Chapter 55: Burglar Alarm (Patreon)

Chapter 55: Burglar Alarm

Administrative Offices, Leavesden. August 2010.

Throughout my entire tenancy at Leavesden, I’d taken a keen interest in every department involved in production. Editing, set design, cinematography, you name it - I’d bothered someone to show me the ropes until they were ready to hang themselves. Sound included. In this instance, I wasn’t thrilled to be sitting in front of a blaring speaker.

Finance, however forgettable, too served its function. 

Clock watching was an activity I hadn’t participated in over a (second) lifetime. The torturous tedium of counting the seconds until day’s end in a cramped cubicle was something I thought I’d sloughed off once I’d become a multi-millionaire movie star. But here and now, the swivel chair I was sneakily pitter-pattering between the rungs of was circling the clock quicker than the seconds ticking by. 

Even Hollywood ran on excel spreadsheets and excessively long meetings. Which was why both David Heyman and Ben Wyatt had me strapped to a chair for WB’s latest shareholder symposium. 

Potter, and my stint behind the specs was nearly over, so the wallets were asking: what next? 

“Thank you again to all our incredible investors for taking time out from their hectic schedules to join us on this call. Before we all sign-off, we here at Warner Brothers would like to borrow a final moment of your patience. From the recent communication we’ve received, we understand your worries regarding the status of the company’s creative future. Just to reiterate, we have plenty in the pipeline - both franchise and standalone projects are on our docket, for which we’ll be sure to reach out to our legacy investors; many of whom are present here. Not only that, but Harry Potter and the wizarding world at large is something we still consider a major revenue generator.” The finance jockey in charge of the meeting was racing towards the finish line.

But before they could, someone overtook the conversation and knocked them right off their high horse. “No one at the table is denying that. The problem we’re having trouble reconciling is how do you expect to sell us on the idea that lightning is capable of striking twice?” Kudos to whoever that was, for the pun, as well as cutting through the manure.

“Let me just swoop in here for a sec.” Too bad the smell attracted the buzzards as well. Jeff Robinov, who’d already spent the last hour and a half pecking at us, couldn’t stomach anyone squawking over him. “Rest assured, I’ve been busting my hump carrying the Potter franchise on my back these last few years. It ain’t easy, folks, but I can confidently say it’s one of our most lucrative streams of income. And it’s here to stay.”

All my fidgeting ceased the moment that ridiculous sentence left his mouth. As I lunged forward to unmute myself on the speakers - Ping! - a notification on my phone popped up. Ping! Then another. Ping! And another. 

My hand hovered over the comms equipment, before my curiosity got the best of me and I swapped over to the celly. No skin off my nose, either way. Since, according to him, his back was so broken, I’d happily tear his beak down to size instead. 

( BenY8: Bas )

( BenY8: i know what you’re thinking )

( BenY8: just wait )

( Me: y shud i???)

( Me: credit where credit is due )

( Me: n that vulture committing fraud w my card )

( BenY8: then let him keep swiping )

( BenY8: lets see how far he runs up his credit bill )

( Me: o u sneaky lil bitch! )

( Me: fine i’ll play )

( Me:(‿ˠ‿) )

( BenY8: why have you sent me a butt emoji? )

( Me: bcuz touche )

( BenY8: OMG just pay attention! )

The entire time our thumbs had been thundering away, Robinov had continued to spew his personal propaganda. “The property itself is what was used to tie us to the booming online content library deal I struck with Netflix - like our merchandising department’s relationship with Uniqlo. We’re actually seeing profits coming in with projected growth in this sector for the near future. WB, under my guidance, is first off the line with this new medium of entertainment consumption. Already we’re seeing our competitors scramble to catch up. Don’t believe me? Take a look at what’s happening to blockbuster, word is they’re on the verge of filing chapter eleven. Bankruptcy. I got a lot of shit for stepping outside of our relationship with them, and now we’ve got undeniable proof of where we are versus them. I know what I’m doing.” Every suspect sentence of his was punctuated by more pinging. 

( BenY8: I hope he does cuz i don’t get his game rn )

( BenY8:  the debt keeps racking up… )

( Me: im just waiting for him to say he played Harry )

( Me: not me )

( BenY8: makes me wonder if anyone is gonna believe him )

( BenY8: all of this info is so easily refutable )

( BenY8: people just need to browse the minutes from past calls )

( BenY8: makes it obvious who actually put the deals in place )

( BenY8: your fingerprints are all over everything )

( BenY8: doesn’t take a detective to figure that out )

( Me: he’s not that stoopid )

( Me: probs understands the financiers well actually )

( Me: knows that majority don’t see past the earnings section )

( BenY8: (‿ˠ‿) )

( Me: don’t u dare copy my tushy! )

( Me: enough people doing that already )

“It’s just like I told those media vultures during my interview,” rich coming from you, Robinov. “I haven’t just kept us from being ripped off the map, I’ve put us dead fucking centre on it!” That last little tirade seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back, even for Ben. He immediately jumped in before Jeff could complete his mental gymnastics routine.

“I’m going to have to interrupt.” Ben’s voice crackled to life. “Can we please stay on topic? The question asked was trying to ascertain how WB expects to either foster a new franchise in Potter’s place, or surpass the insurmountable wall of income that Potter has generated. Frankly speaking, the deal with Uniqlo has been in place long before your tenure, Mr Robinov. And as far as I’m aware, no one, including anyone from the esteemed company logged into the call, is a sitting member on Netflix’s board. Except Bas.” Ben’s tone was calm, measured; but no one could deny it was ultimately a diatribe. He’d come to collect on accrued debts. “Instead of resting on someone else’s laurels, we should discuss where we’re headed going forward.”

It was funny to me; my history with Robinov was glaring proof of just how inflexible of a person he was. The only way to get him to bend was to make him. Yet, here he twisted, showing himself off to be an accomplished contortionist comfortably capable of kissing his own ass. 

“Fine. In more concrete terms,” which, given the molar mashed grunt Jeff responded with, is where I imagined he wishes he could bash Ben’s head right about now. “Potter is the lynchpin. We’ve got Rowling on the hook, working on the property to see how we can take it forward. So, let me make myself absolutely clear, we have plans for the future. It’s bigger than a few movies…” Robinov paused. Had this been a video call, my intuition (signified by the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention) told me he’d likely be scowling right at in my direction, “and even fewer names or faces.” 

Couldn’t help himself - just had to take that last dig at me, didn’t he? Careful, there. Might discover you’re shovelling your own grave, Robinov. 

A flush of hot of anger followed in my hackles’ wake. Up my spine, around my ears, and all the way down my throat. But I swallowed my bile. Robinov was proving himself a larger obstacle day-by-day. I felt it prudent to remind everyone that I could be a much taller hurdle to crest. 

“Got you loud and clear, Jeff el jefe.” Pretend to be the boss all you want. “I’m sure things’ll work out. If you’re having trouble getting in touch with Uniqlo, Netflix, or even Jo, let me know. I’ll bring it up to them the next time they call me. They always pay such rapt attention whenever I bring up any concerns; I’m really quite lucky to be partnered with them.” No idle threats. I didn’t just have receipts, I had an x-ray of my scoliosis to certify just whose back was carrying the franchise.

I threw FedEx, who for this entire duration, sat patiently beside me, a wink. She instantly picked up my dropped hint. I was done with this farce.

Her face stayed expressionless while she projected her voice in an eerie imitation of one of the more emphatic runners we had on set. “Mr Rhys! Mr Rhys! Are you done yet? We really, really need you back on set, please!” 

“Ah! It appears my time’s up. Ta-ta!” Bleep! I hung up. Though if you mistook that as a censored swear, I wouldn’t blame you. That was very much the mood I was in.

( BenY8: i thought filming was done for today? )

( Me: it is )

( BenY8: … )

( BenY8: well the meeting ran long anyway )

( BenY8: since you have time )

( BenY8: can we please discuss that thing you wanna do? )

( Me: what about it? )

( BenY8: its too generous )

( Me: no )

( BenY8: but what if WB tries to steal praise for it? )

( BenY8: today was a prime example )

( Me: i don’t care. The others earned it )

( Me: not about glory. It’s the right thing to do. )

( BenY8: expensive, even for you )

( Me: worth it. Make it happen. bye bitch )

“My throat hurts.” Fedex reapplied her true tongue, stood up, and circled behind me. “As does yours, I suppose. Vinegared words stress the tonsils, no?” 

I craned back, landed on the cushioned backrest, and flopped my neck to look at her staring at me. Her fingers pressed against my temples and began rubbing in circles. Instinctually, I huffed a sigh and closed my eyes; though I knew her pinprick pupils were prowling across every single one of my pores. It was oddly comforting. “If only you could keep a close eye on Robinov for me. Maybe I’d be less stressed, then?” 

“Espionage is an effective tool, one I am experienced in.” She stopped her massage. I blinked awake. “But against thieves like Robinov, it is better to have all eyes on you to make it harder for them to steal from you. Alibis and evidence are more useful than hearsay, no?” 

Rolling my shoulders to shake off my lingering irritation, I stood up. The both of us made our way out of the meeting room, following my heavy steps back to the caravan for some much needed rest. “So, what? Have someone else besides you follow me around with a camera or something? Who’s got that kind of time?”

“It is easy to arrange. All I need is your go ahead.” Confident my consigliere, wasn’t she? 

“Then you have it. But let’s leave the details for another day. Right now, I’m ready to crash.” 

Fedex sped up, looped her arm around my elbow, and fell in step next to my shuffling gait. “Would you like to borrow my bed? Sounds like you need your rest. Sleeping on the couch in your own trailer is not ideal.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m alright. A couple more days won’t kill me. I don’t know what Anita’s issue is, but she’s been stuck to me like velcro recently. Rare for her to even consider padding down anywhere lower than a four-star hotel. I don’t mind accommodating her if she’s so hell-bent.”

As I completed that though, relief washed over me when I spotted my caravan past Fedex’s. Instead of heading to the door, however, Fedex yanked my arm to pull me round its rear. She plonked us just beneath the open window, keeping us out of sight of the voices inside that suddenly prickled my ears. We turned to face each other. My eyebrows shot up; her index blocked her lips. We hunkered to eavesdrop.

“-ou can’t keep stringing him along like this. Things are tough enough for Bas, as it is right now,” Anita scolded. I knew that tone well, but I was surprised because it wasn’t directed at me for once.

“I know. Perhaps not why. Believe me, though, it’s not just me who’s noticed how on-edge he’s been lately. We can all tell. Which is why I’m here, isn’t it? Our evenings are ours, and I know just how to cheer him up.” Emma had long since become a frequent visitor to my quarters, apparently not so welcome at the moment. “Though, admittedly, I’m not sure what you mean by ‘stringing him along’, Anita.”

“Don’t play those games. Yes, you do.” Anita brokered no argument.

Emma still tried, though. “So what exactly am I meant to do, then? Break-up with him?”

“You can keep him, but no more skulking around or having him cover for you. If you want the romance to stay, then the relationship has to come to light finally.” 

“Why do you have any say in this? Bas hasn’t mentioned anythin-”

“Because that’s his problem. He won’t. Not even to me, which is really pissing me off. My job is to look after the both of you. And as it stands, if something doesn’t change in your dynamic, something’s gonna give. My fear is that something is probably Bas. Between you, the job and what’s after, plus whatever nonsense production is pulling these days - he’s not having an easy go of it.” Anita noticing wasn’t a surprise, but…I had no idea my frustrations were so visible to those around me. 

“Do I not also figure into this?” Emma’s voice was muffled now. I didn’t require a peek to guess she’d mushed her face into her palms. It was the trick I always used to lower her volume, too. “I want Bas, more than I can fully articulate. But I so desperately crave a mundane life as well. Should I surrender to my wants, I’ll not have a shred of normality left. Regardless of where I go or what I do, the knowledge of our relationship will overshadow everything. Getting out from under Hermione is going to be enough of a chore. Remember the university tours? Every time I asked a question, some silly bollocks thought himself so immensely clever for shouting out ‘ten points to Gryffindor’! Every time! I want my partner, but I also want peace of mind. Is it really so much to ask for both?”

“Yes.” Anita’s words were hard, but her tone was as soft as it had been all conversation. “Because Bas doesn’t deserve any less than you.” 

“I can’t tell him.” 

“You will.” 

Fedex sidled up to me and whispered as low as she could. “Shall we take a short walk and come back?” It was an offer to escape - at least for a little while. 

I didn’t take it. “No.” As much as I might enjoy it, I can’t keep hiding under skirts forever. Serious relationships require serious effort - even when they end. I’d done all I could, and more. If that wasn’t sufficient, there weren’t any other tricks for me to perform. At this stage and place in our lives, compatibility just wasn’t cutting it. “Gimme a boost. It’s about time I put this to bed.” God, was I gonna miss my time with her in it. 

Fedex crouched down and interlocked her fingers. I toed off my shoes, planted one sock covered foot in her grip, and hopped as she hoisted me up. 

“What am I even meant to say to him?” Emma pleaded with no one, but I heard her anyway.

“I reckon-” I grunted myself onto the windowsill, leaving me hanging by my under arms. “I’ve gotten the gist of it.”

My unexpected intrusion sent the two conspirators into cries of shock. If anything, that reaction made my phony smile stretch a little more genuine. 

“What the-? Bas!”

“Fuck-! Uh- how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know that I’m single again.” It was a callous thing to say, I realise. In all honesty, though, it was the best method I had to cope. This wasn’t easy for me either. A not insignificant part of me ached to capitulate and carry on this midnight charade. But that wasn’t something I could tolerate - for Emma or for me.

“I’m so sorry!” Emma launched herself off her seat, swung her arms, and wrapped the fraction of my torso poking in through the window in a tight hug.

The creamy soft silk of her skin brushed against my cheek; bringing with it the distinct, lingering, patchouli scent of her goopy green face mask she wore every night. As my arms curled around her and I breathed her in, I almost gave it up as a bad joke. Unlike my dangling legs, though, I held firm. “Don’t be. You gave me one of the best years of my life.” I meant that wholeheartedly. 

“You’re lying!” She crushed me tighter into her embrace, which I was grateful for as I felt myself slipping. “Oohh, you hate me now, I know it!” Her voice quavered and choked.

“Never.” I was happy to use the frame, constricting my larynx, as an excuse for why I sounded the same as her.

“This is awful!” She shook in my arms, shifting me slightly out with every weepy hiccup. My feet scrambled to find purchase on the smooth wall, but it was mostly her holding me up now. “I must be the most horrid girlfriend in the world. Even our separation is subpar - we ought to be screaming at each other and fighting. Forget the relationship part - I’m not even allowing you the satisfaction a proper break-up provides!”

My palms soothed their way up and down her back, crumpling her shirt. One of mine, actually. “C’mon, don’t fool yourself. Ain’t getting rid of me that easy. We have our whole lives ahead to bicker nonstop.”

“Promise?”

“Til you get sick of me.”

“I’m going to miss you.” She shuddered. “So much.”

“Me too. Now unhand me, will you? I’m suffocating.” She unclenched her pythons, pulled away, but left her hands splayed over my jaw. Her mascara was running down again. “God, you’re a mess.” She really was beautiful. 

Her laugh was thick, stuffy, and wet. “You’re not any better.” She leaned in and planted a last tear-flavoured smooch on my lips. 

We let go.