Morning sunlight slanted through the windows of a New York brownstone, casting long shadows.
Duke sat in his favorite leather armchair, wearing a faded navy sweater and worn jeans.
Across his lap rested a stack of comics straight from the offices of DC Comics. He flipped through the pages, studying the lines and coloors of Superman and Batman.
Reading the comics had provided him a rare moment of peace after the grueling production schedule of Jaws.
Across the room, Margaux Hemingway was focused on the glowing screen of the Breakout arcade cabinet Duke had recently ordered from California.
The room filled with the rhythms of the game.
Margaux let out a groan and slapped the side of the wooden cabinet. "This game is rigged."
Duke didn't look up from his comic book. He turned a page, the paper rustling in the quiet room. "You're just bad at it."
"I am not bad at it," Margaux shot back, pointing at the glass screen. "The ball speeds up randomly. One second it's manageable, and the next it drops. This is rigged."
"That's the point," Duke said, his eyes scanning a panel where Batman was standing on the botder of a building looking over the Gotham skyline.
"It's designed to test your reaction time. If it moved at a constant speed, you'd figure out the pattern in ten minutes and never drop another quarter into the slot."
Margaux narrowed her eyes at the back of his head. "We don't even need to put quarters in this." She kicked the side of the cabinet. "You got the guy that flipped the free-play switch."
"The principle remains," Duke replied, lowering the comic. He offered a brief smile. "It's about tension."
Before Margaux could argue, the front doorbell chimed. She walked down the hall to the door.
Duke set his comics on the side table. A moment later, the voice of Nolan Bushnell echoed down the hallway. Nolan walked into the living room wearing a yellow polo shirt and a plastic case.
Right behind him was Steve Jobs.
The nineteen-year-old looked out of place in the brownstone. He wore a casual t-shirt, and sandals.
Nolan walked over and clapped Duke on the shoulder. "Duke! Havent seen you in a while, this is the guy I told you about, Steve Jobs. By the way, how is your new film?"
"Already finished principal Photography, and well I'm enjoying the silence," Duke said. He stood up and extended a hand to Steve. "Steve, good to see you. How are things at Atari?"
Steve shook his hand firmly. He didn't smile, keeping his demeanor professional. "Good. Nolan showed me the Breakout schematics after what you suggested. I took the boards home for the weekend and managed to streamline a lot of the transistor-transistor logic."
"He's being modest," Nolan interrupted, waving a hand. "The kid worked seventy-two hours straight. He and a friend of his stripped out so much unnecessary wiring that he cut our chip count by a dozen. He saved us a fortune in manufacturing costs on the assembly line. Anyway, Duke, we're ready to show you the next step."
Nolan set the plastic case on the coffee table. He unlatched the clasps and opened the lid.
Inside, resting on foam, was a large black printed circuit board.
"This is the primary prototype for our new racing game," Nolan said, his tone serious. "We're calling it Gran Trak 10. And it's the first arcade game to use a microprocessor. A CPU chip."
Duke leaned forward, inspecting the board. He understood the industry's limitations.
Arcade games at this point relied entirely on discrete logic.
Every function, movement of a paddle, score counter, sound effects required physical circuits. If you wanted to change the game, you had to physically rebuild the board.
"No more discrete logic?" Duke asked, looking up at Steve.
Steve stepped forward, "Exactly. The CPU handles all the background calculations. It tracks the steering input, manages the speed, and calculates the collision boundaries of the track."
"If we want to change the track layout or alter the physics of the car, we don't have to rewire the cabinet. We just rewrite the code."
Nolan grinned, clearly proud of the engineering leap. "We built a interface for it. A steering wheel with force feedback, and a four-speed mechanical shifter. The graphics are still primitive but the handling feels real."
Duke nodded slowly. His mind jumped to the long-term business implications. "The microprocessor changes everything. You can build more complex games and you can do it cheaper, once the hardware scales. How is the cost profile looking right now?"
Nolan ran a hand through his hair. "We're eating the CPU expense up front. It hurts our margins on the first run. But volume will drive the silicon prices down. If the test locations perform well, I want to launch nationally in September."
"Do it," Duke said without hesitation. "But don't overun things, keep production cost low."
Nolan let out a laugh. "You sound exactly like my manufacturing guys. They fight me on the plastic molding costs every single day."
They spent the next twenty minutes discussing the arcade market.
Duke asked about distribution bottlenecks and the rising cost of solid-state components.
Steve explained his vision for personal computers, he also mentioned he was currently sleeping on the floor of a friend's dorm room to save money on rent. Duke respected the hustle.
By mid-morning, Nolan packed up the circuit board, promising to send Duke a playable cabinet once it cleared.
After the door closed behind them, Duke walked back into the living room. Margaux was still focused on her game.
Duke walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.
She leaned back against his chest but kept her eyes on the screen. "You know, I turned down a shooting in Paris to come stay with you in New York. And what have we done?"
"You've watched The Godfather twice on the projector, read comic books, and played this game for hours."
Duke kissed the side of her neck. "That sounds like a great week."
"For you, maybe." Margaux missed another ball. The machine buzzed. She groaned and let go of the dial. "I'm bored."
"Margaux, I just finished a two-month film production that nearly killed me. The shark broke every day, the weather shut us down, and federal agents raided my studio's accounting department. I need to slow down. I need a few days to let my brain reset before I go back to my rhythm."
She turned her head to look at him. "I know. I'm not actually angry. I just want to do something. Go to the Met, a Broadway show or even eat a meal in a restaurant."
Duke smiled. "Tomorrow. I promise, we will go out, tonight, let's order from that Italian place down the street."
She sighed, a small smile breaking through. "Fine. But you can't take over Breakout, Im monopolizing the machine."
"You will never beat my record."
She threw an elbow back, hitting him playfully in the ribs while smiling.
Later that evening, they sat on the couch, eating takeout spaghetti.
Margaux picked up a piece of chicken with her fork. She took one small bite, chewed it slowly, and then pushed the rest of the chicken to the edge of her plate.
Duke watched her over his glass of water. "You aren't going to finish that?"
Margaux set her fork down. "I don't like it."
"You never eat the chicken," Duke pointed out. "Every time we order, no matter where it's from, you take one bite and stop."
She offered a shrug. "New York chicken is of lower quality than Idaho."
"Sounds like wasting to me."
She picked up a crumpled paper napkin and threw it at him. He caught it effortlessly, still laughing.
___
The next afternoon, the front doorbell rang again. Margaux was stretched out on the couch reading a magazine.
Duke closed his book and walked down the hall to answer the door.
When he pulled it open, two men stood on the stoop.
The first was George H.W. Bush, current Chairman of the Republican National Committee.
Standing next to him was Barry Goldwater, a senior senator from Arizona.
Duke kept his face neutral. "Mr. Bu- Chairman... Senator. This is unexpected."
Goldwater offered a thin smile. "We try to keep people guessing. May we come in?"
Duke stepped aside, opening the door wide. He caught Margaux's eye down the hall.
Seeing the suits, she quietly picked up her magazine and headed up the stairs to give them privacy.
Duke led the two politicians into the living room and offered them seats.
Bush and Goldwater took the armchairs and Duke sat across from them on the couch.
Bush spoke first, his tone diplomatic, "Duke, we've known each other for a while now. We go back to Texas, and George speaks highly of you. I've always respected your business acumen. And your service."
Goldwater leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "I had my staff pull your record. Door gunner in Vietnam. That is a brutal job, probably saw the worst of it."
Duke gave a brief nod. He didn't like discussing this specific topic. "Thank you, Senator."
"Call me Barry. We don't need formalities here." Goldwater looked around the room, taking in the comic books and the arcade machine before locking eyes with Duke.
Bush got straight to the point. "The party is in trouble, Duke. Watergate is a cancer. The House Judiciary Committee is moving forward."
"Nixon is finished. Whether it ends by impeachment or resignation, his departure is just a matter of months. The tapes guarantee it."
Duke understood the subtext, Since Nixon is falling, Nixon loyalist are also falling, basically opening up spots on the RNC.
Goldwater nodded. "I went to the White House and told him myself. He has no support left in the Senate. I won't defend him anymore. The lies caught up."
Duke absorbed the information. The political landscape shifting beneath their feet. "So who takes over? Agnew resigned last year. The line of succession puts Gerald Ford in the Oval Office."
"Correct," Bush said. "Ford is a decent man. He's honest. But he is a legislator, he will be a caretaker president. Without a massive shift in momentum, the 1976 election is going to be a bloodbath for our side."
Goldwater crossed his arms. "Back in 73, before this all blew up, Nixon thought about replacing Agnew with a heavy hitter. John Connally. Nelson Rockefeller. Even Ronald Reagan. Any of them could be in line to be president right now. Instead, we have a crisis."
Duke remembered the maneuvering. "Connally was the frontrunner for a while."
"Connally is a Democrat who flipped parties, and he brings his own baggage," Goldwater said. "Rockefeller is too liberal for our conservative base. Reagan is waiting out in California, but he is also a flipper. We are vulnerable basically."
Bush leaned forward, his eyes locking on to Duke. "Here is the situation. We do not need you to become a public partisan. We know Hollywood is a Democratic stronghold."
"Lew Wasserman runs the political machine out there. If you started waving our flag, you would alienate your audience and the creative talent at your studio."
"Agreed," Duke said firmly. "Paramount is strictly apolitical. That's how I protect the bottom line."
"But you control media assets," Goldwater countered. "You own the Washington Star. You built the American News Exchange."
"Of ocurse, we aren't asking you to print propaganda, the RNC would never ask that, we just want some favorable coverage. Help us keep the left from running completely unchecked while we rebuild the party."
Bush nodded. "Your newspaper holdings... could be on the path of growing. The party would view your quiet assistance favorably. It's all about shaping the narrative during a transition moment."
Duke sat in silence, weighing the risks. "You're asking ANE to be a hidden lever, pulled only when necessary, but otherwise invisible."
Goldwater offered a cynical smile. "That is how power actually works in this country, son. It always has."
Duke looked at both men. "I will not alienate my audiences. I can't be seen as a mouthpiece. But I understand the value of stability."
"Nothing we discuss leaves this room, after all we're having a personal conversation," Bush assured him. "You support the party quietly. When we need a specific narrative shaped, we will reach out through back channels. In return, you will have powerful friends in Washington who can avoid you falling into issues with the law."
Goldwater stood up, smoothing his suit jacket. "One more thing, Duke. That messy business with Paramount Records, you know the federal investigation into the payola and the heroin distribution."
Duke looked up. "What about it?"
Goldwater's smile didnt look like he found anything happy, but more of trying to look harmless. "Certain people at the Justice Department have been persuaded to look elsewhere. The investigation is technically open, but it is effectively dead, the matter can even be considered handled."
Bush stood up as well. "Barry has old friends at the FBI who can help give support to American Businessmen."
Duke stood and extended his hand to Bush, then Goldwater. "I appreciate discretion."
"We are all on the same team, Duke," Bush said. "Even if the public never knows it."
They walked toward the exit.
Goldwater opened the door and stepped out onto the stoop. Bush followed him. The door clicked shut, leaving Duke alone in the hallway.
Duke walked over to the front window. He pulled the curtain back just enough to watch the black sedan pull away and merge into the New York traffic.
He felt no regret over being involved in Politics.
In America, you were either at the table or on the menu.
___
Yo, imma go to sleep