Bas' Koreatown Apartment, LA. January 2007.
Boredom. Boredom. Boredom.
My tongue stretched out under the upturned glass in my hand to collect the last drop of cocoa. Borosilicate.
I turned my head to look out the window. I spied the flowers Cadbury had draped around the balcony railings. Bougainvillea.
Dejectedly, I approached the window, pressed my face and hands on the glass acting as my prison, and watched as the rain poured across the street outside. Boulevard.
In spite of the rain, the scene of a uniformed chauffeur guiding a desperate housewife type into a car played out in front of me. She was just stepping out of a salon, so the umbrella he had to hold over her fresh bob-cut was extra vigilant. Not a drop on her, but the driver was drenched and so was the dog he'd been handed. Bourgeoisie.
Wait. What was I doing again? Oh, yeah. Boredom.
Reminiscing over the last year, I distinctly remembered how knock-down, drag-out tired I'd been. Yet now, not even two full weeks into my rest, I was yearning for sleepless nights again.
Tropic Thunder's shoot was still months away in June. For now, I had nowhere to be, nothing to do, and no one to play with. Not even myself.
Cadbury still hadn't taken down the parental locks.
Speak of the devil. "Telephone for you, Mr Rhys." But I didn't feel like it. I resumed rubbing my grubby fingers over the cool glass, staining it like the words oiliest snow angel.
"Leave me be, Cadbury. Allow me to wallow in the misery of this hollow purgatory."
"It is Mrs Stephens. She demands your presence." Oh! I peeled myself away from the sliding door, pushed off and slid across the polished hardwood floor in my socks, snagged the phone out of Cadbury's hands, flopped down on the couch, and held the cell to my ear.
A quick calculation of the time-zone difference. Huh, she was calling at like six in the morning at her time. "Bore da." Wales, you know.
"Don't you good morning me, Bas Rhys! It is anything but." Bursting an eardrum wasn't on my bucket list, so I'd briskly pulled the phone away from me before she could bellow the second syllable. Still heard her loud and clear, though.
What would be worse for me? Get shouted at now, or hang up and let future Bas deal with the lungs from Cardiff? "Wrong number." Best to let the older and wiser handle this.
"Hang this call up, and I'll hang you up. This I promise, you absolute miscreant." Wisdom was for suckers anyway.
"Bas Rhys speaking. How may I help?"
"That's better. When I rose this morning, I was in a fairly good mood. The children need not wake for another couple of hours, so I decided to take my breakfast in front of the tele. Seeing as the only way I get to see one of my other children these days is through the screen, I tuned in to the entertainment channel, and lo-and-behold I see his face. Do you know what my reaction was when I watched that trailer for the newest Harry Potter film?"
Please be one of the following: "Elation? Fond remembrance? …Happi-?"
"Horror, boy!" Foiled. "All I wanted to do when I saw the skeleton wearing your face like a mask and writhing about on the floor was to take my omelette and shove it down your throat via satellite."
The ministry scenes were some of the last we'd filmed; I was at the tail end of the diet and runs at that point. Skeletal was going far, though. "I didn't look that bad. Besides the camera… er, subtracts ten pounds."
"Feed that nonsense to yourself, then perhaps you won't look so emaciated!" Was it too late to go back to being bored? "Your own health no longer seems to be a concern for you, so do enlighten me as to what else you've been neglecting."
"Nothing! And I'm eating just fine now, too."
"Have you even resumed your gymnastics training?"
[Like a ballerina, I had my toes pointed at the ceiling, with the only difference being that I was eight feet off the ground.
The burn in my core superseded only by the lactic acid buildup in my arms as I squeezed the still rings in my hands with every ounce of strength I had. I kipped up, steadily backsaulted, and ended the strength routine on an Azaryan cross.
Then I dropped the tension and just hung off the rings like old laundry.
Someone else had my instructor's focus. Perfect opportunity for a little monkey business. I swung my legs, twisted my hips, and flexed my torso. I wrapped the tethers of the rings over each other and twisted the apparatus.
No clues about what happened when I released the tension.
Helicopter!
I spun more and faster than divers tumbling off a hundred foot drop.
It didn't matter that the coil lost all potential. My head remained spinning even as I let go and planted my wobbly feet on the mat. My guts churned and did some gymnastics of their own right between my own feet.]
"You wouldn't believe my dismounts."
"There isn't a point asking if you've taken up further education. You should be ashamed of having abandoned that wonderful mind of yours." That was less me and more the cheat codes. "But have you, at the very least, taken your driver's test?"
[The DMV may as well have been the DMZ with the poor first impression I made on my examiner.
Opening the wrong side car door will do that. I blame the UK and Japan.
I didn't have bullets, but according to the examiner my feet compensated - made of lead as they were.
Sue me for speeding up the process, bouncing my leg in that dingy waiting area for so long for my turn and drained all patience.
Just my luck, the examiner had a camera phone and a daughter with an upcoming birthday. Twenty-three seconds was a much shorter time commitment than a second test day.
Happy Birthday, Charlotte!]
"I've got my license and everything."
"... Put me on speaker." Click. I did. "Cadbury, has anything he's said rang true?"
"In a manner of speaking." Betrayal.
"Tongue twisters, I assume?"
"Enough to be a choking hazard." Someone was itching to have her name changed from Cadbury to Mrs Doubtfired.
"Lord above, Bas! Why is getting a straight answer out of you such an impossible task? The only reason I'm not rushing over right now is because I can rest easy knowing that Mr Su is more than capable of re-instilling discipline."
["Hana!" I kicked up, but he moved the pad away.
"Hana!" I kicked again, and he moved again. This had been going on for the last ten minutes, and I was still stuck on one.
I braced, blinked sweat out of my eyes, and swung my leg up with full might. "Yeong!" He brought the strike pad down, caught my ankle, and pushed my unstable butt to the floor. I'd just been moved back to zero.
"Do you see photo on wall? Oh Dae Su's frowny face was only visible because his Asian-fro was blocking the fluorescent light dangling off the ceiling. I tilted my head up to where he was pointing and saw a picture of me celebrating my red belt. He marched over to it and unhooked the frame. "You lose power. Where your muscle go?"
"It'll grow back!"
"Aish! No more training till you eat. Get up! Bundaeggi Se Kki. Your strike was once like a coiling snake, now you jiggle like soggy worm."]
"He's uh… even teaching me some Korean."
"If the time you have on your hands exceeds your sense, then I vehemently suggest you either pick up another hobby or find some more work. You cannot idle your days away piddling about."
"I can't argue with that, I suppose. Or maybe I can. You did say you'd rush over if I continued to misbehave, yeah?"
"Cadbury."
"Yes, dear?"
"Some punishment is required, I believe." She didn't even hesitate with a swat to the back of my head. Battery.
"I think I'll call Anita and see if she has any gigs for me." I'm not crying, you are!
–
Endeavor Agency Offices, LA. January 2007.
While her suite wasn't half as impressive as Venit's expansive corner office, I felt a lot more comfortable sitting on her chairs than his.
The painting that I remembered hung on his wall wasn't the only Jackson Pollock he owned, I'm sure.
"You realize that the compensation's going to be peanuts, right?" Anita brought the landline to her ear and began dialing a number.
"Uh-huh. I'm basically bending down to pick a penny off the floor when I have an entire roll of hundreds in my pocket. I get it. I don't mind."
"Alright. TV it is."
"Won't lie, I'm surprised you're so agreeable with my idea. You always seemed so against it. What'd you say? 'I'll only stick you on syndicated television when you're ready to retire.'" The silver screen held very little of the prestige that proper films did - the only thing lower on the totem pole were soap operas. Which is funny because, as it stands, I'm young and restless.
"Only if you wanted to headline. And only if you're making at least half a mil an epi. Cameos and bit parts in your down time are a-okay by me. Good way to get your face out more than it already is."
"I'm guessing you already have something in mind?"
I heard the muffled ring of her call going through. "Mhm. Endeavor has a solid standing relationship with the USA Network, they have a couple of shows still in relative infancy but with good pull that they want to invest in. I'm also personally trying to court NBC, so I'll try to get you in one of their shows as well. You won't even have to audition, they'll be falling over themselves to have you."
"Is that who you're calling now?"
"No. My job is to get you roles. Your job is to convince Ben this is worth your time." Click.
"Duneshire Equities, you're go for Ben Wyatt."
"Wyatt, it's Anita. I'm here with Bas. We're thinking about getting him some work on TV. Low pay." Anita got straight to the point.
"Project and range?" Ben reciprocated with brevity.
"Three off the top of my head. No less than 30k and no more than 50k per position." Peanuts indeed.
"Are they at least shot locally in LA?"
"Miami, New York, and Vancouver. Flights are on us."
"Denied." Guy didn't even stop to breathe.
"Don't you think it's my decision? There's nothing wrong with a working vacation." I hit the speaker phone switch.
"If you wanna pay money to work, then go ahead, Bas. My calculator, however, says that you're only going to earn a pittance after breakeven when we pay all your fees and obligations. It's not worth it. I'm not about to let you waste the little money you'd make covering flights and lodging as well."
I glanced at Anita to see if she was going to add anything to the conversation, but she'd leaned back on her swivel chair, shot me a pointed raise of the eyebrow, gestured at the phone. Helpful.
"Well, your logic is sound." When did my purse earn such tight strings?
"I'm glad you agree, Bas. Honestly, it's a relief. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find more roles without issue. You're you after all." I am, aren't I? Maybe I should act a little more like it. Why was I trying to be reasonable?
"Fair enough, but I don't want this problem cropping up again in the future. Let's nip it in the bud now. If booking flights is too expensive, how about I buy myself a private jet? No tickets, no problem, yeah? I heard the Gulfstream G5 is pretty swanky. I'll have me one of those. How much is a new one again? Forty mill or thereabouts?" There are kids who take the ball and go home. I could take the entire damn court away - don't play with me.
"... Would you like a window or aisle seat?"
Beautiful.