had assumed she had no chance of landing the part, yet somehow, she got it.
This just proved that in the business world, no matter how deep personal conflicts ran, commercial interests always came first.
Besides, the tensions between Michael Ovitz, the Weinsteins, and Gilbert weren't personal feuds—just standard competition in Hollywood, where rivalry and cooperation coexisted.
Speaking of Diaz, her movie Charlie's Angels, co-starring Drew Barrymore, had already entered post-production and was awaiting a suitable release window.
This film was unique because it was a commercial action movie led by three female stars—something not common in Hollywood's mainstream action blockbusters.
Though similar films existed, they were rare, which made Sony-Columbia Pictures somewhat hesitant. They weren't confident enough to schedule it for a summer blockbuster release.
After chatting with Sofia for a bit, Gilbert went to find Charlize Theron.
She was engaged in a lively conversation with a female director named Patty Jenkins. The two seemed to be getting along well.
"What are you two talking about?" Gilbert asked as he approached.
"Hey," Charlize Theron introduced, "this is Patty Jenkins, a director. We've been having a great conversation."
Gilbert glanced at Patty Jenkins and asked, "Getting into an event like this isn't easy, is it?"
Patty Jenkins responded, "Actually, a friend of my mother brought me in. He directed a documentary that won an Oscar."
"Oh?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "Well, congratulations to him then…"
They exchanged a few more words, but perhaps Gilbert's aura as a top director was too overwhelming, because Patty Jenkins soon excused herself and left.
Gilbert then turned to Charlize Theron and gave her a warning. "You should be careful about who you associate with. You don't want to get scammed."
Hollywood was full of such stories—so-called screenwriters or directors pitching seemingly promising projects to producers or major directors in hopes of securing funding.
Some scammers had the nerve to keep the con going once they got the money, while others took the cash and disappeared.
It had happened many times, and even Hollywood's sharpest minds had fallen victim to such schemes.
Charlize Theron, being a savvy person herself, was ironically at high risk of being deceived.
Seeing how much Gilbert cared, Theron was pleased. "Don't worry. I'm not the type to fall for scams so easily."
"Good," Gilbert nodded, then asked, "What was she saying to you just now?"
"She said that if I want to win an Oscar, I'll have to take on a certain kind of role—something unconventional," Charlize Theron replied.
Compared to Cameron Diaz, both Naomi Watts and Charlize Theron had their sights set on winning an Oscar.
Naomi Watts had already achieved that dream, but Charlize Theron hadn't yet, which was why she had chosen to star in Sofia's film.
Otherwise, with her Matrix series success, Charlize Theron was already firmly established as a top-tier Hollywood actress.
Gilbert said, "Your acting has improved significantly over the past few years. What you're missing is the right role."
Charlize Theron looked at Gilbert with anticipation. "If I come across a role that's really dark and twisted, would you support me in taking it?"
"Of course," Gilbert's answer didn't disappoint her. "I would never interfere with your film choices—just as long as you don't end up in San Fernando Valley."
Charlize Theron rolled her eyes. Who would go there to shoot a movie? She was a serious actress!
"Speaking of scams," Charlize suddenly remembered something, "I just saw that Anne Hathaway you brought with you getting harassed by some old guy."
"Oh? Where?" Gilbert asked immediately.
"I think they went towards the lounge. Should we go check?" Charlize Theron asked.
"You stay here. I'll go take a look." Gilbert put down his drink and strode toward the lounge.
There were over a dozen lounges in this area. Gilbert searched through most of them before finally finding Anne Hathaway in a secluded room at the far end, accompanied by the old man.
"Jacqueline, if you want to become a Hollywood star, you need to learn how to socialize and handle these big Hollywood figures. And to do that, you have to know how to drink."
The old man, who looked to be around sixty, was trying to get the visibly tipsy Anne Hathaway to drink even more.
Anne Hathaway was clearly disoriented. She tried to refuse but was still forced to take another drink.
Gilbert found the old man familiar. Then it hit him—he had seen him at a certain Squidward Club gathering.
Gilbert had stopped attending those gatherings because he couldn't stand their extreme rhetoric and actions. He had simply donated five hundred dollars' worth of ice cream to "cool them down" and never returned.
However, he still remembered this hook-nosed old man. At that gathering, the man had been loudly chanting slogans about the western Mediterranean.
The old man was in the middle of pouring more drinks when he noticed Gilbert enter and was momentarily stunned.
But he reacted quickly, immediately putting on a friendly smile. "Hey, Director Gilbert! Jacqueline and I were just having a great conversation, and here you are."
"Oh? So, you mean I'm ruining your good time?" Gilbert's tone was sharp.
The old man had been around Hollywood long enough to know that Anne Hathaway had acted in one of Gilbert's films and had some connection to him.
Sensing Gilbert's aggression, the old man decided to back down. "I just noticed that Miss Hathaway wasn't feeling well, so I brought her here to rest."
"Rest? Resting involves drinking? Do you not know that it's illegal for anyone under twenty-one to drink?" Gilbert snapped.
Fortunately, the lounge was soundproof, and this particular room was far enough away that his outburst didn't attract unwanted attention.
The hook-nosed old man thought to himself, Who actually cares about that law? People drink all the time.
Gilbert helped up the nearly unconscious Anne Hathaway, preparing to take her out of there.
The old man looked awkward. He wanted to say something to stop them but didn't dare—and he had no excuse to do so.
What a pity. He had gone to all this trouble to reel in his catch, planning to take her elsewhere for some "fun."
With his status, he had always assumed that aspiring Hollywood actresses wouldn't dare reject him.
He knew the reality of Hollywood all too well—many of the glamorous women seen on screen had done whatever it took to get there.
Some actresses remained that way even after making it big, indulging in their vices even more.
He had assumed Anne Hathaway was one of those women. In fact, she was—just not for him. She had a bigger fish to latch onto—Gilbert.
With no other choice, the old man watched helplessly as Anne Hathaway slipped from his grasp, unwilling to cause a scene with Gilbert.
Gilbert carried Anne Hathaway out of the party and got into a car to leave.
"Boss, where should we take her?" his assistant, Anna, asked.
Gilbert hesitated. He had no idea where Anne Hathaway lived in Los Angeles. "Take her to Melon Manor. She can stay in the guest room for the night."
With nothing else planned for the evening, Gilbert decided to head back as well.
As he reflected on the night's events, he found them utterly absurd.
Breaking it down—an old man had taken a liking to Anne Hathaway and tried to make a move. She wasn't interested, so he resorted to forcing drinks on her.
On the surface, Anne Hathaway seemed like a well-behaved girl, but Gilbert knew she wasn't exactly an innocent type.
And in a setting like that, no one really cared about drinking laws. So, she had been led into the lounge.
At least it was just a lounge. If she had been taken somewhere more private, even Gilbert wouldn't have been able to save her.
Having spent a decade in Hollywood, Gilbert had come to realize that the things people thought wouldn't happen often did. The absurd became the norm.
An old man, driven purely by lust, had acted on impulse. To outsiders, it might seem foolish, but in Hollywood, this was just another night.
In fact, compared to others in the industry, this old man was relatively tame—at least he made the first move himself. Many powerful Hollywood figures didn't even need to try. Women came to them willingly, offering themselves up without hesitation.
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