Chapter 50.5: Defenestration Temptation

Chapter 50.5: Defenestration Temptation 

The Ritz, LA. October 2009.

Promises, like my bones, were meant to be broken. 

My lease had long since been up, so my cosy old apartment was no longer an option. Hence the plebeian affair of hotel accommodations.

What kind of pathetic excuse for a multi-millionaire was I that I didn’t have an ocean-side vacation property staffed to the hilt, with maids struggling to stay inside skimpy French uniforms?

A disgrace to poor taste, and poorer morals. Shame on me.

“Ritz? More like the fuckin’ shits Carlton. What the hell am I meant to do with only two towels?” Adding that to the tally of my pilfered hotel room laundry, I counted four pillowcases, one bed sheet and duvet cover, and finally the silk runner that draped across the foot of the bed. 

Corners over ends, I tied silk, terrycloth, and high-thread-count cotton into knots. Thus fashioning myself a makeshift rope.

The result of my voracious scrounging was that my assigned suite was no longer fit for human habitation. Housekeeping was gonna have a hell of a day, so I left a few bills to absolve myself - but until they arrived, my room was a mess. The only recourse available was to perch on the balcony. 

The perfect vantage point to rappel off of.

I wrapped my towel around my waist and peered over the railing to gauge the distance to the swimming pool below.

“What do you think you are doing?” 

“A-admiring the view?” Definitely not abseiling.

“So was I from my veranda earlier. At least until I spied you attempting special forces training.” There was extra emphasis put on the word special.

My room had to be tapped. Fedex’s timing was too perfect. Hands behind her back and face unreadable, she strolled in casually through the adjoining door linking our two rooms. I stilled while she made her approach. Even if the floor wasn’t carpeted, I doubt I would’ve heard a single stealthy step unless she chose to let me.

Breezy as you like, she stopped prowling beside me and glanced down at where I’d been aiming at. “Steep drop. There are far less painful ways of perishing, Mr Rhys. I happen to know several.” No doubt there.

Mustering up every last ounce of bravery in my heart, “sure, I may die. But you’ll never again take my freedom!” I was prepared to holler that ‘til I was blue in the face. 

True to her word, Anita had me surveilled and stalked near every moment of existence. Worst part was, I could only blame myself. I’d bled in the water; no chance my pet shark wouldn’t be overly chummy. Although I’d found my feet on solid ground, Fedex wasn’t any less of a predator, leading to an ambush around every corner I’d attempted to stage an escape through. The singular berth I itched to seek solace in had also been thwarted - the skies weren’t safe for me either. So much for being a card-carrying member of the mile high club.

“You have too much pent up energy, no?” Yes. 

All it took from her was a single precise tug on my hip, and the towel plus the attached rope fell apart instantly. Not exactly the noose that would’ve hung me. Fedex’s hand that garroted my neck and dragged me back into my room did a better job of it.

“Drastic times call for spastic measures.” 

“Only to the unimaginative mind.” She let go, tweaked my ear, and pointed at the discarded linens strewn about - the implicit command to tidy up. Cadbury wouldn’t have stood for this either, so fair enough; I got to it. “There are more suitable ways to spend your efforts,” she took the spare bills I’d set out and stuffed them back in my wallet, “and money. We need to find a more… physical way to drain your excess vitality.” 

Fed caught me off guard for the second time today. I hesitated while straightening out the bedsheet. Did I think for even a moment she was insinuating what it seemed like? No. This wasn’t a trip down the gutter, merely a slip of the tongue - how could I resist twisting it? I had to give her a hard time - double entendre, undoubtedly intended. “Are you suggesting that we have sex? That’ll give housekeeping something to clean, then.” With a satisfying whoosh! I flapped, flung, and dove on top of the duvet; wrapping myself into a cocoon of white cotton to protect my virtue.

“Little rascal.” Her words were indignant, but her tone and delivery were flatter than my crushed dreams of liberty and lasciviousness. This has been happening far too often - I need to seriously start considering whether I’m even handsome anymore. “That function was not part of my job description. You should only be so lucky. We must quell your fires; tell me, Bas, how would you like to learn to shoot a gun?”

Glocks instead of glucks, huh? “Sounds fun.” Might come in handy in the future, and keep me out of trouble for now, too. 

“Benissimo. I shall begin making the arrangements. In the meantime, feel free to change into better clothes,” she gestured at my pupated state while returning to her room. “Ms Specter would not appreciate you attending your important meeting dressed like a burrito, even if we are going to eat Mexican. Put on your big boy pants.” 

–

Casa Vega Mexican Restaurant, LA. October 2009.

If only the world would let me. “I’m sorry, sir. We cannot serve you alcohol at this establishment.” Nobody bats an eye when I’m involved in the nitty of sex or the gritty of guns, but bring up some light boozing and, all of a sudden, it’s hushes and whispers. “We have an extensive drinks menu. Maybe you could choose something else except beer?” 

“Don’t worry, I’m allowed. Nineteen in the UK is the equivalent of twenty-two in the States. No matter, I’ll save us both a migraine and just get a mojito, then.” It was ninety percent lemonade, so I’m sure the last tenth of rum didn’t legally count.

“Bas!” Anita wasn’t overly fazed.

“Um…” However, the young waitress taking our order was another story. 

“Okay, alright, I’ll stop torturing you and get something non-alcoholic.” Resting elbows on top of the table was bad manners, but I did it anyway because I’d discovered leaning my cheek on my hands, and smirking with equal parts charm and mischief, was rather a flattering angle of mine. “Your number sounds like it could quench my thirst.”

Whap! Came the familiar note of Anita palming her own forehead. It was louder than the bossa nova tunes twanging in the background, a few other rude patrons who’d been muttering none too quietly while looking over, as well as the startled cough of our lunch guest.

My focus, however, was on our hostess - who couldn’t hide either her surprised smile or the creeping flush banding over the bridge of her nose. She was about as red and dimpled as the sofa we were sitting on. “I’ll h-have to check with my manager…” Any insecurities I had about my smoking hot bod were extinguished when she shyly tucked her hair behind her ear and responded, “though, I’m pretty sure we have that in stock.”

“Ignore him.” Anita should take her own advice. It would’ve certainly saved my toes from being stamped under the table. “Just add a pitcher of horchata to the order. Run along, now.” But I wanted to speak to a manager! 

“Oh, my god. Sorry about the service, it’s usually a lot better here, I swear.” Jonah Hill proceeded to make a mountain out of nothing. “You’d think they’d be used to us celebs by now. It’s LA, for fuck’s sake.”

“Really? I found her service exemplary, more than worth a generous tip.” 

“Well, I can say the food’s great for sure. Thanks for joining me here, by the way. Working lunches agree with me. You don’t mind, do you?”

Definitely a strange place for an audition. “Fair bit more public than I was expecting.” My hand itched to hide the lower half of my face under my usual masked disguise, but I needed to eat, so my cap would have to suffice. I still refused to wear sunglasses indoors or in the dark. 

“Personally, we tend to prefer leaving shop talk for the offices. Being out and about so blatantly is begging to be recognised, fending off his adoring fans is a full-time job.” Fedex would testify to that from where she was keeping an incognito lookout. “Gets in the way of business.” Classic Anita move; trying to get a leg up by putting her foot down.

“What’re you talking about? All of Hollywood is our office. Eyes, ears, who cares? Never too early to generate a little buzz when you’re tryna make a successful movie. Superbad changed my life, I wanna keep that ball rolling. You’re actually the second Potter star I’ve met this year; Felton made a cameo appearance in my newest film with Russell Brand. I even just signed on to do a sports drama with Brad Pitt, dude, Brad Pitt! Who knows what’s next for me? Tarantino? Scorsese?” Clearly, someone had their eyes on the (money) ball. 

“Then it appears I’ll be finding myself in esteemed company with 21 Jump Street also on your docket. In the most recent draft, I particularly enjoyed the scene where the characters ‘trip balls’.” 

“Oh? You read the script that’s cool-” we were poised to dispense with the small talk and finally get to the meat of the matter until an interruption made herself known.

“Like oh-em-gee, are you Bas Rhys?” 

My reflexes were normally on a hair trigger. I knew a grin would stretch into place before I gave it conscious thought, “hel-!?” yet my fan proved faster. My voice became suddenly clogged by a mouthful of hair, and something other than a napkin ended up on my lap.

“This is unbelievable! It was all over facebook that you’d died on set! Are you alive? What are you even doing here, don’t you live in like England or whatever? Let’s ditch these losers, I can show you around town instead.” She babbled a mile a minute, overly familiar, inching closer to my face with every syllable. The pungent stench of garlic, onion, and breakfast mimosas on her breath. It was a damn good thing I practised my facial expressions, because it took every last bit of restraint to not crinkle my nose and frown in disgust. 

Anita nor Fedex were nearly as willing to withstand her trespass as I was. As much as I wanted Anita to poke her with the fork clenched tightly in my agent’s fist, I had an image to maintain.

“K-” Thp, thp. Let me just spit out her hair so I can actually talk. “Very kind of you to worry, but as you can see,” not to mention feel with her wandering fingers, “haven’t snuffed it yet. While I appreciate your offer, I’m here on business, so if you wouldn’t mind…” Reaching behind my head, I pulled off her encircling arms, scooched forward in my seat, and firmly guided her back to unsteady feet. “If you’d like another glimpse of me, be sure to buy a ticket for Black Dynamite. I’m in town for the premier of that, too.” 

“No, I don’t care about anything that isn’t Harry Potter. But you, like, totally have to take a picture with me. I won’t take no for an answer!” Fedex was now just a few strides away with her hand reaching into her purse. She might’ve been pulling out my polaroid or a pistol; either way, I subtly shook my head no. This bitch didn’t deserve either.

She whipped out her camera phone and tossed it to Jonah. “Make yourself useful and take our photo - it’s the button in the middle.” She forcibly pressed her cheek on mine, “say cheese!”

“Actually, Jonah, why don’t you join us?” I attempted to save his figurative face and my literal one. “I’m sure she’d appreciate having your photo as well.”

“Ew. No.” But she immediately shot it down. Okay. That was it. She hit the limit of even my patience.

Snatching her phone back, I extended my arm, didn’t bother smiling, “queso,” and took a selfie. Finally getting rid of her, knowing full well her eyes were probably closed in the photo. “Apologies for that. You know how it is sometimes.”

“Nah… not your fault.” 

“Bas, we should make moves.” Anita was already up, hand in the air, miming her signature as she called for the cheque. My interaction had caused enough of a commotion that a scene was successfully made before our order was. 

Fedex sped away to get the car as the room full of diners started a suspicious susurrus. “Jonah, c’mon, let’s take this meeting somewhere a little more private. I’d love to talk about the movie some more.”

He didn’t budge. “…It’s not super complicated or anything. Mostly I just needed the biggest heartthrob or action star to bounce off of. Someone who’s ok playing second fiddle. When I watched Tropic Thunder, I thought you’d be able to pull it off.” The ‘I’m not so sure anymore’ was unsaid but heard, regardless. 

“Boys, we can talk about this elsewhere.” The waitress returned with our bill, which Anita signed for, as well as the horchata.

Jonah grabbed the pitcher, poured himself a glass, and remained seated. “It’s ok, you guys go ahead. No one’s gonna be paying attention to me, anyway. Bas is the one they’re after. I’ll, uh… get the studio to set up another meeting later when I have the time.” He took a sip of the beverage, which I knew to be pleasantly sweet.

Too bad his palette preferred something more bitter.