Reason Requires a Gun

As the Sundance Film Festival came to an end, an independent film, "Sex, Lies, and Videotape," made newspaper headlines after selling for $1.2 million.

Harvey Weinstein of Miramax had used a baffling tactic that left the other independent distributors utterly stunned!

At the same time, Aaron Anderson, the CAA newcomer who had facilitated the deal, became well-known within CAA.

"You're really something, kid," Paula Wagner said in astonishment in an office at CAA headquarters.

Aaron Anderson shook his head. "I'm regretting it a little now. I acted on impulse. The price could have been higher—$1.5 million should have been about right!"

"Not bad at all. You set a sales record at the Sundance Film Festival. Plenty of people outside are saying Harvey Weinstein has gone crazy."

Aaron smiled. "Harvey's gone crazy? That guy struck gold. In my opinion, the box office for 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape' will exceed $20 million at the very least."

"Once the movie is released, Miramax will definitely make a name for itself!"

"$20 million?" Paula Wagner gasped. "You really dare to dream!"

"All right, Mr. Michael Ovitz has heard about what you did. Go to his office."

Aaron nodded and headed upstairs after leaving.

CAA had no internal rank divisions, and the office nameplates displayed only names, not titles.

Aaron knocked on the door to CAA chairman Michael Ovitz's office.

"Come in!"

Michael Ovitz was forty-six this year, looking sharp and full of energy.

"Quite a surprise. You just finished your trial period in the mailroom, and you've already pulled off something this big," Michael Ovitz said approvingly.

"There were quite a few coincidences," Aaron said, unusually modest.

"Heh, it's proof of your ability," Michael Ovitz said, handing Aaron a check.

"The commission on 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape' was originally $120,000. Although Steven Soderbergh isn't with CAA yet, you are."

"So, the $100,000 here is yours. The other $20,000 belongs to CAA!"

Aaron nodded. He had conducted the deal under CAA's name, so it was perfectly normal. He accepted the check.

"Steven Soderbergh should be signing with you, right?"

"Yeah, he agreed. He can come to the company to sign anytime," Aaron said with a shrug.

"Then do you have any plans for him?"

Aaron thought for a moment. "Nothing specific. The main priority is helping push the distribution of 'Sex, Lies, and Videotape' and getting him famous quickly."

"Very good. You're now officially a CAA agent. When the time comes, you'll personally host Steven Soderbergh's signing ceremony," Michael Ovitz said with a smile.

"Steven Soderbergh already has some recognition in the independent film circle. Several major directors have praised this film."

"When the time comes, CAA will get a share of the film's international revenue, videocassette revenue, and so on. If you keep delivering results like this, your bonus won't be small!"

"Don't worry, I will," Aaron said, then added, "Next, I may make a few trips abroad to look for promising talent."

"Of course. Many directors got their start through independent films. Follow your own ideas," Michael Ovitz said, naturally having no objections.

An Assistant Agent's annual salary was less than $30,000, while Aaron Anderson's abilities had already been proven.

At this rate, even some CAA partners would earn less than him. What was there to think about?

After leaving Michael Ovitz's office, Aaron went to the script storage room and began searching for useful scripts.

This should be the era when low-budget romantic comedies started breaking out!

"Mr. Anderson, these are all the synopsis drafts for romantic comedy scripts," the mailroom kid said, pointing at a pile of manuscripts.

"So many?"

"Yeah. We get scripts like these every day, and they've piled up over time!"

"Mm, thanks."

He used to be Aaron. Now he was Mr. Anderson. That was kind of interesting.

That evening, Aaron and Jack Wells went to a bar in West Hollywood to relax. On television, George H.W. Bush was being sworn in as the forty-first president of the United States. The Reagan Era had come to an end!

"This Hollywood president really did contribute quite a bit to Hollywood's development," Aaron said after taking a sip of his drink. Reagan Tax Reform had greatly reduced both personal and corporate income taxes.

After the Reagan Tax Reform, the highest personal income tax rate was 28%, while the highest corporate income tax rate was 46%.

Jack Wells smiled. "Reagan used to be an actor too. Maybe he was dissatisfied with the taxes back then!"

However, Reagan's successor, George H.W. Bush, was also a member of the Republican Party, so he probably would not take the Democratic Party's calls for higher taxes too seriously.

Hollywood now was not the future stronghold of the Democratic Party. The Republican Party was still king.

"By the way, you're about to sign director Steven Soderbergh. That means you've officially started down the path of an agent, right?"

Jack Wells's tone was filled with endless envy.

Aaron stood up with a smile and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. When the time comes, I'll introduce you to Steven Soderbergh. I don't have that much time to deal with his minor affairs."

"Build a good relationship with him. Steven Soderbergh's future is limitless!"

Well, Aaron simply thought Jack Wells was a good kid. They had known each other for several months, and he could be considered a friend, so Aaron could give him a hand.

As for himself, being an agent was no different from being a restaurant waiter in Aaron's eyes. How much future was there in being an agent forever?

Even reaching Michael Ovitz's position would never be enough to support Aaron's ambitions!

Late at night, Aaron was lying in bed in his Koreatown apartment when a burst of noise from next door woke him up. He immediately sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

"I told them long ago that if they disturbed me again, the consequences would be serious," Aaron Anderson said as he took out a handgun and walked out.

Bang... bang... bang... Aaron hammered directly on the neighboring apartment's door.

"Who is it?" an impatient voice called from the noisy room as the door opened.

Aaron saw what was inside: four or five men and women playing music and drinking, the entire room thick with smoke and fumes.

"What do you want?"

Aaron could not be bothered to say much. He pulled out the handgun at his waist and pointed it at them. "Turn off the music. Be quiet. Don't make another sound."

"The neighbors next door need to sleep. They have work tomorrow. You bunch of trash, do you have any public decency at all?"

The people inside swallowed hard. Were young people these days really this hot-tempered? He had pulled a gun on them just to make them be quiet.

"Uh, we..."

Aaron roared, "Answer me! Can you keep quiet tonight or not?"

"Yes, yes, yes," the guy who had opened the door said, even wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Good," Aaron said, patting the man's cheek before looking at the stunned people inside. His tone suddenly became gentle.

"Mm, don't make me come over here again. Otherwise, I'll send you bastards to meet God."

"Oh, and if you want to cause trouble for me, go directly to the Fairfax Jewish Mob's territory in Los Angeles!"

Aaron was moving out tomorrow. He was rich now—was he supposed to keep living with this bunch of scum?