1st February 1998 (Sunday)
Ambrose Stirling (POV)
"You're kidding."
Without missing a beat I shot back, "Not at all kiddo, I never kid about work-"
"You are coming."
"No I am not."
"Yes you are."
"No I'm not."
"Yes you ar-"
I finally look up, having had enough of this meaningless back and forth. "No."
Ricky gazes incredulously before finally exploding, "It's the BAFTAs! 2 movies you've co-produced have received a grand total of 11 nominations… your first acting nom included! And you're telling me you won't ever step foot in England?! No, just- hell no. First I had to deal with Charlize, now you-"
"What's up with her?" I asked, in a likely to fail attempt to divert the conversation, but also out of sheer curiosity. "What happened kiddo?"
He narrowed his eyes, directing a flat look at me, "Nothing you gotta concern yourself with, it's well taken care of. Now," He proceeded to take a seat behind the desk, resting his left shin on the thigh of his right leg, "I'm going to ask you again, and this time… your answer better not be the abysmal weather, got it? Now… why won't you come?"
Why won't I? It's not that big of a deal is it? Jumping on my plane, landing in London, attending a ceremony before flying out the next day and yet… I can't.
I sigh loudly, "Ricky, you know my history. I have laid it all out to you, every single detail… England was not my home Ricky… it was my prison. I didn't just book a flight and left, I 'escaped'... My entire life as I had known it, wiped out in a matter of hours… A blank slate. And I built it from scratch in this very city. Even after I opened 'Stirling Studios', I never- I had distribution channels built in the UK but… I never set foot there. I had my boys for that by then… Higgs, Javier… they handled everything. In all the movies I have produced, I have been nominated for 6 Oscars and 4 BAFTAs… 1975. 'Locked and Loaded' won both for Best Picture. I tried Ricky I-I tried… Just couldn't bring myself to board the damn plane."
And for the first time since we started this discussion, did he finally simmer down. He sat there, just waiting for me to continue, knowing I wasn't done yet.
"So I holed myself up here… called in 'sick'. Told them I was down with Pneumonia… sent Higgs on my behalf. I saw it live on television, me and your mother, we both saw it together… It was beautiful Ricky… Since I arrived here, I have had opportunities to travel all around the world. Canada, Brazil, Mexico, Asia, Australia, Europe… I have been everywhere… except back home" I air-quoted towards the end.
"Did you know Ricky? Interesting fact here- life is not a fairy tale. You know how I know this kiddo? Because in a fairy tale, when a son gets estranged from their parents, there is always a moment of closure towards the end, if not outright reconciliation… well guess what? My old man? Your grandpa- he kicked the bucket 4 years ago… I found out through the papers. Never got an invite to his funeral… and honestly? I don't know if I would have gone, if I had gotten an invitation! Shocking, right? He left me nothing in his will, didn't even acknowledge me as his son… his estate went to a distant cousin who I had never heard of… and I didn't care one bit… Now does that make me a bad son? Maybe! Who the fuck knows really- I sure as hell don't! That place has been a constant source of pain and distress for me Ricky… a thorn in my backside that I just can't get rid of and you want me to go back there?! No jus- no. Never. You hear me kiddo?! I'm never going back there!"
By the end of my tirade, I realized I was standing, looking down at Ricky… who never looked away from my eyes. I didn't realize when exactly I had stood up.
Half a minute passed away in silence, as we maintained our gaze.
"Dad," Aha! Here it comes folks! My dear boy, using his words to convince me-, "You don't have to come… It's ok. I-I understand. I don't agree… but I understand. I empathize. The past… is a constant. Unlike the future it can never change, and unlike the present, we can't control it. What's happened, has happened… And will remain so, forever. We can't forget it… but we can learn to live with it." He stared pensively, leaning in a little, as he carried on softly, "I want you to come, not because of your nominations… rather mine. My first BAFTA ceremony… My movies have scored nearly a dozen noms, 6 of them are mine. I'm making history here dad… and having you with me… Suppose it was too tall an order." He finished, his voice never faltering once as he stood up.
"Now, I'll be staying in London for a week, I have got certain… business engagements over there. That includes scouting locations for my next movie-"
Hold on what?!
I verbalized as much only for him to wave dismissively, "Oh nothing's finalized yet honestly, it all depends on whether I can book certain locations in March and April, otherwise I would need to fast-track my plans for no. 6 instead, and delay no. 5 to July-"
"Hold on," I interrupt, my curiosity winning out over my somber mood, "5 and 6- what're you on about?! You're saying you're not slowing down a little? That you are gonna continue at your current pace? Ricky, there's a reason why directors take years to make a single film-"
Only for him to cut in with a shit eating grin, "Yeah, they're not as good as me then… too bad for them. It seems I'm setting a new standard for film-makers worldwide… Let's see how it goes together shall we? I mean, you're still on for Oscars right? Over 40 million viewers, it's quite literally the biggest night of the year for Hollywood."
"Of course kiddo, I've attended every single Oscar since the roaring 60s, no chance in hell am I skipping out now." I smirk in return as we finally returned to a hint of normalcy.
He shot one last smile before turning back and walking towards the door, and just when he was about to step out, I halted him in his steps with a… warning to say the least.
"Remember Sundance Ricky?"
He turned back slowly, "Yes? What about it?"
"The Grand Jury Award. You beat out 8 other movies to secure it… one of them was Weinstein's… you know what this means right?"
He pauses for a second before replying, "Yeah but it was a fair contest, the Jury voted and I won. He can't be that petty… right?"
"Son… you clearly don't know him as well as I do. He's like an ugly bull. He sees red, and he runs straight at it, uncaring of who he tramples over… He's gonna hold a hell of a grudge. Just- beware of him, that's all I ask." I finish in a pleading tone.
"Of course dad. I'll take care of myself, and you take care of yourself. Now, my flight's tomorrow so uh, we'll meet in a few days."
"Have fun kiddo, break a leg." I wish him well.
We exchange one last smile before he shuts the door.
Sigh… That went well.
2nd February 1998 (Sunday)
Ricky Stirling (POV)
KNOCK - KNOCK!
"AL? YOU THERE?"
I hear a faint rustling before Al opens the door with a bang, irritation visible on his visage as he goes back to fiddling with his bowtie.
I enter his room without any reservations before bringing my hands up to his neck, "Here- let me do it," I say, swatting away his hands as I effortlessly finish the job, the bowtie being symmetrical to a tee… that is until he no doubt moves around, or tampers with it, "There you go."
"Had a lot of practice, did ya?" He grunted.
"Not really. I saw someone do it once. My fingers have always been… dexterous. So-" I clap my hands together producing an epic bang, "How're you doing?" I ask with a serene smile… as if I didn't just startle the living shit out of him.
"Fuckin' hell kid don't jus- don't do that again! I was just fine before you came along." He muttered the last sentence, staring at the mirror with a forlorn look.
I follow his gaze, only to let out a sigh, "Oh come on! You can't still be down about it?! So you shaved your head, and now it looks like a malnourished porcupine up there… they'll grow back! Cheer up man-" I clapped his back hard, making him stumble slightly, "You're about to win a BAFTA for goodness' sake!"
Having grown accustomed to my antics, he chooses not to blow his gasket today and instead looks at me meaningfully, "I'm just nominated kiddo, winning is a whole 'nother thing, especially out here. In Oscars, we've got the home ground advantage, we can try and guess. BAFTA on the other hand? Toss of a coin kiddo." He ends with a shake of his head.
"Al, with all due respect… that's bullshit. You won the golden globe against the guy from 'Berlin's Call'. Since the movie didn't release in the UK, he's not nominated… there is no way you're losing that award to anyone else… take it from me man. I'm usually right about these things." I reassure him.
He snorts in return, "Yeah, usually right… I sat right next to you at Venice kiddo. You didn't see it coming back then, fat chance you're gonna see it now."
I gave him a stink-eye, and chose not to retort. Why would I, when I had no leg to stand on?
He's right, I didn't see it coming at Venice, for all I know, I lose every single category today. 6 noms in a single ceremony, 6 categories in all… pretty sure no-one's ever accomplished that before. And if I have it my way, then no-one will ever top me, not in this contest.
Unfortunately for the common rabble, the versatility of the Gamer can never be matched through talent or effort, or even a combination of both.
"Rick."
"Yes Al?"
"Where's the girl? Your girl? You never left her side throughout the ride, now all of a sudden you're here? Something up with that?"
Huh… clever. It seems my inductive reasoning capabilities are rubbing off on others around me.
Or he just knows me that well. Despite the stunt I pulled with him and his agent, he never really held a grudge against me. He had several reasons to, I did disrespect him and his agent, talked down to them, and tricked them in a business negotiation but still… the bond we have, I have a feeling it'll only deepen with time.
"Nah, she kicked me out. She and Christine, they're getting ready together and decided my snide remarks had no place in their ritual… So here I am."
He chuckled lightly, "Indeed… Here you are. So young and yet… Here you are."
I had a feeling he wasn't talking about his room anymore.
…Here I am huh?
On a whim, I started knocking the wooden closet rhythmically…
~Here I am, this is me~
~There's nowhere on earth I'd rather be~
Al finally turned back, looking at me worriedly, while at the same time bobbing his head in rhythm, and so without a single reservation… I continue my improvised serenade.
~Here I am, it's just me and you~
~Tonight we make our dreams… come true~
~Ohhhhhh, it's a new world, it's a new start~
~It's alive with the beating of young hearts~
I dance along to the set tune, pounding my chest lightly before I continue the chorus.
~It's a new day, it's a new plan~
~I've been waiting for youuuuuuuu~
~Here I am~
I repeat the line 2 more times, as I give in completely to the sensation, my eyes barely open as I glance at Al who has ceased looking himself in the mirror, finding my impromptu singing prowess far more entertaining clearly.
Oh how perfectly do the lyrics of this under-rated masterpiece apply to my current situation… Bryan Adams truly was a legend.
I rest my elbow on Al's shoulder, peering into his eyes as I sing the next words.
~Here we are, we've just begun~
~And after all this time, our time has come~
~Yeah, here we are, still goin' strong~
~Right here in the place where we belong, Ohhhh~
"Sing it with me Al!"
"Sing what with you-"
~Ohhh, It's a new world, it's a new start~
~It's alive with the beating of young hearts~
~It's a new day, it's a new plan~
~I've been waiting for youuuu~
~Oh, here I am~
Al who had heard the chorus second before, managed to mumble a few lines off-tune… it nevertheless meant the world to me.
"Here you are kiddo… And apparently, so am I." He chuckles, placing a pair of Aviator shades on his eyes… before opening a case of cigars.
"These are Cubans… 'Cohiba'. Have one with me." He offered with a grin.
"Go on, grab one. Will only take a couple of minutes at most- we'll make it on time don't you worry. It's your special day after all, and here you fuckin' are. Grab one kiddo, we have never had one together have we?" He added.
I shook my head slightly, as I grabbed one out of the box and proceeded to cut the tip with the cutter, "Never had a cigar in my life Al." I sheepishly smile.
"It'll be my first one… and with you of all people."
"My privilege, kiddo, and your pleasure no doubt once you're a couple of puffs in. Now light it up!" He uttered the last sentence with gusto, unable to keep a grin off his face.
Neither could I, to be honest.
In a couple of hours, it was the moment of truth… and come hell or high water, ~We'll make our dreams come true~.