Chapter 61: Diamonds in the Buff (Patreon)

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NOTE: Apologies for the delay in release. Suffered a medical emergency at home that's seen me in and out of the hospital the past few days. The nature of the injury makes it incredibly difficult to type - I'll have to be more careful with blenders going forward haha. I'll be doing my absolute best this coming week to bombard you with catch up chapters. But enough of that - back to the story!

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Chapter 61: Diamonds in the Buff

Disney Motion Picture Studios, LA. January 2011.

My recent stint as a quintessential workhorse blowing off steam had whipped just about everyone into a frenzy. Both personal and professional matters were jockeying for my attention today, which ultimately meant I’d been scheduled to trot around town as a veritable show pony.

“Just through here, Bas. We’ve labelled and laid out a range of costumes inside the changing room. The adjoining door leads into where you’ll be showcasing them to our creative panel. Call for me if you require any further assistance.” The door clacked shut behind me and I surveyed the private dressing chamber I’d been shoved into. 

Clothes on hangers that appeared closer to cosplay rather than the official capacity I was here under. Anita irritably rifled through the rungs of dangling costumes, while Fedex inconspicuously investigated any potential, unwanted surveillance. Hidden cameras or hidden intent weren’t welcome. I wouldn’t be shocked if I stumbled into surprises roaming around. Once she signalled me with a nod, I knew it was safe enough for me to strip down to my skivvies. 

Neither Fed nor Anita batted an eye even when I was all the way down to my briefs - I don’t know who that was a worse look for. Them, for being so desensitised to my scandalous state; or me, for wanting shy shrieks and red cheeks. 

Jamming my fists on each side of my hips, my gaze mazed across the contours of my defined figure. I pursed my lips in consideration and darted my eyes at the door we’d just entered from. Do I indulge my perverse amusement by beckoning inside the Disney aide who’d availed herself to me? Surely she’d flounder satisfyingly at my immense immodesty. 

Yet, my nefarious scheme was foiled by a sudden faceful of fancy fabrics. “I don’t know what cogs are turning in that head of yours, but whatever it is, pump the brakes - and no dancing either!” Peeling the lycra away, I was met with Anita’s finger ready (and willing) to pick my nose should I choose to pick any bones.

Unfortunately for her, though, I was feeling rather lucky today; and therefore pushed it. “C’mon, baby, my allotment for mischief has been woefully unfulfilled. Just a smidgen? Please?” Bringing my own fingers up to eye-level, I pinched them until they were barely a millimetre apart.

“Sexual harassment lawsuit.” Fedex, however, objected, using her familiarity with the law.

“The calling her ‘baby’ part, or the proposed public indecency part?” I sought to clarify.

“Both.” She gave her verdict.

“No more horsing around, Bas. I’m tiring of riding you. I’m begging you, put on your outfits and let’s get this over with already.” Anita pleaded before I could launch another appeal. Her patience wasn’t thin with me, but for me. Disney was being a tad too imperious in their conduct.

Relenting with a sigh, I stuffed myself into the first snug spandex suit. I was distinctly aware of how needlessly difficult I was being. Only a hair more than usual, but even I could tell I was constantly hitting on frayed nerves - not the least of which belonged to me as well. 

Full disclosure, I wasn’t exactly enthused about this outing - at all, really. Disney was supremely eager to saddle me up and hitch my star to an - as yet - undecided wagon. Which was all well and good; but my issue with the process was this private fashion show they were making me put on. “Puha!” Squeezing my head through the tight collar, I puffed out a breath and shook my mane free. “For the record: this is far more exhibitionist than knickers alone.” A quick three-sixty pirouette in front of the mirror highlighted how compact the suit was around my haunches. I certainly wasn’t sporting assless chaps, now was I? “Hell of an arse, though.”

“That you are.” With a whip at my proverbial behind, Anita snapped her fingers and gestured at the doorway that Fed helpfully held ajar. “Now git!”

Sufficiently spurred on; a few steps later found myself presented in front of a clipboard wielding crowd for their study. “Morning all!” Could’ve been any hour for all I knew. The blinding spotlight made it feel like the sun was tanning my hide. “How shall I do this, then?” I looked for guidance - not that I could see worth a damn to confirm instruction; it was mostly the audible scribbles of concept artists doodling my DaVinci-worthy form that let me know I wasn’t alone at all.

“We appreciate your cooperation, Mr Rhys. As of this moment, we have several projects we’re considering you for. In order to help us select the most appropriate role in our roster, as an exercise in range, we’d like for you to adopt the archetypes tied to each respective costume you’ll be wearing in sequence-” and sequins for a couple of them too. “We’ll yell out a few lines. Please respond according to your own imaginative discretion.” A disembodied voice requested I embody the character my different outfits designated me as. 

A shiver - visible even beneath the opaque layer of my skintight onesie - made transparent how odd, impersonal, and bitterly cold this was. Liam Neeson had played my fictional father a scant few years ago, but I doubted he’d have the will to see me un-taken. 

“So, it’s up to me how to act?” My intent wasn’t to confirm the task. This was the last and only warning to give me more solid direction. I’d grown rapidly disillusioned with this entire affair; an outlook I’d attempt to repay them with concerning me - unless, of course, they rein me in.

Too bad they didn’t. “Improvisation is key - we want a taste of your unique flavour, Bas. Any sort of dynamic body language and an accompanying one-liner should be enough. Given what you’re wearing, maybe something heroic?” 

Either way, they asked for Bas, they’d get Bas - all third person of me. Disney was proving itself a whole new world. About time I flexed my acting muscles and introduced them to Mr Universe. 

Hmm. Seeing as I was meant to be a cape, I struck myself in the most thematic stance I could think of. I tipped one toe forward and raised up on my heels. Both my arms reached up at the sky as if I was about to take flight, and I tensed every strand of sinew and strength in my body. “Am I a bird? Am I a plane? No, I’m Super Bas!” Wrong fictional pantheon, I know. Yet, as I (body)built the eponymous pose, I felt sweet victory.

They were marvelling at me, I could tell. “...Um-” too awestruck and jaw-stuck to form full sentences. “L-lets see how he does in the other costumes, yeah?”

Their day didn’t get any better here on out, but mine sure did. 

My next assignment came bundled with a prop pistol, a sleeveless vest, and a wide-brim hat. Needless to say, my next get up had me giddying up as a cowboy. High-noon duels were a staple of the genre, so I hit the mark with the most accurate pose I could think of. My hand with the revolver curled into a bulging bicep - to show off the guns, obviously. My other arm took aim by maximally extending out towards a distant target. “Draw!” That line served as a command for my illusory opponent, as well as the illustrators basking in my gunslinging archer pose below. 

“M-maybe something not as action-oriented next?”

Cast back into my closet, I changed into something softer. Ruffled shirts for ruffled feathers, and petticoats for petty fits. I forewent both and strolled out bare-chested in a pair of period proper pantaloons. “My queen!” Instead of dropping down to one knee, I spread out into a pristine lunge. “I am sworn to carry your burdens.” I bent forward, popped my delts, and altered myself into Atlas, bearing the world as its altar. “I beseech thee, sit on me!” 

“We think we have what we need, Bas… thank you…”

“There’s still a couple of costumes left. I’m pretty sure there was a loincloth in there, somewhere.” The (now banned) moon pose was a perfect choice for that piece of garment. My gams would look wonderful. 

“No, Bas. That’ll be all for today.” 

“You sure? I can easily swing back out and demo my Tarzan - I might need a Jane to help sell the fantasy, though. Any takers?”

A few keen fingers cut through the beaming spotlights, but the shadow minister in charge of today’s session ushered me back into my cabinet. “No-! I mean- no need, Bas. You’ve been gracious enough with your time. I won’t keep you here any longer, but rest assured, we’ll be in touch.” 

–

Back in my own skin (and a full set of clothes), my team and I made our way towards the exit. “I almost feel sorry for them,” Anita commented. “They brought you here expecting a hero and somehow got on your bad side.” 

Readjusting my hair in a passing reflective surface, “all my sides are good - at least from where I’m watching. I wasn’t just being obtuse for the sake of it. I would’ve worn, and said whatever they wanted, if only they’d conducted themselves with a bit more mutual respect. This entire operation could’ve been a lot smoother if they hadn’t treated me like a stripper for hire.”

“Hey, you won’t hear me complaining. I’m behind you one hundred percent.” Anita slid underneath my arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Frankly, your behaviour exceeded expectations. You’re not some doe-eyed roadside bimbo desperate for a big break. Next time, don’t bother entertaining them. Either you get the VIP treatment - which, trust me, I’ll be having words about with our Disney liaison later - or we walk out.”

With my forearm draped across her collarbone, I tucked her in tighter. “Don’t go causing a kerfuffle now. I still have use for the mouse. They’ve got loads of resources, far more than they’ll ever miss, that I can take advantage of.” 

“Whoa-sorry.” One of which almost bumped into us on both our ways out.

We all stayed on our feet, but Anita was tripping over her tongue. “Is Disney having hunk parade? What’s with all the hot dudes-?” My hand shot up and cupped her mouth shut, cutting off her reflexive blurting out. Her eyes flicked in my direction in both apology and thanks. I didn’t blame her. Immune to me as Anita and my circle were, I was still well aware of the effect men like me had on unsuspecting women. 

Idris Elba was probably familiar with the phenomenon, too. “Forgive my companion. We were just on our way to tea - and she’s quite thirsty.” Any gratitude she’d held for me was abruptly stamped out over my poor toes.

“Nah, s’alright, mate.” Momentary surprise flashed across his face even as he clasped my free hand that I’d presented for a shake. “I get it, a bit. Wasn’t exactly expecting to run into you here, either. But damn, if they’ve got the likes of Bas Rhys here too, means I must be doing pretty well myself. Bewitched you too, have they?”

“Strung along, more like.” He was Stringer Bell - of course I had motive to phrase my response in that particular manner. “What’re you in for?”

“Thor - one of them Marvel flicks comin’ out. I play a character called Heimdall in it. It’s set for in a few months, so they’ve summoned me for press briefings for the lead up to release. Plus, Luther, my BBC-” low hanging fruit, even I knew better than to make such an easy quip and let Idris continue with his explanation- “detective series just wrapped on series two. So, I thought I might see if I can squeeze out some more dosh or a new project while I’ve got the free slot in my schedule.”

I smelled an opportunity here. “I actually might have an offer you might be interested in, then.” Zoe’s character needed a fitting father figure to get her daddy issues from, and I think I just found him. “Care to join us for tea?”

“Won’t say no to a cuppa.”

–

Kravitz Villa, Malibu. January 2011.

The ocean view from Zoe’s beach front family home was a far sight better than the stage room at Disney. However, the reason for my visit was equally uncomfortable, in its own way.

Lilakoi Moon, formerly called Lisa Bonet, better known to me as Zoe’s mom, had invited me over to their house for some light refreshment and interrogation. Contrary to my experience with my corporate overlords, I was actually nervous about encountering this authority. I had a soft spot for mothers - go figure. 

“Chill, bro. Have a beer.” Slouched where I was stiff-spined, Jason Momoa uncapped a bottle of corona, squeezed a slice of lime down its neck, and thudded it on the wooden table in front of me.

 I rejected it with a polite shake of my head. “I’m trying to make a good first impression. Not possible if I’m sauced the two most recent times she sees me.” On account of me getting hammered and plastered all over the news. 

“Oh, for the love of- she’s not trying to vet you, Bas. She just wants to get to know you better since we’re gonna be working together for the first time.” Zoe rolled away from where she was lounging, pounced on my lap, and started frustratedly jostling me. 

She was too close. As I said, I was alert to the reaction I had on the fairer sex. It wasn’t lost on me how extra Zoe was being by clambering on to me. But this was neither the time nor the place. “Get off me! I’ll not have your mum think me some two-bit harlot.” I snatched the hair at the back of her head and playfully tossed her back onto the couch cushions. The flush and involuntary moaning yelp she let out let me know that was the wrong move for my current ends. I’d probably pay for that later, if the glower she sent my way was any indication. 

“I’d worry about your own virtue, Bas. My Zoe’s the apple of her father’s eye and hasn’t fallen too far from the tree - and he’s been a rockstar since the eighties. Nothing either of you kids will do is likely to surprise me.” Mommy dearest appeared, sauntered over and plonked herself next to her long-time boyfriend and father of her two youngest children. “That being said, allow me leeway to assess your vices. She’s my daughter too, after all.” 

“And it’s a mother’s job to fear for her children’s safety. I hear you, ask away, I’m an open book.” Ha! I knew this was an interrogation. They could pretend to be as laid back as they liked; but in the same vein my people would look out for me, Zoe’s family was ensuring that she wasn’t about to bludgeon her burgeoning career.

“Man, like, it’s pretty cool how levelheaded kids are these days.” Momoa nabbed my abandoned beer and took a swig. “Nothing like us, back in the day - hell, the boy here’s more mature than I am now. More famous, too. Being around you guys is hurting my ego,” he joked.

But I held a conflicting view. Khal Drogo was about to hit TV screens rather violently later this year. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that henceforth Hogwarts would have a really tough time wrestling with Westeros for the fantasy throne. 

Which sprouted another idea in my head. I still needed to fill out the role for the skeevy drug dealer, and when I pictured that word, one joyless grey face popped up.

Later in the evening, on my way back home, I put my international network to task. I dialled the +44 UK country code. “Bas? Have you any bloody idea what time it is?” Good question, Rupert; I didn’t. 

But that wouldn’t stop me from asking for a favour. “I need your help, chief.”

There was silence on the other side for a brief second. “...who’s pregnant?”

“No one, but your hairy ginger arse will be once I’m through!” Honestly, the cheek on Grint. “Seriously, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Shoot.”

“Are you still mates with Alfie Allen, by any chance?”