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*Chapter 181: A Game-Changing Comic Book Movie*
🕑 Added 2025-05-16 17:15:39 +0000 UTCWatching the audience around him, totally locked in, and hearing the constant bursts of laughter from the back, Dunn knew he had a hit on his hands with Spider-Man.
Two hours felt like forever, though.
Even if it was his own film, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to sit through it. What really piqued his interest was the business card tucked in his jacket pocket.
Natalie sat to his left, so he had to be subtle. He carefully pulled out the card, memorized the private number, then grabbed his phone and typed a quick text: “Heading to the bathroom—wanna join?”
Fingers crossed her phone was on vibrate and not off!
Luck was on his side. Less than thirty seconds later, his phone buzzed with a reply: “I’ll wait for you!”
Dunn’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk.
About five minutes later—with an hour still left in the film—he hunched over and slipped out quietly.
But at the theater door, no one was waiting. Just a few guys in black—his bodyguards.
“Sir, Miss Theron’s in the VIP area,” one said.
Dunn grinned and headed that way.
The VIP lounge was perfect—complete with its own private bathroom.
Usually… empty!
Other theater staff noticed. First, a gorgeous actress slipped out of the screening room. Then the famous Director Walker ducked into the VIP area. Their expressions said it all.
Dunn’s reputation…
The theater manager, a woman in her fifties, caught wind and rushed over. She frowned at the gawking staff. “Get back to work! Stay away from here—and no gossiping!”
Unlike the lower-rung workers, she’d seen it all and kept her cool.
Dunn Walker was someone worth cozying up to in Hollywood—no question.
In the VIP lounge, Dunn scanned the room and finally spotted her in a corner—tall, graceful, and curvy—his date for the moment: Charlize Theron.
“Thought you bailed,” he said, just to break the ice.
Charlize sauntered over, hands behind her back, lips pursed. “Who’d say no to an invite from Director Walker?”
Dunn’s tone carried a hint. “Not everyone’s a yes, you know. And I didn’t exactly ask you here to chat.”
Charlize’s eyes sparkled with charm. “Oh, of course. If it was just talking, the doorway would’ve worked.”
Dunn’s gaze dipped, and he grinned. “Miss Theron, you’re sharp… and, uh, pretty well-endowed.”
He hadn’t laid it all out yet—always testing the waters first. If she pushed back too hard, he’d back off fast.
Charlize shook her head lightly. “Is this how you drop hints every time?”
“How should I do it, then?”
Dunn knew she’d been in the modeling world early on. And that scene? Way wilder than Hollywood. Hollywood at least had career paths—modeling was a young person’s game, all about cashing in quick, often with some crazy moves.
But Charlize, ex-model turned actress—what was her play?
She couldn’t be more direct than free-spirited Sophie Marceau, right?
Hands still behind her, Charlize raised an eyebrow at his question. A sly smile curved her lips. Suddenly, she stretched out her left hand, dangling a trendy, red, semi-sheer thong from her finger.
Dunn’s eyes widened, heart nearly leaping out of his chest.
Holy hell, that was hot!
Charlize tilted her head, her gray-blue eyes teasing as she twirled it. “This enough for you?”
Dunn coughed, snatching it and stuffing it in his pocket. He lowered his voice. “You’re… not wearing anything?”
Charlize laughed. “Knew you were coming, so I just took it off. Like it?”
Dunn took a deep breath, fighting a nosebleed. “Follow me!”
He grabbed her hand and made a beeline for the bathroom.
As they walked, Charlize giggled. Near the restroom, she leaned in and whispered, “Let’s hit the women’s room—there’s a big mirror in there, over a meter tall. You could…”
Dunn growled, “You little minx!”
…
Forty minutes later, the sink area finally quieted down.
Dunn adjusted his shirt, glancing in the giant mirror at Charlize kneeling in front of him, tidying up the last details. A rush of satisfaction hit him—physical comfort, mental thrill.
This was the taste of power, wasn’t it?
No wonder they say it corrupts. Who could resist this?
Especially with Charlize piling on the flattery. “Forty minutes straight, Dunn—you’re incredible!”
Dunn shrugged casually. “Movie’s almost over. I was rushing—didn’t even get my fill.”
Charlize’s eyes flicked up. “So… can I crash at your place?”
“Huh?”
Dunn blinked. This was new—an actress asking to move in. Usually, he did the inviting.
Charlize pouted. “What, my charm’s that weak? One time’s enough for you?”
Dunn shook his head. “Nah, it’s not that. If you wanna come, sure. Just… there’s others there. Be ready for that.”
Charlize grinned. “I know. Doesn’t matter—we’re all after the same thing.”
“Oh?” Dunn paused, curious. “What’s your goal, then?”
She finished buckling his belt and stood, knees a little red, her expression open. “I’m done being a pretty face. I’ve had enough!”
Dunn raised an eyebrow, catching her drift. “Someone hassling you on set?”
Charlize gave a wry smile and shook her head. “I just want your help.”
Dunn straightened up, serious. “Alright. If you run into trouble, call me. No producer or director in Hollywood would dare cross me!”
Charlize’s mind flashed to something, and she smirked. “I saw in the papers… Bruckheimer said some harsh stuff.”
“Jerry Bruckheimer?” Dunn’s lip curled, dismissive. “Harvey Weinstein’s a maybe, but Bruckheimer, Michael Bay—those guys? Give me five years, I’ll ruin them!”
Charlize was floored—and thrilled.
Floored because Dunn name-dropped Harvey Weinstein. She’d dealt with that pig at Miramax. If not for old man Michael Caine stepping in, she might not have dodged him.
Weinstein’s shameless bullying was unreal.
Dunn was taking him on?
No wonder he scoffed at a hotshot producer like Bruckheimer and a big director like Bay.
The thrill? Dunn sharing this meant she’d cracked his inner circle—earned his trust.
What better prize was there?
Dunn’s circle wasn’t easy to break into. Plenty of his past flings had faded into nothing.
One encounter, and Charlize had won him over? That was pure luck.
Dunn liked her for obvious reasons—she was gorgeous, a big name. Seeing her now—clothes messy, cheeks flushed, eyes soft, all lazy and alluring—he shook his head. “Forget it. Clean up and hit the Hilton party later.”
Looking like this, she couldn’t show up at Spider-Man’s thank-you event. She nodded. “Cool, just don’t ditch me. Oh—can I have it back?”
“What?” Dunn blinked.
Charlize pointed at his pocket.
He caught on and burst out laughing.
…
Back in the theater, the movie was wrapping up.
Norman had lost control, his soul consumed by evil. He ramped up the chaos, slaughtering innocents.
To take on Spider-Man, he became the Green Goblin, snatching Mary Jane as leverage. The inevitable showdown loomed.
On the Manhattan Bridge, the fight was brutal, heart-pounding, victory hanging by a thread.
Spider-Man landed a critical hit, only to realize the Goblin was his buddy Harry’s dad. The Goblin begged for mercy—then launched a sneak attack.
Lucky for Spidey, his spider-senses kicked in, warning him of danger.
At the last second, he dodged, and the Goblin’s own trick backfired, costing him his life…
Since Dunn returned, Natalie’s focus shifted from the screen to him.
Gone that long? Something was up.
“You smell like a woman!” she muttered, leaning closer, clearly annoyed.
Dunn chuckled. “Hey, sweetie, watch the movie—the ending’s awesome!”
“Hmph!”
She pinched his leg hard.
The film hit its final stretch. Mary Jane confessed to Peter Parker that, in her darkest moment, she didn’t think of Spider-Man—she thought of him.
Peter, now fully transformed from regular guy to superhero, turned her down, leaving a lingering monologue.
“No matter what my future holds, I’ll never forget this: ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’”
“It’s my gift—and my curse.”
“Who am I?”
“I… am Spider-Man!”
The film’s core theme crystallized in that last line.
It broke from the usual blockbuster pace but elevated the story perfectly.
After over two hours of dazzling action, the audience was already hooked. That final line hit them right in the feels.
As the credits rolled, applause erupted—no warning, just pure instinct.
It started in the back, with people standing and clapping. Like a virus, it spread through the room. The scattered noise turned rhythmic, thunderous.
The middle rows stood. Then the front—VIPs included—all on their feet!
Clapping!
Everyone was clapping like crazy!
The back cheered for the amazing film and its killer crew. The front? Their eyes on Dunn held extra respect.
Superhero movies—comic adaptations—changed forever tonight!
Comics were the king of mass entertainment, outselling books by miles, second only to newspapers.
But comic movies? Hollywood’s eternal headache.
Especially in the ‘90s—every one flopped hard.
Even Batman, once unstoppable, crashed and burned, forcing Warner to shelve superhero flicks.
Now, Dunn stepped up, and Marvel roared back!
“This is the best comic book movie ever!”
George Lucas marveled, awestruck and a little overwhelmed.
He was set to direct Lucasfilm’s rebooted Star Wars himself.
But Titanic? Too brilliant—$580 million in North America, $1.18 billion worldwide.
That kind of dazzling haul stressed even Lucas out.
Dunn was too good—so good other directors couldn’t even compare.
Not even Lucas had that confidence.
At least Spider-Man felt fresh, eye-opening—a whole new cinematic world.
Natalie stood, giving Dunn a light hug, then pouted. “You’re playing favorites!”
Dunn blinked. “What’d I do?”
She bit her lip, tilting her head up at him. “I wanna do a superhero movie too!”
“Huh?”
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