Chapter 312: Occupational Habit
Chapter 312: Occupational Habit
Inside a brightly lit estate in Beverly Hills, the kickoff celebration party for The Godfather Part III was being held in full swing. Beside the swimming pool outside the villa, a middle-aged man in his forties, somewhat overweight and balding, was gesturing animatedly as he spoke to the dark-haired woman beside him.
“Back then, I worked as Mr. Coppola’s assistant on both Godfather films. The position was equivalent to assistant director. You have to understand, I was only in my early thirties then. Becoming an assistant director in Hollywood at thirty isn’t easy. In the years afterward, I also kept in touch with Mr. Coppola. The investor for my film was also introduced by Mr. Coppola. He thinks very highly of this script of mine, so, Miss Connelly, as long as you perform well, I guarantee this will let you successfully transform your image.”
Although Jennifer Connelly felt somewhat impatient, she did not dare show it at all. Ever since she lost the encounter-girl role in Running Out of Time last year, her agent, Jim Lester, no longer focused most of his attention on her. Because of that, she had not obtained a single role for an entire year.
If things continued dragging on like this, perhaps Hollywood would completely forget her. Every time she thought of that possibility, she felt an intense unease. If she left Hollywood, what else could she do? Aside from acting, she knew nothing else.
Find a man to marry and become a full-time housewife? She could accept that option, but she was not willing to live a dull life worrying about daily necessities. Even if she married, she hoped to live a little more comfortably.
But among the people she knew, the only ones who could give her such a life were men like the one in front of her: forty or fifty years old, with a certain level of experience and status in Hollywood. Leaving aside the fact that these men were usually around the same age as her father, in Hollywood, their marriages were also the least reliable. Perhaps she would be abandoned at some point. By then, once she was older and her beauty had faded, what would she do?
“Hey, Miss Connelly, are you listening to me?”
She had only drifted off slightly when a displeased voice sounded by her ear. The woman quickly gathered herself and gave a smile. “Sorry, Mr. Brandt.”
Tony Brandt was very satisfied with the woman’s attitude. His gaze once again discreetly swept over the bulge where the woman’s black evening gown was propped high by her chest before he said, “Miss Connelly, spacing out on such a formal occasion is very rude. Those important figures won’t be as generous as I am. Oh, Mr. Coppola has come out, and Al Pacino too. That one… seems to be his nephew, Nicolas Cage.”
Jennifer Connelly also saw several people walking out of the villa while chatting and laughing. The bearded man with glasses in the middle was clearly Francis Coppola. The people who had originally been chatting in the courtyard gathered around one after another to greet him.
“Miss Connelly, come on. Let’s go up and say hello too,” Tony Brandt said, slightly raising his arm.
Jennifer Connelly hesitated for a moment, but still took the man’s arm and walked toward Francis Coppola’s group.
After they reached Francis Coppola, Tony Brandt waited for the previous group to leave, then quickly released Jennifer Connelly and walked toward Coppola with a fawning smile.
“Mr. Coppola, congratulations on directing the final installment of The Godfather series. I believe this film will definitely create another sensation.”
“Thank you, Tony. How is that film of yours coming along?” Francis Coppola shook Tony Brandt’s hand and casually asked.
“It’s almost ready to start filming. Oh, this is the female lead I chose, Miss Jennifer Connelly. She appeared in Mr. Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in America. Deborah, the little girl. I don’t know if you still remember.”
Francis Coppola looked Jennifer Connelly up and down, his gaze like he was appraising an object. To Hollywood magnates like them, no beauty could truly amaze them anymore.
Being examined by that kind of gaze, the woman, who had originally wanted to greet Francis Coppola, immediately felt restrained and uneasy. The right hand she had prepared to raise quietly dropped, and she awkwardly clutched the skirt of her gown.
“Mm, not bad. She’s just a little too beautiful. Tony, that film of yours is a drama. A female lead being too beautiful isn’t necessarily a good thing.”
Tony Brandt was just about to speak when Francis Coppola waved his hand. “Of course, that’s a film you’ve prepared for a long time, so how you choose the female lead is your business. I won’t interfere.”
“No, no, no, Mr. Coppola. Without you, I wouldn’t even know where to get the investment. Besides, your eye is far better than mine. If you think she’s unsuitable, I’ll definitely reconsider carefully.”
Hearing Tony Brandt say this, the woman slightly parted her lips and looked toward Francis Coppola. Her fingers, clutching the skirt, trembled from the force she used. Her heart was filled with grievance. It had not been easy for her to fight for this role, yet it could be ruined just because of a casual comment from these people. For an instant, she wished all these important figures would be dragged into hell.
Connelly’s expression happened to be seen by Francis Coppola. Coppola quickly patted Tony Brandt’s shoulder and smiled. “Don’t be like that, Tony. I was only saying it casually. This little girl is still not bad. If you replace her, who knows how many times she’ll curse me in secret.”
“How could that be? Miss Connelly admires you very much. We were just discussing your films earlier,” Tony Brandt hurriedly said. He even lightly nudged the woman beside him.
Jennifer Connelly held back the urge to sniffle and was about to force herself to speak, but Francis Coppola had already led Al Pacino and Nicolas Cage elsewhere.
“Frank, who was that man just now? I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere,” Al Pacino asked after the three walked away.
Francis Coppola casually replied, “When we filmed the first two Godfather movies, he worked as my assistant, so that’s why you have an impression of him. We’ve kept in occasional contact over the years. Some time ago, he planned to shoot a film himself and came to me for help. I couldn’t refuse because of our past connection, so I introduced him to a few investors.”
Al Pacino thought for a moment but still could not remember Tony Lambert, so he tossed it aside.
Seeing Nicolas Cage, who stood on Francis Coppola’s other side, still unwilling to give up as he looked toward the entrance, Al Pacino smiled. “Alright, Nick, I already told you Eric rarely attends parties. He doesn’t really like these occasions. You’d better prepare properly for the audition. As long as your performance satisfies Eric, and with you being a member of the Coppola family, I believe Eric will definitely give you the male lead role in Ghost.”
Hearing Al Pacino suddenly mention Eric, Francis Coppola also showed an emotional expression. “Speaking of that, during that storm some time ago, many people thought that little guy wouldn’t make it through. Unexpectedly, not only did he come out completely unharmed in the end, he even made Michael Eisner suffer a hidden loss and hand over a script. Al, you’ve worked with Eric Williams before. What kind of person do you think he is?”
Al Pacino thought for a moment, then gently shook his head. “I can’t really say. At the end of the year before last, I had just returned and was performing in a play on Broadway when Eric found me. In a café, he told me about his script. I didn’t find anything particularly special about it and was originally going to refuse. Then that little guy confidently started telling me about the script for Scent of a Woman. After that, I realized I was tempted, and soon came with him to Los Angeles. If I really had to describe him, he’s… very mature. Far more mature than others his age. When you interact with him, you quickly forget that the person in front of you is a young man under twenty. Instead, it feels like you’re chatting with someone your own age.”
“When you put it that way, I’d like to meet this miraculous young man too,” Francis Coppola said with a smile. “I think Steven has dealt with him before. He wanted to get the adaptation rights to Jurassic Park, but that little guy rejected him. Haha. In Hollywood, there aren’t many people who can make Steven suffer a setback.”
“He certainly has that qualification now,” Al Pacino said with a smile as well.
Francis Coppola paused briefly, then smiled. “That’s true. He really does have that qualification now. Maybe in just a few years, Hollywood’s Seven Majors will become Eight Majors. I truly don’t know how he managed to create so many hit films. Last year’s box-office top ten had Firefly productions taking up half the list. It’s truly astonishing.”
As the three were speaking, they saw a commotion seem to appear near the estate entrance in the distance. They exchanged glances and walked in that direction at the same time, wanting to see what was happening.
…
“Famke, why do you look a little stiff? Does the gown not fit?” Eric asked curiously while driving toward the Coppola family estate, glancing at Famke Janssen in the passenger seat.
At the moment, the woman was wearing a rose-colored, one-shouldered, cinched-waist evening gown. Her hair had also been pinned into a bun. Although she had only touched up with a layer of simple light makeup, she looked many times more beautiful than when Eric had first seen her that afternoon.
“No, nothing. It’s just an occupational habit,” Famke Janssen said somewhat embarrassedly. Her hands finally relaxed and rested on her knees.
“Occupational habit?” Eric became even more curious.
“Yes.” The woman smiled awkwardly, but still explained, “When I attended fashion shows before, the clothes we wore were handmade by designers. If we accidentally tore them, small-time models like us couldn’t afford to pay for them. So after walking the runway, we would wish we could take them off immediately.”