Chapter 57.5: Ozymandingus (Patreon)

Chapter 57.5: Ozymandingus

Jeff Robinov’s Office WB, LA. November 2010.

“Bas Rhys, in the flesh!” Really didn’t appreciate that word seeping out of Robinov’s mouth. “Christmas came early.” Not a celebration I had any intention of attending. 

My intuition screamed who the Turkey was touted to be - and I’ll be damned if I was gonna be stuffed.

Upon barging into Robinov’s cavernous office, I remained momentarily unsure of whether he was eager for my arrival, or willfully disdainful of my presence. 

Arms crossed, back turned, he pretended to observe the Hollywood strip outside. The faint reflection I caught in the glare of his window, however, let me know exactly where his peepers were actually laser-focused.

Mixed signals, as usual. May as well straighten this mess out.

“On the contrary; you were almost too late. You were taking too long, so I nearly went ahead and unwrapped an entirely different gift.” He didn’t offer me a seat, just continued to stare out his window with his hands held behind his back; a little too at ease for my liking. I swung round anyway, but as I prepared to plonk down, I spied a butt-print stamped into the creased leather of the chair. “Was Venit sat here?”

Jeff ceased his poor impression of a Bond villain when my non sequitur teased him out of surveying his proverbial kingdom from beyond the massive plate glass view port. “Hm? Yes, he was… why?”

“No reason.” I avoided that chair and sat in the second one. “These are new clothes.” Neither was I overly intent on developing some insidious venereal disease so soon after earning singlehood. I was more inclined to risk that with the receptionist downstairs.

“What a vicious creature you are, Bas. It’s okay, though. I’ve gotta appreciate the brief fight a man in my lofty position still gets these days. Life gets too easy, too comfortable without it.” He chuckled, twirled on his heel, and perched himself back in his chair. Which - as I sunk deeper into the crevices of the oddly angled seat I nestled within - I noticed was pumped a fair few rungs higher than mine. 

Jeff, even to this extent, kept flapping his wings. Excited, desperate almost, to show himself off about to take flight. “Birds of a feather, and all that twaddle.” My clip-wing reminder served as a potent example that I was very much capable of soaring at an equal altitude.

“Alright, we don’t need to waste no more time spittin’ out pleasantries.” It seems Robinov was ready to get to the meat of the matter - by which I meant me.

“I agree with you. A statement, by the way, that’s become an exceedingly rare occurrence of late.” I leaned against the backrest, tossed my arms wide across it on either side of me, and ever so slightly tilted my head inquisitively. ‘I’m waiting’ being the operative theme here. “About time I received a genuine explanation for why.”

“See? This. This! This is why I’m just so goddamn fond of you, Bas.” Robinov must have seen the abject disbelief pass across my face. “No, really! You can’t imagine the amount of sugar-frosted bullshit I’m fed on a daily basis. But you? There’s no mincing, no whining, no pretense. You always go for the fuckin’ jugular. Straight to the fuckin’ point.”

“Something you rather ought to mimic.”

“Fine!” Whap! He slammed his thick claw on the table. “Then, I will. I owe you that respect, at least. See, Bas, frankly, I’m worried about you.”

“Is that right? And what exactly about me inspired such worry?” Concern? More like conspiracy from the mouth of a con-man.

“Your rep, Bas. It’s fucked. You ain’t got any idea just how much I’m doing to rescue it.” 

“Funny. I don’t exactly call what you pulled during our last investor update a rescue.” The bank of Bas Rhys was still owed quite the credit debt.

“Not out of choice.” Now, who’s the one plating up a toffee turd? “Don’t you get it, Rhys? I was acting as a shield. If I wanted to preserve the valuable work you’ve done for the Potter franchise and WB’s working relationships, I had to obfuscate the level of your involvement for our more… let’s say discerning investors.” 

I uncrossed my legs and stretched out one pointed toe. “Pull the other one.” The truth was far simpler. The breadcrumbs belied his actual motive. Those same discerning investors were the ones whose focus Jeff wanted zoned in on his gleaming bald scalp solely. “You can keep screaming that slander all you want. It’s not gonna make it gospel.” Planting my toes back on the marble, I moved to rise. 

“Don’t believe me?” Jeff rushed to keep my rump parked. “Then let me lay it all out. The first time your profile crossed my desk, it was less like reading an actor’s and more like trying to parse through the schematics of a tank. You were a machine. On the attack, ambitious, effective, dangerous. Something that you proved when you essentially strong-armed the script reversion for Halfblood.” He took a breath. “In all that time, I had little to fear from you, or for you. The tight-knit team you’d cloistered around you had your back, front, and blindsides covered. Until the nanny left. Suddenly, you weren’t so impenetrable.” 

Translation: I foiled his plans. He probed for weaknesses, but found none. Then came Cadbury’s departure, and with it a perceived chink in my armour. “Mrs Fine wasn’t gone for long before Ms Alexie filled in her shoes, though.” Cadbury and Fedex, respectively. Robinov didn’t deserve that level of candor, and neither was my line of argument an authentic one. 

Like any and every two-bit villain on the cusp of their crowning achievement, he was set to monologue. 

This meant that the right questions alone would finally complete the puzzle.

“Unfortunately for your image in certain circles, Bas, this most recent handler of yours has had her brief career so far marred by negligence. You engaged in so much out and aboutism, and she was nowhere in sight.” Ironic, considering her lack of presence was precisely the mark of a job well done. “People have always labelled you a rebel, Bas. Out of control, though? That’s new. Are you sure the new chick is up to the task?”

“I suppose you have a better alternative?” Not that it mattered one whit to me. Fedex had long since delivered.

Jeff shrugged his shoulders and clasped his hands in front of his lips that just barely missed hiding the satisfied smirk behind them. “Say the word and the studio will provide.”

Unlike Cadbury, Fed’s job wasn’t to protect me from myself, but to let me behave however I wished with minimal consequence. She was freedom. Robinov wanted that taken away. 

My inkling from earlier grew into a more pervasive itch. I wonder what else Robinov aimed to deprive me of? “Hmm. Hypothetically… what are the set limits on that?”

A cruel, crooked, grinchy grin slashed his face nearly in half. No hiding that. “Almost none. There’s nothing we can’t accommodate. Lemme give you an example: if you’re not gelling with a director, we’ll toss ‘em out. We facilitated Yates’ exit in the same way. I dangled a fresh project in front of his face, and he ditched Potter for Red Riding Hood.”

“I don’t remember asking for that.”

“You didn’t have to. We took the liberty of doing so of our own volition. Yates wasn’t a good fit for you anymore.” A tool that was hard pressed to put the screws to me was a useless one, I reckon. “Financing the delay was a pain, but needs must.”

Rubbing my chin, I asked another question to keep his wagging. “Any other issues you’ve graciously headed off that I may have overlooked?”

“Ain’t no need to beat yourself up, Rhys. Everyone drops the ball once in a while. Hell, even you blindsided us when you scribbled out your own name on your paycheque and wrote a thousand others on it. Dropping that fat stack on those production peons?” He flamboyantly kissed his fingertips and flared them with a flourish. “Master stroke. But again, it was reckless and sent us scrambling. Whatever rat leaked it prevented the PR team from curating a better story. Next time you get the hankering for charity, WB can suggest a list of our affiliated causes that have… greater visibility.” 

In essence, my money and effort to fund their PR initiatives and partnerships with only their permission. “How very comforting.” My sarcasm almost ran away from me. “Gotta say, though, I don’t hear any distress when it comes to me lavishly splurging my cash, huh?” 

Robinov shrugged. “You’ll do what you do. We can extend a line of credit for you if required.” Be poor, be indebted, be dependent. “You’re a star; live your life. We’re here as your safety net. Career-wise as well. There’s so many scripts in our pipeline that we can easily place you as the face of an upcoming franchise. I’ve got a super one in mind for you already. Young adult dystopia is the new hotness. Kinda appropriate for you, if you don’t mind my saying. Your future’s looking like a wasteland from where I’m sitting. What was that afro flick you did? Did anyone outside the BET quarter bother buying tickets to Black Dynamite? As far as I’m aware, you don’t even got something planned since you got shot down by both your buddy-cop screenplays.” Buzzards knew where the carcasses were. “It’s not totally your fault, gotta admit. That agent of yours just ain’t pulling her weight anymore, is she?” And this vulture in front of me was salivating in anticipation of another corpse.

My gaze unwillingly shifted to the soiled seat beside me. “Venit’s presence suggests that you have a scheme cooked up for that, too.” Santa got stuck sneaking inside through the chimney, letting me see him frantically stomping his feet.

Robinov tapped his nose as if he thought I was in on it. “You catch on quick, Bas. WME and I have concluded that the hands of someone more experienced would best serve your career. You gotta understand, Bas, fair-weather flunkies aren’t going to cut it anymore. Specter, that new handler; you should even think about swapping out your money guy - I know plenty. Take this for what it is, Rhys, a wake up call. You’re the only one that can decide how much your dreams are worth.”

It finally clicked. The last piece of the puzzle snapped into place, showcasing the total picture. 

You know what was on it? Me, hogtied with a ribbon like a prized roast pig, served on a silver platter to a table full of starving Hollywood execs. Wrap your head around that image, because it was precisely how Robinov wanted my arse gift-wrapped. 

They sat at the dinner table. Surrounding their holiday feast with sharpened forks and knives.

No, Bas, all your movies will flop if you don’t make them under our banner. Forget the multiple-times returns you’ve made - it’s not worth it. And even if you try to branch out, who knows if it’ll pan out? We have the power to hook your production staff, line up other projects, and sink your ambitions. We did it with Potter, we won’t hesitate for anything else, either. Be a good boy and perform for the films we give you and none other.

Braying their insidious doubts loudly at me.

No, Bas, don’t worry about your money. Blow it or stow it - our financial experts should have oversight, though. 

To gnaw away at my sense of self worth and competence.

No, Bas, the family you’ve carved out for yourself, aren’t really who they say they are. Leeches and layabouts. One’s already left, why won’t the others? Better to push them out before they can wreck everything. Give us the reins to your life. It wouldn’t do for anyone or thing else to have undue influence. 

Until all I had courage left to do was duck and shy away from the betrayed glances.

No, Bas, you are not your own person. You are our product. You’ll look bad unless you say and do exactly what we tell you. 

Leaving merely a husk.

We made you.

…

What a crock of fuckin’ shit!

Hot, metallic blood practically flooded my mouth. I gnashed my jaw and grit my teeth with enamel shattering force. The same sensation I wanted to deny Robinov by knocking his teeth out, because it took everything within me not to smile as wide as I physically could. 

Had Anita not revealed her decision to strand her own career in favour of my own, had Fedex not spurned every easily available opportunity to blackmail for everything on my naughty list, had I no confidence in my own limitless potential, I’d be worried. But that just wasn’t the case. 

My people were beyond reproach.

This was a true comedy of errors. All his, WB’s, Venit, and by extension WME’s as well.

Jeff bore into me with unveiled superiority. It brought me untamed pleasure to knock his elation back down to earth. “No.”

“… No? What do you mean, no?”

“Precisely that. My circle’s staying right where they are - around me.” I squirmed in my seat. Not out of anxiety, but to leave the deepest possible derriere divot in the leather. I stood up and admired the perfect print of my posterior stamped into it. If anyone here wanted back in my good graces, they could practice kissing the mould I’d left. 

“You’re making a costly mistake. You’re letting this valuable opportunity slip through your fingers.” He implored. His head angled towards my direction, ear first, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“No worries, Jeff. I can afford it.” Ben’s got my wallet covered, too. Just because Jeff had some idea how much I’ve made on the films through salary and stake both, doesn’t mean he, or anyone else, had any clue how much we’ve made it grow beyond that. “Tell you what, though, forward the script over to Anita. I’m sure she’ll convince me to take it on if she sees merit in it.” She wouldn’t and neither would I; but like cheap presents, it’s the thought that counts. 

“This isn’t over. You know that, don’t you, Rhys?” His threat rang somewhat hollow, primarily since he’d abjectly demonstrated just how much he desired my involvement (as subservience or reliance instead of cooperation). By now it was readily apparent that WME were complicit in their explicit canoodling, too. They’d both piled on the pressure to save their diamond in the rough. 

From a purely business perspective, I savvied where they came from. I cast Robinov a last glance. There weren’t any overt outwards signs of it - just a dry tongue-smack and an aborted gulp carried his vain hopes of a more palatable response to his offer.

Too bad I bore nary an aspiration to prostrate myself as an idle, expensive ornament for their bragging rights and padded pockets.

“Who said I wanted it to be?” As I walked out, I expected nothing other than coal in my stocking. 

Good. It’d just fuel my fire further.