Chapter 63.5: Premiere Pit Stop

Chapter 63.5: Premiere Pit Stop

Kravitz Villa, Malibu. April 2011.

“Here we are. Half a dozen boiled eggs, crisped lean ham, and a bowl of assorted tropical fruit.” I planted cutlery on the kitchen island. “Tuck in.” 

“Thanks, bro.” Jason Momoa popped half an egg into his mouth. “You mind getting something else for me, Bas?”

“Of course. No need to be coy; spit it out - not the food!” In preparation for my next order, I returned to the pan on the stove with a pirouette.

“Could you please put on pants? I’m begging you, man.”

“What d’you mean?” Stretching my neck over my shoulder, I followed the lines of muscles down my topless back, over the knotted strap tied across my hips, and on top of the elastic waistband of my underwear. “I am wearing pants.”

“Yes, Jason, my dear. I also keep you shirtless for a good reason. Don’t spoil my fun.” Lisa, aka Lila as Zoë’s mother insisted I call her, chastised her boy toy beau with a distracted chop to his bicep. “And Bas, be a dear too - egg white omelette for me, please.”

“Coming right up. Are you sure I can’t get anybody toast?”

“No. No carbs. This is Hollywood.” 

Well, I guess my buns were a fortuitous substitute, in that case.

Jason sighed and speared a piece of papaya. “This is totally harshing my vibe.”

“Personally, I’m more irritated that,” Lila swerved on her stool and shouted up the stairs behind her, “my lazy-bones daughter won’t grace our breakfast table with her presence!”

“She’s had a considerably harrowing evening, I’m afraid, my darling. Don’t worry, I’ll cook her something else later - she’s not in the mood for eggs, I’d reckon.” Seeing as I scrambled hers quite vigorously last night.

After returning from Macau, production had wrapped with the ubiquitous wrap party. Funded by yours truly. 

I wasn’t scheduled to leave LA for a few days yet. So, in the intervening period, I’d taken to playing house with Zoë every so often.

My clandestine affair had become a bit more domestic lately. Inadvertently and temporarily; no permanent damage had been done to my indecent ideals. 

Hence the apron, and why I was one overextended lunge away from being naked underneath it. 

Best of both worlds.

Pre-marital cohabitation is a rather sordid affair, I admit. However, it was damn sight better than the morbid musical chairs I was forced to participate in back at Anita’s pad.

Heaven forbid I so much as take a seat - Anita was so far up my arse that every tongue lashing felt like a spanking. 

Ding-dong! The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it.” Merely doing my part as a gracious guest.

“You know, Bas. For someone using our pad as a hideout, aren’t you frolicking a little too loud and proud?” Jason warned me.

And when I opened the door, I really ought to have heeded it. “Good morn- no solicitors!” I rushed to shut the door, but a Valentino heel jammed it ajar. 

Then, like the monster under your bed reaching for your ankle beneath the covers, a mangled claw clacked sinisterly on the door’s edge. My bones rattled in fear. The sudden onset rickets left me too weak to fight against the terrible torque pushing open that last barrier to my safety and security. “I’m not selling a damn thing. Neither am I buying any of your shit, Bas!”

There was a visage of evil beginning to peek through the crack. It was too horrific to stare directly at. I averted my gaze and whipped around, only to realise any potential help had their heads bower over their plates. “Help!”

As a pair of fingers pinched my earlobe and didn’t even hear a peep, I knew I’d been abandoned. 

Really shouldn’t have, but despite the searing California sun I’d been dragged into, I still found it surprising how frigid the temperatures were. 

My state of dress had nothing to do with it.

“Thank you for minding him - I’ll get the miscreant out of your hair now.” Anita, contrary to her barbarous treatment of my ear, bid goodbye to my hosts very pleasantly. 

“Stick around for a bite next time.”

“See you, Bas. Say hi to my friends on set for me, cool?”

“Rain check!”

Following which, she forced me to stumble alongside her over to her car, where Fedex stood by with the passenger door held open. 

“Ow-! Hey, hey, hey! At least let me fetch my clothes first.”

“There’s probs some in the trunk where I’m gonna stuff you.” Taking Anita’s cue, I saw Fedex close the passenger door and move instead to the boot and haul it open. “Jumping off skyscrapers and running away from me - if you’ve got the balls for that, then you should have courage enough to bear the consequences.”

“... But I don’t want to be shouted at. We need to find you a better outlet for your ‘me problem’. You should be desensitised by now. Have you considered therapy?”

“Unless it’s the retail variety, I don’t wanna hear it. Now stop stalling and let’s go. We’ve got an event tonight and a flight soon after.”

A sudden shout interrupted Anita manhandling me into the backseat of her Mercedes. 

“Wait, you forgot these!” Zoë’s voice blared out just as my head was shoved inside the car. We both turned around to see her upstairs, leaning halfway out of her bedroom window.

The view of her impish smirk was suddenly obscured by a pair of my sweatpants blowing in the breeze. 

A woman I’d slept with flung my clothes at me while I was getting kicked out of her house. “If you’re gonna use a cliche to break up with me, you could toss my t-shirt as well.”

“No, I’m keeping this.” She tugged at the collar of my recently stolen night shirt. “Want it back? Then you better call me whenever you return to LA again.” She squeezed herself out of the window frame and flicked her digits at me. “See you soon, Bas.”

“It is ok, Bas. Anita had several of her un-laundered running outfits crumpled in the car trunk.” Fedex presented me with a bright pink crop-top emblazoned with a sequined ‘juicy’ in cursive. “Wonderful fashion, no?”

The sweats, the top, and I were all shunted into the car. The door slammed on us with a conclusive ‘bam!’

Exiting their driveway and rolling down the street, I had no opportunity to appreciate the scenic view of the affluent Malibu area, because my toes were the only things looking outside.

My heels scraped against the fabric roof, as I laid flat on my back, trying to fit myself back into my track pants. My wallet slipped out of the pocket and landed on my face. The backseat of a two-door convertible wasn’t the best fitting room. “We need to get you a new ride, Anita. How long have you had this hunk of junk for, anyway? Five years without an upgrade? Tut-tut-tut! What do your peers think of you when they look down their noses at you?”

“Worry about your own appearance, juicy fruit.” Anita glared at me through the rearview.

“You’re right. We’re both hideous. Perhaps then it’s best if we skip out on tonight’s festivities. It’s not as if it’s a premiere for my movie, so I’m under no contractual obligation to attend, either. Tell you what, let’s head downtown and get a mani-pedi at our usual spot instead. My treat.” Red carpets were bad enough when I had to go.

“Not a chance! You already promised to appear as a favour,” and penance, “to me. No take-backsies. Fast Five is Dwayne’s big break, and I need to be there to celebrate. Ever since WME sidelined my partnership at the firm, I’m having a hell of a time holding on to him as a client - not that Dwayne’s making it easy to rep him. He’s still losing hair over your refusal to be part of the Furious franchise and thinks I’m playing favourites. Any level of support from you would mean the world, Bas - especially to me. So pleas-!”

“Fine, fine. You’re not allowed to beg.” I hadn’t forgotten that it was her commitment to me that had knocked Anita a few rungs lower on the corporate ladder. “Are you truly going through such a hard time? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Things could be better.” She shrugged. “Don’t get it twisted, I’m counting my blessings - you among them. But I do gotta pump my image somehow. Can’t let anyone continue to ‘look down their noses’ at me anymore. And no, Bas. Not unless you can conjure a good script for a leading man.” 

Flipping back up right when we idled at a red traffic light, I spied the solution to Anita’s problem. “Trust me?” 

“Obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Then hang a right. I’ve the medicine for what ails you.” 

–

Gotham Luxury Cars, LA. April 2011.

Commission. All he’d had this entire month was leases for c-list celebs and the occasional wannabe internet influencer looking for a cheap post.

Would it kill this city to throw some silicon valley billionaire or actual movie star his way? Rent was due, dammit!

“AaaAahH!” A screech tore through his worried introspection.

Darting his eyes towards the entrance, he saw dirty, bare feet plod across the freshly polished marble floor. 

“It’s him! It’s totally him!”

“What is he wearing!?” 

“Hey, look over here. Take a selfie with me!”

He drew his line-of-sight upwards. Scrunched sweatpants, taut abs, and a shirt sizes too small.

What the-? “Who let a homeless meth head gigolo into the showroom?” Where was that useless security guard?

Before he could lambast the store’s curbside cop, he saw the poor fool barely stemming the tide of randos with clicking camera phones trained on whatever crackwhore had wandered in.

“Bas!”

“Bas Rhys!”

“I love you!”

Finally, focusing on the stranger’s face, a bolt of lightning blasted through his brain. “B-B-Ba-Rhy-R-R-um-!?”

“Good instinct, salesman!” A British accent barged in on his stuttering. “I am, in fact, here for something that goes vroom. I’m in the market for something large, in charge - worth a statement.” 

“We’re making a scene, Bas!” The hottie next to him desperately tried to cover Bas Rhys’ exposed skin with her blazer.

“Not yet, but you will be, Anita. Oh! And my companion prefers Mercedes - a two-door cabriolet if you’re able to swing it.”

Rushing to fish out the catalogue he had stacked behind his kiosk, he scrambled to hand it to his upcoming rent payment. “W-we just received a shipment of brand new Merc G550 convertibles. Top of the line, fully kitted-out should only run you around two-hundred-K.” Including his commission. 

Without missing a beat, Bas Rhys planted a platinum card into his palm. “Sold! Anita, pick your colour - maybe it can match your dress tonight.”

Cha-ching! 

–

Gibson Amphitheatre, LA. April 2011.

Most of the elaborate decorations for the Fast Five premiere were still en route from Rio. The cars from the movies weren’t here, but the stars certainly were. 

But none as bright as I was going to make Anita.

The crowd of onlookers and paparazzi parted as Fedex, in the driver’s seat, threatened to plough through them if they didn’t move out of the way. 

Hopping out of the topless back of the G-wagon, my velvet loafers landed on the very edge of the red carpet. 

The DSLRs went crazy in a parade of kerchacks and calls of my name. Extending my hand, Anita disembarked far more gracefully than I did. 

Arm in arm, we swept across the carpet in a swish of her showstopper gown. 

Realistically, I knew all the pomp was for me - but a boy could pretend.

Her stilettos made it easy to whisper directly in my ear. “Are you sure about this, Bas? Knight and Day’s a great script. It’s right up Dwayne’s alley - perfect for his career trajectory. Yours too - and you’ll always be my priority.”

“No skin off my nose. I’ve got so much prospective work on my plate, I won’t have the time. It’d just collect dust in my drawers at this rate. This way Knight and Day can see the light of day. If it helps your standing more than anyone else’s, then all the better for it.” 

“Heart of gold makes a rare reappearance.” Her hand stroked across my jawline and dusted my lapel.

Turning away from her doe-eyes, I braved the blinding lights of the paps. “Plus, I’ll sell it to him cheap - in exchange, he’ll owe me is a small portion of the box office revenue.” Coin toss whether he’d go for it. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. At minimum, I’d earn back the cost of the car.

“And there’s the conniving little bastard.” She punched my chest with a chuckle. “C’mon, let’s get you inside before you infect anyone with your villainy.”

I was unable to escort her a quarter of the way along before Anita was accosted. So, mission accomplished. “Specter! You made it!” Dwayne swanned in, posed for the photo-op, and clasped my hand with a crushing grip. “And brought Bas with you, who immediately swallowed the spotlight.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry, mate. Anita’s convinced me to shine it right back on you.” Hopefully, that fake smile glinting under the glitz might turn genuine once he sees the screenplay.

Paper beats rock, after all.