Chapter 62.5: A Long Time Coming

Chapter 62.5: A Long Time Coming

Downtown LA, California. March 2011.

“You know, Bas, when you said you were in the mood for meals on wheels I expected your usual flavor of food truck.” Rarely though it may be these days, I remained capable of keeping Fedex imbalanced via my impeccable mental gymnastics. “This is a rather stark departure from that, no?” Still, unflappable as ever, she continued to rip the aluminium topping off of the chilled bottle of prosecco instead of the foil-wrapped burritos that we typically tore into. 

She dared not uncork it just yet, however. The clear crystal revealed the carbonation inside bubbling away angrily with each rumbling piston of our car’s engine. I wanted some light, fizzy refreshment, not a fountain. All it would take is bumping over a misplaced pothole to see the bottle pop like some one-pump-chump. “Oi-! Keep that thing pointed away from the caviar!” If anyone was gonna douse everything in frothing, white foam, it was gonna be me! “I like my eggs unfertilized - thanks very much.”

“Unfer-?” A self-satisfied smirk broke through my feigned indignation when Fedex shot me a half-lidded stare. Her brow furrowed, her lips pursed, and - pop! - she violently beheaded the booze. Collectively, it revealed her true unimpressed exasperation to me.

Good. That’s precisely what I wanted. The aim for the day was very much to foster another honest reaction from our dinner guest. 

I knew Fed wouldn’t begrudge me that little bit of practise. Probably. Just in case, “here.” Scooping a quick quenelle of caviar onto a coin-sized pancake with a dollop of crème fraîche, I leaned forward and hand fed her. “Have a blini.”

Clack! I yanked my fingers back in the nick of time as she threatened to nip my digits off. Thankfully, the tasty treat was enough to turn the frown… not upside down, but at least Fed returned to her creepy, flat stare. 

Unsettling - and therefore ideal for my purposes.

The partition separating the driver from us dipped down with a mechanical whine. “We’ve arrived, sir.” 

Glancing beyond the opaque one-way tint of the window, I spotted Ted Sarandos checking his watch as he stood outside the Netflix offices. As the car pulled to a halt by the curb, Fed and I nodded at each other and put our game faces on. Time to get this carpool conference call underway and hopefully into a full-fledged karaoke session, because I wanted him singing like a bird.

Rolling the window down, I caught Ted's attention with a lazy wave. “Get in, loser.” He jogged over with a bewildered look at our vehicle, and ducked in.

I didn’t bother scooting over, just angling my knees to allow him barely enough space to hobble inside. Ted awkwardly dodged around the lowlying table laden with our snack and hurled himself ungracefully onto the wall side seat. “A limo, Bas? Don’t you think it's a little too conspicuous?”

“In comparison to flogging my face in public, I’m as stealth as can be.” Slamming the door shut, I twirled my finger at the driver watching me in the rearview mirror. “Let’s roll.” The engine revved, the partition rose, and we slid back in our seats as the car kicked into gear and peeled away. “Despite my fame, I do still enjoy getting out and about. Unfortunately, a side-effect of my recent publicity means the only way I’m afforded any privacy is if I book out an entire restaurant. I’m not that much of a prick, though.” I tossed a thumb at the passing scenery, “this way I get to see the sights without causing a commotion.” Then I turned more pointedly towards Ted; my affable tone lowering an octave. “I can create quite the fuss, you know?”

Whether he cottoned-on to my double meaning or not, Ted did at minimum observe my displeased tone. He artfully masked his nervous gulp by staring down at the food. “N-nice spread you got here - oh-! Thanks.” He hastily palmed the chilled glass of sparkling wine Fedex silently passed him. 

“Help yourself.” Fedex prepared a bite just like I’d done earlier, but instead of passing it to him, she presented it for me to take. I savoured the lush, salty flavour while he served himself.

“Mm-! Oof, that’s super rich.” Ted licked his chops and went back in for a second serving.

“Yummy?” I asked as he continued to gorge himself. 

“For sure. Weird venue, but I won’t complain about the grub.” Neither should he, it was perfect limousine cuisine.

“Makes me glad to hear that. I find it rather important to have a taste of the good life - lends itself well as a final meal, anyway.” I shrugged haphazardly.

Ted choked haplessly. “What!?” He gazed down in horror at the - all of a sudden - sinisterly gleaming pearls. 

“Relax. That stuff’s too expensive to give you even food poisoning.” 

As I waved away his worries, Ted put paid to his paranoia and swallowed another unpoisoned mouthful. Slower and with hesitation, but still. “Is there a particular reason you’re trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Merely reciprocating. I’m slaving away as it is on my first project, I don’t appreciate having my director saddled with an impromptu bout of depression. Courtesy, need I add, of whatever backroom business you lot have got going on with WB.” I tended to consider myself a fairly laidback person, which I’m sure was a universal sentiment across my circle. Blasé Bas they called me - even if they pronounced it ‘batshit’. So, in spite of my current nonchalant posture - legs spread, slouched, and cheek resting softly on my curled fist - my grit jaw growl let Ted know I was anything but. “Care to shed light? Because I really don’t understand why I, as the guy who brokered the deal between you people as well as a member of the fucking board, is only hearing about this shit after the repercussions have been slung at my face?” 

Pindrop silence pervaded as my pinprick glare pegged Ted to his seat. He hadn’t the temerity to either hem nor haw; content to save us both a trip to the dentist by avoiding both gnashing and pulling teeth. Smart, because the alternative was me biting his head off. 

Ted, and his two upraised surrendering hands, jumped to explain. “Ah, yeah, that. Well, to be perfectly candid, I didn’t know - nobody did. So there wasn’t anything I, or anyone, could share until after handshakes were already done.” He tried to absolve himself by hanging the blame elsewhere.

But I was determined to noose his neck until he gave up the goose. “By that measure, sounds like you’re saying upper management at Netflix gipped the rest of your investors and benefactors alongside me.”

“Pretty much, yeah. Just FYI, though, this wasn’t some calculated decision. We’re being affected too to be frank, Bas. Reed…” He hesitated but almost as if sensing the tightening crimp around his throat, Ted scratched himself there before confessing. “Reed’s losing his head in the clouds as of late.”

Wine sloshed over the rim as I thumped my glass down on the table. “Spill.” 

“Sorta goes like this: first, Reed found himself on the cover of Fortune magazine as businessman of the year last year. Following which he gets inundated with calls for meetings, interviews, offers, you name it. Suddenly, he’s skating around the country; from studios and film houses to somehow ending up at the white house, shooting the shit with Obama over champagne. Not just him, either. Everyone who’s anyone in entertainment and tech is at the same dinner. He’s been deaf to everyone but himself since.” Ted prefaced.

And I subsequently outlined the synopsis. “Let me guess, Netflix stock price is shooting through the roof, with his ego squarely latched on to it. Ipso facto, the bloke’s got his eyes looking up instead of ahead - and it’s only a matter of time before he trips up and falls down.” Causing an avalanche of epic proportions. 

Vaguely, though it was, I was cognizant of the very real series of unfortunate economics Netflix was primed to contend with this year. Even discarding my meddlesome master plan that I’d been - and would continue - working on with my brand and Netflix, the world around me was often as stubborn as I was. 

I huffed out a hot sigh through my nose, and allowed Ted to release a more relieved one when I shifted my scrutiny away from him and out the window stained with the fog of my frustration. 

My reflection in the glass leered back at me, those handsome features tempting me to snog myself - my pout only drawing greater attention to my kissable lips. This should tell anybody attuned to my inner monologue that I’m not remotely shy about flaunting my self-esteem. I knew damn well how heaps of credit for Netflix’s string of successes was owed to me - from their expanded library and industry connects (which was ironically chomping down on my chiseled butt),  international reach, potential new collabs and genre tapping, and our fresh foray into original content. All of it, to some degree, had my prints on them. 

Yet, mine weren’t the only grubby mitts trying to get their own slice. Plenty of others had their fondling fingers furiously trying to blow their cream into this pie. 

Sometimes, things just get fucked.

In the short term, Netflix wasn’t gonna be an exception. 

Robinov was using everything in his arsenal - plying me with a gilded cage, piling the pressure on George, and pumping Reed up to dangerous levels - all to have me down on all fours crawling back to him for tablescraps. Fine. If he wanted a raw deal, I’d give him one. 

Despite shrinking validity, my foreknowledge would prevent me from getting barebacked. 

“I get why you’re irritated, Bas. Believe me. I promise it’s just a temporary situation, even if we-” the car juddered and we all bounced in our seats when we went over a speed breaker, “-hit a couple of bumps, I’m confident that as long as we have each other’s backs, there isn’t any obstacle we can’t overcome.” Says the guy who so easily cast aside his buddy with whom he built their company after some light intimidation. Ted shot what I’m sure he considered a comforting grin.

When you're dealing with people in Hollywood you can't assume despite whatever past, present, and indeed, future relationship you've built will continue to rove down easy street. Veneers are exactly what they are - outwardly pristine facades hiding the rot within. 

This may seem like a warning I was giving myself, but I’d be the sugary treat causing the cavities in longstanding partnerships in this instance. Everyone wanted a piece of me anyway, so I’d give it to them. 

I returned his with an indulgent chuckle of my own. If there was a singular lesson to be learned in this rapacious town, it was to never trust the smiles. “Alright, I hear you. I’ll be more patient.” Not even mine. 

Squeak. The brakes screeched as the limo came to a stop. No partition scrolled down, but the locks - kerchak - clicked loudly to signal they were unlocked. “That was quick. Where are we?”

Fedex placidly answered his question. “Your next stop, Mr. Sarandos. You have a pre-scheduled appointment, no?” 

“Wait, don’t sweat it I’ll head there by myself-” Ted blinked in confusion, then swerved in his seat to catch a glimpse outside, where he sure enough discovered his final destination. “Um - I… don’t remember sharing the rest of my plans with you…” His rattled response was only natural - it was a rather intimate detail about him I’d revealed I was aware of.

“I make it a point to know things.” Especially when others are stingy with information I really ought to know. Opening the door, I allowed him to stutteringly squeeze past me again. “Ta-ta, Teddy bear! Keep me posted, yeah?” 

“T-totally.” Ted was looking a little constipated as he bid me goodbye. Good thing I’d taken the initiative to drop him off at his proctologist’s clinic. “I will. I promise.”

I wondered if there was some poetic or foreign phrase to describe something that’s funny, disgusting, yet somehow appropriate at the same time. Because as we zoomed away, my shit-eating grin would have been the perfect dictionary definition. 

“It would be wise to not take him at his word.” Fedex cautioned. She scraped the bottom and sides of the caviar tin ‘til empty. A surprisingly replete bite was shovelled into my mouth. Nothing of mine would go to waste.

I licked my lips. “Wasn’t planning on it. Hand me my phone, will you? I need to make a call.”

–

Duneshire Equities, LA. March 2011. 

Ben Wyatt nearly soiled himself as his office abruptly blared with a cacophony of high-pitched string instruments. 

Recognizing it for what it was, he steadied his heart, looked at his ringing phone to see Bas’ name popping up, then steadied his heart some more. “Bas! How’s things?” God, Ben hoped well, please let it be well. He really didn’t need Bas dropping anymore bombs - or worse, zeroes! 

“Meh.” Bas’ lukewarm response on the other end of the line sent a chill down his spine. “Could be better. Tell me something, how’s my stake in Netflix performing?” 

“Phenomenal!” No, Bas. Please don’t do this. “And I mean this seriously, a two-hundred-and-fifty percent increase for the entire fiscal year twenty-ten is nothing to scoff at.” Ben stressfully stressed to Bas. Hoping against hope that Bas wouldn’t do what Ben assumed he was planning to. “Especially given your sweat equity, I really think it’s one worth continuing to hold.” 

“Cool. Cool… Another quick question: if I wanted to short Netflix in my position, how shall I without getting cuffed for insider trading?”

Oh, Jesus! Oh, Buddha! Oh, Mrs. Stephens! Somebody, anybody dissuade this course of insanity. “A-are you in possession of any significant, actionable intel that could move the stock?”

“Obviously. Otherwise why would I? But if you’re asking whether it's whispered secret info, then the answer is no. No paper trail, no official or unofficial clandestine meetings, not even a fart in the wind. More of a hunch than anything. Although there’s a risk of that becoming a concern later down the line, so I’d rather get a head-start on this before the SEC has any cause to stick their noses where it - huh… actually does belong. Whatever. Fuck ‘em.” 

Ben couldn’t decide which was worse: provable insider trading, or Bas’ whims based on bupkis. “We can do what you’re proposing, in that case. We’ll have to file a plan specifying price, share, amount and relevant dates ahead of time.” This was horrible. Ben racked his brain for any excuse to halt this hazard to his health. “Are you sure you wanna go down this route, Bas? I can’t adequately advise you on a course of action when even I don’t fully comprehend the risks involved.”

“If you deem quadrupling the value of my stake with the same amount of cash, then yeah, it’s worth it. We’ll work out the deets soon, but I’m thinking we sell off this summer and pick it up again in a year’s time. Just allot the bare minimum I need to keep my seat as a board member and funnel out the rest. And hey, it keeps me liquid to play around for a while - we could have some fun with it. You ever heard of cryptocurrency? Looks like an absolute riot, if you ask me.” Every syllable filled Ben with dread. 

Bas wasn’t gonna make any money. He himself therefore wouldn't be either. Only his cardiologist would. 

As Ben finally hung-up with a trembling finger, he couldn’t help but acknowledge just how scarily accurate his personalised ringtone for Bas was. Psycho was legitimately the only word for him.