Chapter 872: Dwayne Laying Low!

In the sleek, dimly lit office, Ari Emmanuel leaned back in his chair, exhaustion etched into his features. He yawned deeply, rubbing the dark circles under his eyes. "I barely slept last night," he muttered, voice heavy with fatigue. "Raymond and Dwayne Johnson called me over a dozen times, and I was up all night dealing with it."

Across the room, Martin stood tall, his energy a sharp contrast to Ari's weariness, though his expression was grave. "I was at the hospital all night," he said, his tone serious. "No sleep for me either."

Ali, noticing the tension, asked cautiously, "Is Jack really that badly hurt?"

Martin's face darkened further. "It's bad," he admitted. "Jack was so disoriented, he couldn't even stand. He didn't recognize Leo or me, and he couldn't even recognize his own daughter, Lorraine."

Ari knew that Martin, Leo, and Jack, often referred to as the Iron Trio, were nearly inseparable. If Jack Nicholson, the stalwart among them, was injured, it could spell serious trouble.

Thomas, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. "Jack was trying to stop Johnson from harassing Alexandra, one of our clients."

Ari's eyes narrowed, his voice calm but resolute. "The company will handle this appropriately."

Ari glanced at his watch, pondering the situation. Balancing the scales between Martin's loyalty and Dwayne Johnson's public image was a delicate task. "The negotiations between Lorraine and Johnson's team should be wrapping up by now," he mused aloud.

That morning, Lorraine, alongside her attorney, had been at WMA, discussing the aftermath with Johnson's team, who had requested the meeting. The pressure on Dwayne Johnson was immense, with the public eye scrutinizing his every move.

Martin's voice broke into Ari's thoughts. "Ari, let's put this aside for now. I won't meddle in the outcome of Lorraine and Johnson's discussion, but one thing is clear, Johnson must issue a public apology to Alexandra."

Ari nodded in agreement. "I'll make sure Johnson understands that."

If Johnson didn't apologize publicly, Ari knew the backlash would be brutal. The feminist community, already stirred up, wouldn't let him off the hook easily.

As Martin received a message on his phone, he excused himself, leaving the reception room to head to Thomas's office where Lorraine and the lawyer were waiting. Without wasting time, Martin invited them in, closing the door behind them.

"How did the talks go?" Martin asked directly, his eyes searching Lorraine's face.

Lorraine smiled faintly, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "Johnson agreed to a public apology, will cover the medical expenses, and pay a substantial amount in compensation for the emotional distress."

They chatted briefly, discussing the finer details. Then, Lorraine stood to leave, and Martin insisted on seeing her out.

As they reached the ground floor, Lorraine lowered her voice, her tone softening. "Jack's doing better now. Just stick to what needs to be done. You don't have to visit him too often."

Martin shook his head. "I'll drop by again this afternoon."

With a wave, Lorraine got into her car and drove off.

Later that afternoon, when Martin visited Jack, he found him watching the live broadcast of WMA's press conference. Dwayne Johnson, standing before a sea of cameras, issued a formal apology to both Jack Nicholson and Alexandra Daddario. The apology was meant to quell the rising storm, but Martin knew better.

While Nicholson might be placated, the feminist community was far from satisfied. Their anger was not so easily soothed, especially with the American XXN group known for their relentless pursuit of justice. Once unleashed, their fury was hard to contain.

The organized group me too might have stayed out of it, but the independent feminist circles were vocal and unforgiving.

"We demand judicial action. An apology alone won't suffice for harassment. Women's rights need to be upheld!" one activist group declared.

"Sisters, let's find out where Johnson lives and return the harassment!" another called out.

"Boycott Johnson!" came yet another rallying cry.

Pandora's box had been flung open, and in today's climate, especially in the progressive enclaves of Los Angeles and Hollywood, the backlash was fierce and unrelenting. Even someone as powerful as Dwayne Johnson couldn't easily navigate these treacherous waters.

After the press conference, Johnson retreated to the lounge, his frustration palpable. His agent, Raymond, approached cautiously. "Sony Columbia just called. They're planning a remake of 'Jumanji'...and they've decided to pass on working with us."

Johnson's expression darkened. "Because of this women's rights uproar?" he asked, bitterness creeping into his voice.

Raymond nodded, the reality of the situation sinking in. Johnson was facing a battle he hadn't anticipated, and it was one that wouldn't be won with just an apology.

Raymond leaned forward, his tone serious as he stressed, "Yes, the direct cause is women's rights. But it's more complicated than that. These women's rights groups are deeply intertwined with LGBTQ organizations. Offend one, and you're likely to have the entire coalition against you."

Dwayne Johnson understood the gravity of the situation. Sony Columbia Pictures was making a calculated decision, they couldn't afford to alienate such a powerful and influential demographic, especially when public support could make or break a film's success.

He exhaled slowly, sinking back into the plush sofa, eyes closed, fatigue etched into every line of his face. "Then it's over," he muttered. "We'll pull out."

With Sony Columbia already backing away, there was no sense in trying to push forward. The damage was done.

Raymond, sensing the weight of the moment, suggested, "It might be best to keep a low profile for a while. Let the storm blow over, and we can revisit things once public opinion cools down."

Johnson nodded, his voice distant. "Work out the details with Garcia. Let's make sure we handle this the right way."

Raymond got up, ready to find Johnson's manager, Garcia, and map out a strategy to weather the fallout.

---

Meanwhile, in the quiet of a hospital ward, the doctor had just finished checking on Jack Nicholson. After advising the family to ensure the patient gets plenty of rest, the doctor left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Martin, standing by the bed, extended a hand to Nicholson. "Come on, Jack. Time to get up."

Nicholson clasped Martin's hand, pulling himself to his feet with a groan. Despite his weakened state, there was a glimmer of his old spirit in his eyes.

Leonardo DiCaprio, leaning against the wall, quipped, "The show's almost over, Jack. When are you planning to get out of here?"

Nicholson grinned, though his expression remained serious. "Tomorrow, I'll start getting back to normal. I'm an actor, after all. If I'm going to play this role, I've got to follow through with it, recovery isn't instantaneous. It's a process."

Martin chuckled and clapped Leonardo on the shoulder. "Pay attention, Leo. Jack's giving you a master class in method acting."

Leonardo rolled his eyes, feigning indifference. "I don't need lessons in something so basic."

But Nicholson wasn't about to let him off the hook. "And that's why your best performances involve nothing more than frowning, glaring, and shouting."

Leonardo's eyes narrowed in mock rage. "You two bastards, just wait. When I've got four Oscars under my belt, I'll make you count them every day!"

Martin laughed, "You can count to 20 at a time, how's that?"

Leonardo ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Give me 30 seconds, and I'll start counting now!"

Martin, still grinning, pocketed his phone and headed for the door. "Let's get moving. Jack, when you've got your discharge time confirmed, give me a ring. I'll round up some media friends to give you a proper send-off."

Nicholson, always the rebel, flipped Martin the finger as he waved them off.

As they left the ward, Thomas, who had been outside making a call, rejoined them. Martin motioned for him to follow as they headed downstairs, piling into the black Escalade that Bruce was driving.

Once they were clear of the throng of entertainment reporters and paparazzi, Thomas spoke up. "I just got word from the company. Sony Columbia Pictures is planning a remake of 'Jumanji.' Johnson was keen on the lead role, but they've decided to pass on him."

Martin nodded, remembering the project outline he'd seen in the WMA database, the script, the character designs. "Is Sony Columbia still interested in working with WMA?"

Thomas nodded. "They asked about your availability."

Martin thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Tell them I'm booked solid for the next two years. But since the project has four main characters, and one's African American while another's a busty girl, let's recommend Mene and Alexandra for those roles."

Thomas agreed, making a mental note to ensure the company put extra effort into highlighting the recommendation. With a sequel likely on the horizon, the project was bound to be a commercial success.

As for Johnson, Martin knew his star power wasn't invincible. Despite his popularity, his box office draw was hit or miss, just as many flops as hits when he took center stage.

As they drove through Beverly Hills, Martin's phone buzzed. It was Alexandra.

"I'm at the Ritz-Carlton," she said, her voice calm but firm. "And Catherine's here with me."

Martin's thoughts sharpened. It sounded like the next chapter in this saga was about to unfold.

Who could resist an invitation from these two? Martin didn't hesitate. "I'll be there right away," he said with a grin.

After dropping Thomas off in Century City, Martin made his way to the Ritz-Carlton, the city lights reflecting off his car as he drove. The day had been long, but the thought of meeting Alexandra and Catherine gave him a burst of energy.

On the top floor, in a luxurious long-term private suite, Martin was greeted by the two sisters. Alexandra and Catherine were stunning as always, their presence both calming and invigorating.

Martin had been under immense pressure lately, worn thin by the intense work surrounding Nicholson's latest performance. A moment of respite in such company was exactly what he needed. The sisters, with their charm and wit, were like a refreshing cleanse for his frazzled nerves, washing away the stress in an instant.

By the next morning, Martin felt like a new man, his fatigue miraculously lifted. With renewed focus, he turned his attention back to work, leaving the concerns about Leonardo and Nicholson behind for the time being.

He was scheduled to meet with Scott Frank, a seasoned director and screenwriter with over two decades in the industry. Martin had arranged for Louise to join him, knowing her sharp insights would be invaluable. Scott Frank was a multifaceted talent, having worn many hats in Hollywood; actor, writer, director, and producer. Outside the glitz of showbiz, he was also an avid chess player, with a knack for strategy that had taken him to the quarterfinals in several non-professional tournaments across the country.

During their interview, the conversation naturally flowed into the creative vision behind "The Queen's Gambit." Martin had done his homework and even arranged for a chess master to challenge Scott to a game, just to see how deep his passion for chess really ran. It turned out Scott was a formidable opponent, almost at a professional level, reinforcing Martin's belief that this was the right man for the job.

Scott's familiarity with the novel "The Queen's Gambit" was impressive. He had delved deeply into the book's origins and understood the historical context of its characters, particularly the influence of Bobby Fischer, the American chess prodigy who broke the Soviet Union's grip on the world chess championship in 1972. This victory had resonated during the Cold War, symbolizing much more than just a win on the chessboard.

Walter Tevis, the author, had written "The Queen's Gambit" after being inspired by Fischer's triumph, though he chose to shift the focus from a male to a female protagonist. This shift had added layers of complexity to the story, making it rich with potential, though it had also contributed to the project's long-standing struggle to get adapted, until now.

Times had changed. Female-led projects were no longer niche; they were the forefront of modern storytelling. After two days of intense interviews and chess games, Martin and Louise were convinced. Scott Frank was the perfect fit to adapt and direct "The Queen's Gambit."

With the decision made, they wasted no time. The studio registered the project, and Scott was officially signed on to transform the film script into an eight-episode TV series, taking the helm as its director.

With Scott on board, Martin shifted his focus to his next challenge, preparing for his role in the upcoming film "Split." His preparation was meticulous, involving visits to a mental health therapy center where he spent time with patients suffering from schizophrenia. The project was nearing the final stages of pre-production, with filming scheduled to start on time in early November.

Daily conversations with David Fincher became routine for Martin, not just about his role, but about the nuances of directing as well. The film "Joker" was also on Martin's mind, a dark, complex character study that aligned with his interest in exploring the darker sides of human psychology. Originally, he had wanted to bring in a heavyweight like Christopher Nolan or David Fincher to direct "Joker," but Nolan had declared his superhero days over, and Fincher was tied up with Netflix, committed to producing the second season of "House of Cards" after finishing "Split."

With no suitable director in sight, Martin began to seriously consider taking on the role himself. Directing "Split" might have been straightforward for someone like Fincher, who excelled in navigating the shadows of mental and psychological complexity. But Martin knew the real challenge lay in his performance.

To prepare, Martin immersed himself in the role, though not to the extreme of locking himself in a hotel room for a month as he had done for "Joker." Instead, he filled two large notebooks with detailed observations and notes. He had spent countless hours in the field, meeting with over thirty patients diagnosed with split personality disorder, learning their stories, and absorbing their experiences. This wasn't just preparation, it was transformation.

The work was intense, but Martin thrived on it, channeling everything he had into making sure that when the cameras started rolling, he'd be ready to deliver a performance that would leave an indelible mark on audiences everywhere.

David Fincher may not be Christopher Nolan, lacking some of the flash and dazzle in publicity and marketing, but what he lacked in spectacle, he more than made up for in substance. He was a master of tension, a director who thrived in the shadows of human psychology. Sitting across from Martin in his office, he offered some invaluable insights on the role Martin was preparing to take on.

"The real draw of this film is how you handle the transformation of personality," Fincher said, his voice measured, eyes sharp. "If you can't pull off distinctly different personalities with finesse, I can guarantee we'll both end up as frontrunners for the Golden Raspberry Award."

Martin chuckled at the thought, his expression one of mock horror. "I was aiming for the Best Actor Oscar, but to end up as the Worst Actor at the Razzies? That would be a twist no one saw coming. I'd hate to shock my fans like that. Don't worry, I'll do whatever it takes to nail this role."

Fincher leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thrillers might be a tough sell at the Oscars, but it's been done before. Plenty of actors have taken home Best Actor for a thriller. With your talent, as long as the role is solid, I'm confident you'll at least snag a nomination."

He paused, considering his next words carefully. "I'll make sure the film's story flows smoothly, but I'll also give you plenty of screen time and space to really explore and express the personality shifts. This is where you can shine."

Martin's confidence was unshakable. "I've got it covered. There won't be any issues on my end."

Fincher leaned forward, his tone shifting slightly. "One more thing, do we want to leave the ending open for a sequel, with enough suspense to keep people hooked?"

Martin shook his head. "No need. The story's strong enough on its own. It's enough for the protagonist to get away. If the first film's a hit, we can talk about a sequel then. But this needs to stand on its own, no superpowers, just a gritty, realistic dark thriller."

They spent the next half-hour going over more details, bouncing ideas back and forth until both were satisfied with their plan. As the meeting wrapped up, Martin left the office, feeling a surge of excitement and purpose. The day's work was done, and it was time to head home.

Stepping out of the office building next to the studio, he was just about to get into his car when a familiar face appeared at the main entrance. Anya Taylor-Joy, dressed in sleek, form-fitting sportswear, approached him with a bright smile.

"Hello, Martin," she greeted him, her energy contagious.

Martin returned the smile, giving her a nod. "Anya, good to see you. Have you joined the crew already?"

Her large, expressive eyes widened slightly, almost like a goldfish's. "I'm joining early to start rehearsing. Some of the scenes involve working with you. I was hoping to coordinate our rehearsal times. Can we sync up so I can adjust my schedule?"

Martin thought for a moment. "I'm planning to spend the next few days at the mental therapy center, getting a real feel for the role. We could schedule our rehearsals for next week."

Anya hesitated, then asked, a bit tentatively, "Would it be possible for me to join you at the therapy center? My character has a lot of interactions with yours, and I could really use the experience to understand people with split personalities better."

Martin saw no reason to refuse. "Sure, we can meet up in Century City tomorrow."

Her smile widened, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you so much for letting me tag along."

Martin waved it off. "No problem. Besides, the crew would have arranged something like this anyway."

Anya's expression softened. "It's not just that. I also want to thank you for choosing me for this role. It means a lot."

Just then, Bruce drove up in a four-wheeled electric vehicle. Martin gestured to it, inviting her. "Hop in, I'll give you a ride to the parking lot."

Anya didn't hesitate, slipping into the seat beside him. As they drove off, leaving Disney Studios behind, she asked for his phone number to coordinate the next day's plans.

Martin obliged, exchanging contact details with her. He noticed that this new generation of Hollywood actresses, Anya included, were far more open and direct than their predecessors, willing to dive deep into their roles and make the connections necessary to succeed.

As they parted ways, Martin couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. Tomorrow promised new challenges and opportunities, and with someone as driven as Anya on board, the project felt even more promising.