I’m on TV! (Showbiz SI)

Chapter 15.5: Pulling Out Mall the Stops

Bas’s Caravan, UK. November 2004.

‘Hello, Moto!’ sounded the ringtone of my recently purchased Motorola RAZR. You bet your sweet cheeks I bought the hot pink one, too.

I flicked my thumb and flipped it open with full authority. “New phone, who dis?”

“You know damn well who ‘dis’ is, Bas!” You’d think by now Anita would’ve grown accustomed to my infuriating inflection.

“Ah! My mistake. It’s just that it’s been so long, I forgot who you were. I guess I now know why your last name’s Specter, because you’re a ghost.”

“If I’m dead, then you better hurry up and plan your career’s eulogy alongside mine. I guess I’ll just toss this script I have in the funeral pyre with me.” The sound of ruffling paper came through the speaker.

“Fiiine. I’ll behave.”

“Good doggie.” This bitch! “How clear is your coming week?”

Full disclosure, I had absolutely nothing to do for a little while. But the preceding schedule had been so incredibly draining that I just wanted to kick back for a bit before I was thrown right back into it. “Grueling!” I scooted deeper into my plush pillow, held the phone to my ear using my shoulder, and returned to my copy of Pokemon FireRed. “I’m a busy bee, buzz buzz.”

“You know, that I know, that you’re not telling the truth.” The only thing narrower than her voice was likely her eyes right now.

“And you know, that I know, you just don’t have any proof.” I psyched her out.

“Ok, Bas… if that’s what you want…” it’s a good thing she never tried acting, because that sign was about as plastic as a turtle’s lunch. “At least we won’t have to waste time applying for your Japan visa.”

The lid of my SP slammed shut. This was the opportunity I was waiting for. “Don’t you play with me.”

“Oh, now you’re interested?” 

“I swear to Mrs Stephens, this better be what I think it is.”

“Now that was a fast turnabout, wasn’t it? Don’t get furious with me!” She cackled. She’d make a terrible stand-up comic.

“But I thought you said they rejected me because our asking price was too rich for them?” Budget spinoff or not, I had a standard to maintain. Not that the agency would take a low-ball offer either now that I was a hot commodity four movies in. 

“I don’t need to attend Hogwarts to work my magic, Bas.” Well, someone liked the smell of their own farts. “I’ve already spoken with David Heyman, and production has approved your leave for five days. Your ticket’s been sent to your email. Get packed and get here. I’ll pick you up at the airport.” Click! She hung up, demand made. Not that I was complaining.

“Cadbury!” I tossed off the blanket, leapt out of bed, and raced out of my room. “Hide the tweed and fish out my shorts. We’re flying to Cali!”

---

Hawthorne Boulevard, LA. November 2004.

In what felt like no time, though in truth was a twelve hour flight, I’d bid bon voyage to the brisk biting breeze of Britain for the warm whipping winds of the west coast.

I sat shotgun in Anita’s glistening silver Mercedes-Benz CLK soft top convertible. My elbow hung off the door, a pair of black shades shone in the sun, as my already wild hair went feral as she accelerated.

The only thing missing from this music video of California Love was the picturesque columns of towering palm trees the length of Sunset Boulevard.

I lifted and rested my sunglasses on my forehead and surveyed our area.

Drug store. Gun store. Liquor store. Gun store. “Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Here.” She pulled into the empty parking lot of an abandoned but not dilapidated mall. Hawthorne Plaza - I read the sign. There wasn’t anything here except for another car.

“Oh, god. You’re kidnapping me. I knew it!” It was a long flight and the inflight movie sucked. Sue me for having a little fun. I rifled through the glove compartment. “Is this where you’ve hidden the chloroform and dirty rag? Sweet baby Buddha, I’m going to wake up on some perv’s private island, aren’t I? I’m being Epsteined!”

Anita hit the brakes hard enough that the both of us nearly bashed our heads against the dash. “What? No! Where in the world did you even hear about that!?”

Sometimes the best entertainment was the one you made for yourself. I threw my head back and laughed my heart out. At least until Anita reached over and roughly twisted my ear. “I really hate you, you know that!” She put the car back in gear and drove into and up the multi-story parking complex. “We’re meeting the director, Justin Lin, here. They’re scouting this location for the movie. He asked we talk details here before studio interference dictates the conversation.”

“A little covert ops. I like it.” 

As we made our way up the winding ramp, I recognized this location as where the first drift battles happen. “Here we go. I hope you’ve gotten all the mischief out of your system.”

“No promises.” I unclipped the seatbelt and made to open the door. Before I could, Anita hefted a gentle hand on my arm.

“Hey. About that Epstein comment… You know I’d never put you in that environment or situation, don’t you?” For the first time since I’d met her, she seemed legitimately worried.

Silly girl.

I flicked her on her forehead and hopped out of the car. “You think I’d make jokes about it if I didn’t?” 

Four people met on the roof of a decommissioned mall’s parking structure. We couldn’t possibly look more suspect if we tried. 

“Hi, Bas, Anita. Apologies for meeting like this. Oh, by the way, this is the movie’s scriptwriter, Chris Morgan.” Justin Lin made the introductions.

Pleasantries were slow to start and slower to end. Justin Lin stumbled through the weather and how much he appreciated me making my way over. The direction of the ocean breeze was discussed at length, but what wasn’t the direction of the movie or my role in it.

“Is there a reason we’re pulling teeth here?”

Lin and Morgan shared a glance. “W-well, it’s kinda rude if I say ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ right off the bat.”

I frowned. I wasn’t expecting this. I looked to Anita, “we could’ve done this over the phone…”

“I know but....” Said Lin uncomfortably. “…the studio insisted I meet you. I didn’t want to anger them.”

“No issue pissing me off, though?”

“Cut the shit!” Jaws gnashing, tail fin pumping, Anita breached the waters of civility in a rampage. Poor minnows hadn’t realized they were swimming with sharks. “This isn’t what we discussed. We didn’t fly all across the Atlantic to be told no! Man up and spit out what the issue is.” 

Justin frustratedly scrubbed his face. “You really wanna know?”

“I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

“I’m worried that if I hire you, no other casting is going to matter to the studio; that any other storyline I want to tell in the script will be sidelined for yours. And trust me, that script took ages to get where it’s at.” He prodded Chris Morgan. “Tell them what the original script was like.”

Morgan shrugged. “Very 1980s Steven Seagal, low budget, straight to DVD garbage. We’re talking geishas wearing Vietnamese cone hats while roaming between Chinese lion dancers.”

“The only thing these suits know about Asia is Bruce Lee, and Bangkok rub’n’tugs.” Lin finished. “The first time I revised the script, I didn’t even have Sean’s character in it. The main character was-”

“-Han.” Even if I hadn’t seen the original movie many, many times. It was pretty blatant in the script who the story should have been about. 

But in today’s Hollywood landscape, even Jackie Chan wasn’t selling tickets without a funny American sidekick.

Anita, still steamed, took over. “And you thought what? That Bas would stroll in, go full diva, and demand you make everything about him?”

“Look at it from my perspective. He’s neither the first, nor the last mega famous teen. They have a pretty well established rep of being dicks. Can you blame me for thinking he’d be any different?”

Oof, ouch. My ego.

“Yes.” Anita didn’t even hesitate. 

“You don’t get it. The studio really wants him. They’ll do practically anything so he’ll take top billing.” 

“Except pay more.” Anita, sensing her losing grip on her usually professional facade, reeled herself back in and eased the tension.

“Naturally.” Lin’s sardonic smile proved the tactic’s success.

An awkward silence descended on the group. I rattled my brain for a potential solution to this minor crisis.

I liked fast and furious, for the most part. I liked Han. He was my fave character in the franchise behind Letty, but that was mostly because I had a crush on Michelle Rodriguez. My personal affections, however, weren’t the sole, or even main, reason I wanted in on this movie. 

This was all for my future as the next big action star. Cars, guns, cardio, laughs, fights, girls, stunts, and a little spice with everything nice. 

Tiny as it was, I’d done a romantic role. Remove the fantasy element, and Harry Potter was a serious dramatic performance. With the time I had between my more vital commitment to Potter, Tokyo Drift was the best possible option for me to hit different notes in my range.

The only other production I’d received any interest for that might fulfill a similar requirement was Herbie Fully Loaded.

No way was I going to play third wheel to Lindsay Lohan and a Volkswagen Beetle.

As disastrous as this introduction was, I couldn’t be short-sighted. My longer career was more important than petty indignation. 

Didn’t mean I wasn’t going to take my pound of flesh later.

“If there was one thing you could take away from Sean’s character arc and return it to Han, what would it be?” I got us restarted.

He thought for a moment. “The love interest. The tension between Han and DK makes more sense if there’s a love triangle involved. We’d have to take her out of highschool though, which leaves Sean without an important tether.”

I shrugged. “Easily fixed. Make the friend group slash Han’s crew more prevalent. Sean’s through-line can be found family instead of insipid teenage lust.”

“Not a bad idea.” Chris Morgan sounded surprised. I wasn’t just a pretty face.

“Studio won’t go for it.” Lin denied.

“They will if Bas Rhys, diva extraordinaire, complains about the script.” All eyes on me. “That is, if you’re being honest about how much they want me.”

“Enough to sell their first-born daughters.” Lin blurted out. “But why would you go through the trouble? Especially at the cost of a shrunken role. What do you get out of this?”

A growing resume with a fat payday. A potential critical and commercial success because my name was on it. A network outside the UK and leverage with another massive movie studio besides WB. A new niche of raving fans, faster retailing (wink wink), the list goes on. There was probably more than even I knew off the top of my head. 

Anita inconspicuously tapped my shin with her foot. I heeded her signal and passed the serve to her. “Does it matter? You get your script while keeping Universal happy with you. Our gain is above your pay grade.” She bullied them - but only a little. “This offer is a onetime thing. Take it or leave it.”

“You’re twisting my arm, but I really can’t say no to this deal when you spell it out like that. Can you drive at least?”

I didn’t want to, but I had to make nice. High road and all that nonsense. 

Plus, it’s just dumb to be outwardly antagonistic with your director. I’d curse him all I want once he was out of earshot. 

I plucked Anita’s keys out of her back pocket and jingled them. “Tell you what, to show you that I can drive, and that there’s no hard feelings, how about I drive all of us? That’s your car down in the lot, yeah?” I’d keep my driving confined to the mall, wouldn’t want to get pulled over by the fuzz.

Lin and Morgan let out a relieved sigh. He approached me, one arm stretched out, and the other scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry and thanks. Let’s make a movie together.”

I accepted his olive branch. I would ignore grace this one time, though.

We all piled into the Benz. Anita and I were of matching heights, so I didn’t need to adjust the driver’s seat. I keyed the ignition, and the car rumbled to life. Anita, seated behind me, leaned over and whispered in my ear. “You crash it, and you’re buying me a new one.” She had full understanding about what was going to happen. 

I started gingerly. Steadily and smoothly, we traversed down the spiral ramp until we reached the lower level. A large open space littered with support columns. 

“Not bad, right?” I continued driving down the flat straight. 

“Yeah. I didn’t think you’d already gotten your learner’s permit.” Lin commended. The corner came closer. 

“Haha, no. I can’t apply for one until next year at the earliest.” My foot fell heavier on the gas. The car accelerated.

“Then where’d you learn to drive? Shouldn’t you slow down for the turn?” His voice picked up pitch as the car picked up speed.

“Rally school.” Brakes? What were those? 

I whipped the wheel hard, floored the accel, and power slid into the corner at full speed.

I flicked the clutch, the car lost traction, and everyone lost their minds.

“FUU-!”

“AAaaAAhHH!”

“BAS!”

“WEEEEE!” That last one was me.

The tires squealed like a gazelle running for its life as the engine roared like a rabid roaring lion chasing after it. I redlined.

I played with the throttle, keeping the nose of the car steady, and pointed where I wanted to go. We screeched out of the turn, a cloud of smoke raced behind us. Half way through the straight, though we were very much sideways, I aimed the car at a row of pillars. 

I let off the accel. Released the steering, which spun in my loose grip. 

Traction returned, I floored it, and whipped the wheel. Left, right, then left again. I slalomed between the supports. 

The concrete didn’t hit us, but the G force sure did. 

The shattering wail of the engine bounced thunderously off the walls and slammed into our ears. Convertibles allowed for great automotive acoustic appreciation.

The off ramp out of the building was in sight. One last trick for the road. 

How about a nice and easy J-turn?

Free of the concrete poles, I raced down the final stretch. I hit the clutch, pulled the e-brake, and pulled the wheel all in the same instant. 

The car rotated, spewing a cloud of vaporised rubber all around us. I switched to reverse, put the pedal to metal and broke through the gaseous wall. Backwards.

The suspension worked overtime when the elevation changed. 

I turned my head to the side. Justin Lin, sans any colour on his face, stared at me in horror. I stopped the car just a few feet away from theirs. 

I was all teeth.

“I’m telling Ben to charge you for a fresh set of tires.” She could try to sound cool all she liked, but I could almost hear the thumping of Anita’s heart. 

Chris Morgan, who was in the back with her, hastily unbuckled his belt, jumped over the side of the car and proceeded to evacuate his lunch on the hot asphalt.

My eyes never left Lin. “So tell me, how’d you like-” I affected my best southern accent, “mah riiiide.” 

“... I g-g-guess a d-dialect coach is ch-cheaper than a racing pro.” He stuttered.

Another loud retch came from Morgan. I looked at him through the side-view mirror. It wasn’t flesh, but I’d definitely taken a pound from him, if the size of the puddle was any indication.

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