Chapter 92: A Slip of the Tongue

Chapter 92: Chapter 92: A Slip of the Tongue

Susan smiled and said to comfort her, "Don’t worry, we still have ten minutes. Wood will make it."

Just as Lina was about to give up hope, Wood finally appeared at the theater entrance, out of breath. "Made it!" he said, waving his ticket stub.

The four of them hurried to their seats just as the theater lights dimmed. When Irene Coppola’s name appeared on the screen, Lina grabbed Wood’s arm excitedly. "It’s starting!"

When the movie reached the scene where the main character goes to her first school party, Lina couldn’t help leaning over to Susan. "That dress is so pretty!" Susan nodded. "It’s even more stylish than the outfits in Legally Blonde!"

When the story moved to the cafeteria scene where the main character gets shunned, John sighed. "This director really gets high school life!" Wood immediately agreed. "Exactly, that’s how it is at our school!"

"Shh—" came an annoyed reminder from the row behind them. The four realized they were talking too loudly and quickly quieted down.

As the story went on, they got completely pulled into the movie. When the main character finally won the math competition, Lina was so excited she nearly jumped out of her seat, but Wood held her down just in time.

When the lights came up, the four of them still wanted more. Walking out of the theater, Lina waved the movie brochure excitedly. "Irene is amazing! How does she make school life feel so real?"

"Every outfit is stunning," Susan added. "I especially love the pink plaid skirt."

Wood put his arm around Lina’s shoulder. "It’s even better than her last one. Director Coppola really knows what young people want to see."

"She’s only a few years older than us and she’s already made two hit movies," John said, looking at Irene’s name on the poster with admiration. "That’s a real idol."

Lina pulled out her phone, eager to text her friends who were waiting to see it: Mean Girls is great. You’ll regret missing it! Totally worth seeing again!

She looked up at her friends. "I’m already excited for her next film. I heard she’s making an action movie?"

"It’s The Italian Job," Wood jumped in. "Sounds like she’s trying a totally different kind of movie."

The four of them kept talking about the plot as they walked to the parking lot in the night.

Young people like them were everywhere, talking about the movie. Those who had seen it wanted to watch it again, and those who hadn’t were curious about this so-called "high school battle movie."

...

In an office at the Columbia Pictures building, the air felt heavy enough to cut.

Mel Gibson sat on the sofa, his knuckles white from gripping a ceramic teacup so hard it looked ready to shatter. The vein in his forehead pulsed. He was clearly on the edge of losing it.

"Okay, Fred, thanks for being honest. Let’s stay in touch." Publicity Director Mark Gerard hung up the phone slowly, then turned to Mel Gibson and director Roland Emmerich with a strained expression.

"That was Fred Arnold from AMC. He said they’ll give us the number of screens we agreed on in the contract, but extra showings..." He paused. "There’s no room right now."

"What about the other chains?" Mel Gibson asked, his voice tight with anger.

"It’s the same story. Empire and CNK gave the same answer. They won’t add more screens until after we open and they see how the market reacts."

Bang—!

Before he could finish, the teacup in Mel Gibson’s hand slammed to the floor and shattered. Tea and ceramic pieces flew everywhere.

"Damn it! AMC, CNK, Empire, those three control over eighty percent of the theaters in the country! And they’re treating us the same as that... that high school kid’s playhouse movie! They’re insulting us!" Anger twisted his usually tough face, making him look almost unrecognizable.

Mark had wanted to point out that The Patriot actually had over a hundred more screens than Mean Girls, but seeing Mel’s state, he knew explaining wouldn’t help.

"Theater owners are always realistic, and it’s unpleasant," Roland Emmerich said, much calmer. His voice was steady. "But Mel, as long as we believe in our film, the first-week box office will speak for us. Then they’ll be begging us for more screens. Right now, we just need a little patience."

"I know! But I can’t stand this!" Mel Gibson growled. "We should’ve had a better start!"

He knew better than anyone that if the movie was good enough, once the first-week numbers exploded, screen counts would go up.

But what was burning in his chest wasn’t just business. It was the feeling of being disrespected, and the need to crush the competition right out of the gate, especially when that competition was tied to Fox and a past he hated.

"These damn Jews!"

Anger overtook reason, and the words echoed in the quiet room. Even he froze for a second after saying it. But words can’t be taken back once they’re out.

The air in the office seemed to freeze the moment he spoke.

Luckily, there were no Jewish people in the room.

But Roland Emmerich’s brows drew together tightly.

He wasn’t Jewish, but he had worked closely with many Jewish colleagues in the industry and knew how sensitive and serious this kind of comment was to that community.

"Mel," Roland’s voice was cold as ice, "some things should never be said.

The consequences can be bigger than you imagine. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that today, but remember, there can’t be a next time."

After that, he turned and slammed the door on his way out.

Mel Gibson stood there, his face a mix of emotions. The anger hadn’t faded, but now there was embarrassment from being called out, and an awkwardness he couldn’t shake.

He looked at the closed door, then at Mark Gerard’s grim expression. In the end, he said nothing and left the office quickly.

Only Mark Gerard remained in the room, his face growing darker.

The assistant opened the door quietly, saw the broken teacup on the floor, and noticed his boss’s expression.

"Boss, should I call someone to clean this up?" the assistant asked softly.

Mark closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "Send someone up."

Before working with Mel Gibson, he had heard the rumors about the star’s arrogance, but he always thought it was just typical actor temper and didn’t take it seriously.

Now it seemed that if those words could slip out so easily, they were probably said often in private.

If he had said that in front of reporters, or anywhere public...

Mark didn’t want to think about it. He knew better than anyone who held real power in Hollywood, and that group was both sensitive and united.

Now, he could only hope silently: that The Patriot would do incredibly well, and that Mel Gibson would keep his mouth shut.

At least until the movie was out of theaters.