7 p.m., evening.
As prearranged, the small group met up at the Astoria Hotel's restaurant. For the first time, Nyle and Frederick met Hollywood's renowned producer-director, Merian C. Cooper. If one had to summarize Nyle's first impression—or any preconceived notion he might have had—it would probably be:
Premature balding.
Merian, only in his thirties, already had a notably high hairline. And to make matters worse, he followed the current fashion of slicking his hair straight back with a generous dose of pomade and wax. With such constant slicking, it only seemed to be receding further by the day. Nyle figured that, barring a miracle, Merian would be fully bald well before turning fifty.
Then again, perhaps this was simply the price of genius—maybe the producer of King Kong had overworked his brain so much that it drained all nutrients from his scalp, resulting in hair loss. Who could say? Nyle still had a full head of luscious, flowing hair, and that was all that mattered to him.
Merian's background was just as extraordinary as his receding hairline. Born in Jacksonville, Florida, he once attended the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis. If all had gone as expected, he would have lived out his life as a typical navy sailor or seaman. And indeed, he did begin his career at sea. But after World War I, he shifted into journalism.
Quite the career leap. As a journalist, he stumbled into the film industry, eventually teaming up with fellow director Ernest Schoedsack. Their documentary Chang: A Drama of the Wilderness earned the first-ever Academy Award for Artistic Quality in 1927–1928.
After that, Merian worked as a producer and project planner at major studios like MGM and Paramount, overseeing films such as The Lost Patrol. In 1950, he and Schoedsack's film Mighty Joe Young won the Oscar for Best Visual Effects. Two years later, the Academy granted him an honorary Oscar—essentially a lifetime achievement award.
While Nyle was observing Merian, the latter was also sizing up Nyle and Frederick. His first impression of them: **young—**alarmingly young. They looked, at most, twenty.
Two twenty-year-olds fronting $300,000?
Absurd. When Wilkie told him the investors were "young," he had assumed thirty-something professionals—guys who'd built a career, inherited some money, and were now looking for investment opportunities.
But wait...
If these two were rich heirs—playboy types flush with inherited cash—then they were the perfect marks.
All he needed to do was flatter them a bit, lay on some compliments, sprinkle in a few auspicious words... Why stop at $300,000? If he played his cards right, maybe they'd fund the entire film.
Suppressing a flicker of glee, Merian glanced at Wilkie, who was now chatting enthusiastically with the two youngsters. Merian quickly checked his ambition, choosing instead to bide his time and feel out the situation. If he could lure them in—er, interest them—success would be his.
The four sat down. From pre-dinner wine to meal pairings, Wilkie had already made all the selections. It wasn't that he disregarded personal taste—rather, the Astoria Hotel prided itself on perfect harmony in everything. First you picked the wine; then the kitchen curated the meal to match it.
The logic wasn't unfounded. Pairing the right food and drink could create magic on the palate—just like how fish and lamb might taste strange on their own, but together (as in the Chinese homophone "fish" and "sheep" making "fresh") they became a delicacy.
A waiter brought a basket of bread, followed by water and pre-dinner drinks. Wilkie made the introductions and then leisurely broke off a piece of bread, buttering it as he nibbled. His job done, he now left the floor to Nyle and Frederick—after all, he was just the middleman, a lawyer connecting the parties.
Frederick followed suit, breaking off a piece of bread and spreading a jam laced with some kind of herb. He then gestured to Nyle to take the lead in chatting with Merian—to test the man's mettle.
"You two are much younger than I imagined," said Merian, who was here for the money and thus took the initiative. After all, the one with cash is the real boss.
"We're also delighted to meet you, Mr. Cooper," Nyle said, raising his water glass and taking a sip to moisten his throat.
"New York is truly magnificent," Merian continued. "I assume you've already visited the Empire State Building—the planned location for the film's finale?"
He watched closely for their reactions.
If the two responded like overexcited bumpkins or giddy kids, he'd know they were easy pickings—ripe for a good fleecing. But if they acted cool, like seasoned travelers, he'd know to tread more carefully.
"It's a far cry from West Virginia. New York is New York, after all," Nyle remarked sincerely.
To him, New York felt indistinguishable from the 21st century—anything that existed in his old world could basically be found here. If you had money in New York, you were king.
"I was stunned by the city's grandeur too, when I first visited during my Navy years," Merian said with a nod.
Nyle's tone was perfectly natural—he admired the city's splendor without sounding naive or overly impressed. Having seen countless skyscrapers in his previous life, it wasn't a big deal to him. It was just that, since arriving in this timeline, he'd been living mostly on ranches and farmland.
"Mr. Cooper, you were in the Navy? What made you leave?" Frederick suddenly asked after finishing a piece of bread.
Given the U.S. Navy's growth since the "Great White Fleet" era, someone with Merian's background from a top naval academy could've easily landed a solid career.
"Military life was too rigid for me. I didn't fit in," Merian answered frankly.
Maybe that's just the nature of film people—a little wild, a little rebellious. Strict on set, but off the clock, they longed for freedom and inspiration.
"Soup's here!"
With both sides subtly testing the waters, Wilkie finally broke the tension when the waiter brought out cold soup, appropriate for the warm weather.
Nyle and Merian both smiled, picked up their spoons, and began eating. The probing phase had produced some results: at least now, everyone knew the other party wasn't a fool. There was no need for tricks or pretense.
With that understanding, the rest of the dinner flowed smoothly. The conversation turned to lighthearted anecdotes and worldly observations—no talk of investments or negotiations.