Chapter 61: Moving Out
As the car pulled into the Garfield estate, Wayne was still thinking about how to break the news to Naomi. She'd been living here for some time now, and gossip magazines had already speculated endlessly about their relationship.
But with the new promotional plan underway, she'd have to move out—immediately. If he was going to have an "official girlfriend," he couldn't afford to leave the media with any exploitable loose ends.
"Hey, what are you two doing?"
Wayne walked into the living room to find Naomi and Nina huddled together over a thick notebook, deeply engrossed in discussion. Nina was jotting something down with focus.
"Being your assistant is no easy job, Wayne," Naomi said, handing him the notebook Nina had been writing in.
Wayne sat down beside them and flipped it open. The pages were packed with densely written notes—dossiers on Hollywood stars, industry power players, media execs—each annotated with personal details and brief bios.
"I'm trying to learn how to be a proper assistant," Nina said with a shrug. "I figure your attention's mostly on filmmaking, so I need to be able to remind you who you're talking to and how best to interact with them."
Wayne flipped through the well-organized pages. Most of the people listed were executives from studios and major media companies.
"You're doing a fantastic job, Nina."
He handed the notebook back and turned to Naomi.
"Come upstairs with me. We need to talk—alone."
"Now?" she asked, confused but compliant, following him up to the third-floor balcony.
From here, most of Los Angeles spread out below them. The wide balcony had been turned into a scenic lounge space, complete with sunshades and recliners. Wayne often sat here at night, smoking a cigarette and letting the stars quiet his mind—his way of decompressing from the pressure of directing.
Now he sat in his usual spot, looking across at the woman whose temperament had always matched his.
"Naomi, Warner Bros. has come up with a promotional strategy for the film," he began. "They need me to have an official girlfriend."
Naomi immediately understood. Her expression turned faintly cold.
"So what do you need me to do?"
"You'll need to find a new place—quickly. And move out discreetly, avoiding media attention."
"Got it. I understand."
She knew from the start what kind of relationship this was—colleagues, friends, maybe occasional lovers, but never more than that. She had her own ambitions too, and she wasn't naive enough to believe things would change.
"I'll move back to my apartment tomorrow. I won't interfere with your plans," she said calmly.
"Once the campaign's over, you're welcome to come back anytime," Wayne said quietly. They both knew there was little more he could offer.
Dinner that night passed in silence. Naomi barely spoke, and the strange tension in the air made Nina eat quickly and excuse herself from the estate.
At 8 p.m., Wayne was back on the balcony, revising shooting schedules with a gentle breeze at his back, when Naomi appeared quietly behind him.
"Hey, baby," she purred, running a seductive hand across his shoulder. "You're really not going to let me have some fun on my last night here?"
Wayne turned around—and froze. Naomi was standing there dressed head-to-toe in a tight black custom catsuit, a leather collar around her neck like some kind of feline dominatrix.
He tossed the notebook aside and stood up immediately.
"Damn, sweetheart… you look incredible."
He tugged gently on the leash attached to her collar and whispered in her ear.
That night, Naomi was more uninhibited than ever. They started on the balcony and didn't stop until the entire third floor bore traces of their wild escapade. She even filmed parts of it with a DV camcorder, gleefully recording explicit scenes.
When it was over, they lay tangled in sheets, clothes scattered everywhere, her body resting against his chest.
"I noticed Nina's book doesn't include any of the Academy's core members," Naomi murmured. "She hasn't realized how important they are to your future…"
Wayne cut her off with a firm squeeze beneath the covers.
"I don't know those Academy guys, and I don't see any reason to start sucking up to them."
Naomi looked up at him.
"You're not interested in the Oscars?"
"Of course I'd love a golden statuette," Wayne said, pulling the blanket up. "If I told you I didn't care about Best Director, I'd be lying. But I'm still too young. Those old geezers would never give it to someone like me."
"Trying for an Oscar would drain too much time and energy. I'd have to make movies tailored to their tastes—films I don't even want to direct. It's not worth it. For the next few years, I'm focusing on box office numbers and building my résumé."
"Wayne, you're forgetting something important," Naomi warned. "The Academy never favors films outside their narrow definition of 'serious cinema.' Your stuff? Dark, absurdist horror? Totally not their thing."
Wayne nodded.
"I know. That's why I'll eventually change my style—not for the Oscars, but for market demand. These first two films are just experience-builders. If I do someday win Best Director because those guys suddenly lose their minds, great. If not, I'll live. There'll be more chances."
"No way." Naomi chuckled at his sarcasm. "I've looked into it. Directors who don't play the Oscar game never win. If you don't do PR, don't curry favor, don't play nice behind the scenes—forget it."
"Exactly," Wayne said, throwing up his hands. "So what's the point right now? I'd rather let the box office speak for me."
Naomi nodded silently. She understood now where his head was at. As she closed her eyes, she began to mentally plan for her next steps after moving out.
Though she'd only starred in two films so far, the recent racism scandal had opened her eyes. Hollywood wasn't simple—not like back in Australia. The competition here was brutal. The tangled webs between actors, directors, and agents were way more complex than she had imagined.
Gradually, their breathing slowed. Both of them drifted into sleep, each lost in their own thoughts.
Wayne, for once, slept in.
When he finally woke, Naomi had already moved out. Thinking back on the chaos of the night before, he forced himself to let go of the feeling. His career was just beginning—he couldn't afford distractions, especially emotional ones.
After breakfast, Sergei drove him to Burbank again. In the Warner Bros. building, waiting for him in the lobby… was Halle Berry.
Halle Berry looked visibly worn down—her face lacked the radiance she'd had during her first audition.
"Warner has already talked to me. I signed the damn NDA. I'm ready," she said first, her tone subdued and her gaze complicated as it fell on Wayne.
Wayne turned to Paul Charles, who nodded in confirmation. Only then did Wayne respond calmly:
"Then let's hope we have a smooth collaboration."
He picked up the contract from the table, skimmed through it once more, and signed without hesitation.
"Wayne," Paul Charles said, handing him a printed packet. "This is the full outline of the campaign. Warner's journalists will be interviewing Halle Berry soon. All you need to do is follow the plan."
Wayne flipped through it carefully. Compared to what Paul had previously described, this plan was much more detailed—even the day they'd go shopping together had been scheduled and highlighted.
"No problem. Let's go with it for now. I have to get back to the studio—we're shooting this afternoon."
He nodded politely to Halle Berry, then turned and left with the materials in hand.
Once back at the Warner Bros. studio, Wayne switched right back into work mode. Unless absolutely necessary, he left all personal matters to Nina to handle.
Will Smith and Naomi Watts were both in excellent form, and even Mace and the rest of the cast had begun to find their rhythm. With the team now past the initial adjustment phase, the pace of filming ramped up significantly.
"Okay, ten-minute break!"
The next day, just after wrapping up a sequence, Wayne was reviewing footage on the monitor when Will Smith came over, grinning like a kid with a secret.
"Yo, Wayne, my assistant just brought this over. You won't believe what's in it."
"What is it?" Wayne asked, taking the newspaper from Will. Right away, his eyes landed on the bold, oversized headline:
"Black Pearl Plagued by Guilt—Rumors of Depression!"
The article went on in dramatic detail, claiming Halle Berry had sunk into guilt and emotional turmoil after falsely accusing director Wayne Garfield of racism under pressure from Ferren Goodman. There was even a grainy, "secretly taken" photo accompanying the piece.
But that wasn't all. On the back page was a full interview with Halle Berry. It was overflowing with contrition, gratitude, and effusive praise for Wayne's so-called generosity. The last line of the interview quoted her directly:
"What woman wouldn't be drawn to a gentleman like Wayne Garfield—so kind, so forgiving? He's a man of real character. I think I've truly fallen for his nobility."
It was clear Warner Bros. had already launched the campaign, probably out of fear that the buzz would fade and the public might lose interest.
"Yo, bro, did you see that?" Will Smith laughed. "This chick straight-up confessed her love for you to the press. Can you believe this? This is nuts."
Will's teasing was playful—by now, the entire crew had grown familiar with one another. Will especially got along with everyone on set thanks to his charm and easygoing nature.
"Maybe I should accept her love," Wayne said dryly, adopting a mock-serious tone. "Forgive her for all her sins and live happily ever after with her."
The deadpan delivery made the crew around them burst into laughter. They knew he was trolling.
"Ayo, ayo!" Will said, half-rapping. "Nobody better say our director ain't got jokes. Look at him—he's just saving it all for us folks!"
Laughter rippled across the set. Wayne looked around, half-amused, half-exasperated.
"Seriously? These days, telling the truth is enough to get laughs?"