Illusiveone
patreon
221: Redoing my Life, Oscars 2015 Pt.2
🕑 Added 2025-07-03 21:16:36 +0000 UTCThe ceremony was over, yet the applause still rang in my ears as I slipped backstage. My phone was already vibrating in my jacket, and I knew exactly who it was.
I answered. Mom was laughing hysterically—half-crying, half-shouting—her voice crackling with joy.
“Oh my God, my baby! You did it! You won two! I’m so—”
In the background Nathan yelled, “You won two! Two!”
Then a little scuffle, and the phone was snatched away.
“Danny?” a small, high voice said.
Alice.
“I’m happy you won! Can I have one since you have two?”
She asked it the only way a five-year-old can.
I laughed. “Sure, Al, you can have one.”
Mom jumped back on, firing off questions. I interrupted: “Mom, I have to do some press stuff. I’ll call you later.”
“We’ll be watching! I love you!” she said.
“I love you too, Mom.”
The call ended just as Margot rushed in, both of my awards in her hands. She practically flew into my arms, and we kissed.
Behind her, Paul Knight appeared, grinning.
“Well,” I said, breaking the kiss, “I’d call that a successful night.”
“Yeah,” Margot replied, still breathless. “I’d call it that too.”
“You have no idea, Daniel,” Paul added. “This just made us Daniel, you made Midas… you did it!”
“No, we did it,” I corrected, still buzzing with adrenaline.
Almost immediately, I was ushered off for photos. Usually, the photo ops and post-win press line happen immediately after you collect an award, but I couldn’t make it this time—I had to stay in my seat for the categories that followed mine, since the broadcast needed to keep cutting to my reactions during DiCaprio’s, Alejandro’s, and finally the Best Picture announcements.
Once those segments were done, I posed with Chris Henderson and Leo Vance for The Incredibles win, then with The Revenant crew for Best Picture.
After that came a shot with Leo Alejandro and me—each of them holding their own Oscars, and me cradling my two.
The most memorable setup, though, was when I balanced the Best Animated Feature, the Best Picture, and my two Screenplay Oscars all at once. The photographers practically cheered while I tried not to drop any of them.
After that I went to the post press.
The bright lights of the press room washed over me the moment I stepped to the podium, an Oscar in each hand. A hundred flashes went off in rapid-fire bursts, and the low hum of conversation settled as the moderator called for the first question.
“How does it feel, Daniel?” a reporter asked, her eyes gleaming behind oversized glasses. “Three wins by twenty-three—two of them tonight.”
I grinned and leaned toward the mic. “Honestly?” I said, wearing my best smug smirk. “I’m disappointed I couldn’t pull it off at twenty-two.”
The room burst into laughter—even a few of the more jaded reporters chuckled. I softened my tone. “But seriously, this is the highlight of my career so far. I know how lucky I am to be here, and I’m beyond grateful to the Academy, to my team, and to everyone who loves my stories and movies.”
Another hand shot up. “Is it true you’ll start directing next year?”
I nodded. “Yes—been the plan for a while.”
They pounced with follow-ups.
“Some critics say you’re wasting your talent at DC Studios instead of focusing on ‘real’ movies. Any response?”
I looked straight at her, the smile gone. “I can do both. Superhero films can be great, too—they’re no less ‘real’ than the projects the critics want me to focus on.”
A few more rapid-fire questions followed—one about re-teaming with Leo, another about the future of The Incredibles, and one on the project I’m producing for Alejandro this year. Then the moderator wrapped it up, and I was free to leave.
I skipped the press conference for The Revenant’s Best Picture win—Paul had that covered. Instead, I slipped out and found Margot waiting.
“Ready?” she asked.
I nodded. “Governors Ball?”
“Governors Ball,” she confirmed, looping her arm through mine.
We were off. Outside the theater, Julie materialized at my side, rattling off the night’s schedule: first the Governors Ball, then straight to the after-party Midas was hosting—eight Oscar wins is nothing to shrug at. And, looming in the back of my mind, the meeting with Hershel that already had my stomach churning.
====
The first thing we did after entering the Governors Ball was get my two Oscars engraved. At the engraving station, a team of artisans in white gloves carefully etched “DANIEL ADLER – ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY” and “DANIEL ADLER – ADAPTED SCREENPLAY” into their golden bases.
While they worked, a photographer with a platinum-blonde bob waved me over. “Smile, Daniel!” she chirped, snapping shot after shot—me with Margot, me with both Oscars, every angle covered.
Next, I wandered over to see what burger Wolfgang had created this year, found them cooked to perfection, and took a bite that almost made me forget where I was.
Then came the torrent of congratulations. Actors, directors, producers—one after another, some gracious, some overflowing with praise. Everyone offered a compliment, a pitch, or a half-serious “We have to work together.”
J.K. Simmons reached me first, jubilant, still holding his Whiplash Oscar. We reminisced about 12 Angry Men; he told me how that film had changed his career. “We need to do something again,” he said. I promised we would.
Reese Witherspoon was next—Margot nearly knocked me over rushing to greet her. She was big fan.
I chatted with a few Netflix executives who were there and insisted that one day Netflix, too, would be on that stage collecting Oscars.
The most interesting conversation came when Margot drifted off to talk with Cate Blanchett and a cluster of actresses, leaving me alone for a moment. Denis Villeneuve approached—calm, quiet, composed.
“Congratulations,” he said, extending a hand. “Two wins. Very impressive.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “I’ve always admired your work.”
We talked for a while—mostly about The Revenant—until Alejandro joined us, adding his own stories from the shoot. As the moment settled, an idea struck me.
“So,” I asked Denis, “would you ever consider directing a superhero movie?”
He studied me for a beat. “For your DC universe?”
I nodded. “I know it might not seem like your thing, but there are stories in there that could suit your style. If anything catches your eye, give me a call.”
He smiled faintly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
And with that, a seed was planted.
=====
As the ball carried on, I realized it was time to meet Hershel. He’d said he’d find me here at the Governors Ball.
First, I located Margot. She was deep in conversation with Cate Blanchett, but when she noticed me she excused herself and crossed the room. We stepped into a quieter corner.
“Are we hitting the Vanity Fair party before Midas?” she asked, slipping her arm through mine.
“Do you want to go?” I asked.
She nodded slowly. “I’m really hitting it off with Cate.”
“Oh, it’s Cate now, is it?” I teased.
Margot grinned. “Maybe I can convince her to swing by the Midas party.”
“That’d be nice.” I lowered my voice. “But I have to meet the guy.”
Margot’s smile evaporated. “Oh fuck. I forgot.”
“Relax,” I joked. “It’s not like he’s going to make me disappear.”
Her expression hardened. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, hands up. “You head to Vanity Fair, and I’ll meet you at the Midas party?”
She nodded, but the concern in her eyes lingered.
“You look like I just said I’m meeting the Hollywood Illuminati,” I laughed.
“You practically did,” she replied flatly.
We shared a quick kiss; she walked off, still glancing back in worry.
I drew a breath, then drifted toward the center of the room. That’s when I heard my name.
“Daniel!”
DiCaprio strode over—tux collar loosened, grin from ear to ear.
“I’ve been looking everywhere,” he said. “We’re heading out—coming with us?”
“Can’t,” I apologized with a shrug. “I’ve got… another thing.”
Leo squinted. “A thing?”
“I’ll meet you at the Midas party. You’re coming, right?”
“Of course,” he said, shaking my hand. “See you there.”
He walked on, and I began to wander, my mind already turning over the situation.
The whole mess with Harvey was something else.
Journalists Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey had chased the story for years but always hit walls—stone-walled, silenced, rerouted. Harvey had a grip on every corner of the media. The New York Times had spiked their pieces because of his influence.
Ronan Farrow had tried at The New Yorker—another wall, another dead end. The gate was locked, the key buried under concrete reinforced with NDAs, threats, and corruption.
That was when I stepped in. I tried to help the reporters but soon discovered I didn’t wield anywhere near Harvey’s influence over the media. What I could do was bankroll the investigation, dig up more dirt, persuade survivors to speak, and keep them safe.
That search for backup led me to Herschel Abelman—someone most of the industry overlooked but who was, in truth, one of its quiet powerhouses.
I approached him cautiously, expecting a polite refusal. Instead, he listened and agreed to help. Tonight I would learn whether that promise would hold: Herschel was slated to meet with other heavyweights—people who could actually make our plan happen.
An event staffer tapped my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“He’s outside, waiting for you.”
I nodded and followed her.
At the far edge of the venue’s private balcony, framed by the glittering lights of Los Angeles, stood Herschel—alone, hands clasped behind his back, a wry smile spreading as I approached.
“Daniel,” he said, his voice warm yet unreadable.
“Herschel,” I replied, matching his tone.
“Congratulations on the wins.”
I let out a breath. “Well, you said I’d be surprised, and I was—very much so.”
He chuckled softly. “Harvey really pushed for his movie. For a moment it was going to win—really was.”
He paused, then added with a knowing grin, “But I decided to pull a few strings—change the minds of a few Academy members. Or rather, the ones I like to call Harvey’s little… bitches.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
Herschel shrugged. “You deserved it anyway.”
He gestured down the balcony. “Come on—let’s walk.”
We moved away from the noise of the ball toward the far edge of the terrace. Herschel didn’t waste time.
“Let me be direct,” he said, turning to me. “Your journalists will be able to publish without interference.”
I exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “I convinced my friends—used your own words, actually. And they came around. They all agree: Harvey is a liability. It’s time to cut him loose.”
“When?” I asked.
“June—July at the latest,” Herschel said. “That gives them time to prepare, to manage the fallout.”
I nodded again. “Thank you,” I repeated; there was nothing else to say.
We stood in silence for a moment, the wind and distant traffic the only sounds. I glanced at him.
“Makes me wonder,” I said, “if you and your friends… run this town.”
Herschel was quiet, then his mouth twitched into a grin. Suddenly he threw his head back and laughed—a real, full-bodied laugh, not mocking but genuinely amused.
“What,” he said through the laughter, “you think we’re some Illuminati?”
I smiled. “The people who pointed me to you… kind of implied it.”
Still grinning, Herschel stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Let me ask you something, Daniel.” His tone was soft but sharp. “Do you know how many of these Illuminatis there are?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “No,” I admitted.
He gestured toward the city below. “Too many. Every elite circle—billionaires, Silicon Valley, old-money, oil barons—believes one they are in runs the world.”
“They form little clubs. Orders, brotherhoods, secret councils. Wine-and-cheese Illuminatis. It makes them feel important—special.”
He paused.
“They invent mystique,” he went on. “Hold meetings, pretend the planet hinges on their decisions.” he chuckled “We had them here, too. Nowadays half of them just join Scientology for the same rush.”
I nodded, more fascinated than surprised. It made sense.
Herschel’s tone shifted. “Now, my group of friends—that’s another story.” The word friends curled off his lip like an inside joke.
“They’re people like me,” he said. “The ones who know which switch to flip behind the curtain to make things happen.”
He leaned on the railing.
“Our circle formed naturally. We kept bumping into each other—because power gravitates. Eventually we agreed to work together, in limited ways, for our benefit. Not for the studios, not for the industry—just us.”
He glanced back, an unreadable smile creeping across his face. “We’re still rivals. Hell, at least three of them have stabbed me in the back. But the arrangement works.”
Then he dropped the hammer.
“We’re like you, Daniel, so I know all the tricks—including the one you just pulled—well, used, you might say.”
I opened my mouth to object, but he raised a hand.
“Don’t insult us both by denying it,” Herschel said. “You think I don’t see that this Harvey play is a poisoned chalice you’ve handed us? Even if my friends prepare perfectly, their studios, connections, and organizations will all be touched. The ripples will hit the CAA, the guilds—every office where someone owed Harvey a favor or a silence.”
He stepped closer, voice dropping—not threatening, but edged with something I couldn’t read.
“And you,” he added, eyes narrowing, “you knew that. You knew exactly how this would unravel. I’ve always felt you know more than anyone lets on—more than I can fully map.”
My breath caught. I hadn’t expected him to spell it out.
I tried to answer, but Herschel silenced me with a slow shake of his head and that too-knowing smile.
“You’ll benefit from this,” he said. “Chaos in the agencies, fractures in old alliances, cracks in the studio walls—you’re already positioned to catch the pieces when they fall.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I blurted out.
“Why did I do it?” He shrugged, almost casual. “Because I’m done, Daniel. I’m walking away before the storm hits. I’ve already made arrangements to get even richer once this Harvey mess starts ripping everything apart. I suppose you could say I’m back-stabbing my friends.”
He chuckled to himself. “Besides—my granddaughters are big fans of yours. I couldn’t really let anything happen to you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say.
“I might call in a favor one day, if they still like you when they’re older—one of them wants to be a writer.”
“Yeah, sure,” I managed.
He studied me for a long moment. “I see it in you—the ambition, the instinct, the killer’s eye. I had that once. It got me everything I wanted.”
His voice dipped, quieter and darker. “A bit of advice, Daniel: sooner or later you’ll have to smother that little flame of morality still burning in your chest. That’s the price. If you want to stand on top, you’ll have to look the other way sometimes.”
“I’ll try not to,” I said, as politely as I could.
Herschel smirked. “Good luck with that.”
Silence fell. At last he straightened and adjusted his cuff.
“I never mentioned your involvement to anyone,” he said. “Another boon, Daniel—very few people get that kind of protection.”
“I wasn’t planning to tell anyone anyway.”
“Now,” he said, stepping back into the light, “go enjoy your win. I doubt we’ll see each other again.”
I watched him disappear into the ballroom, swallowed by music and laughter.
My hands were cold, sweaty, shaking as I slipped outside. The car was waiting at the curb—Margot had already tucked the two Oscars safely inside.
The driver pulled away toward the Midas party. My mind spun—too many emotions for one day—but one thought stayed constant: i was so lucky things turned out this way
So fucking lucky.
.
.
.
Not my best chapter. I just want to put the whole Harvey thing behind me. Thankfully, it’ll be over soon.
Comments
jacob libbert
could he write now you see me
Samuel Famakinwa
Nice little ending fr
