Chapter 64: Mexican Cuisine
In early 1990s North America, movements like Black Lives Matter and MeToo hadn't yet exploded into the mainstream. Political correctness was still in its infancy.
Back then, the LGBTQ+ community stayed hidden in the shadows—none of them could have imagined that in the decades to come, being openly gay in Hollywood would become one of the biggest forms of social capital.
When it came to minority groups, there was no question that African Americans made up the largest demographic. But truthfully, for most Black folks at the time, going to the movies was far down the list of preferred leisure activities.
So whether it was Warner's push to hype up an interracial romance or the early reveals of the cast and storyline, the studio's real goal was clear: get those who wouldn't normally step foot in a cinema—especially Black audiences—into theaters to boost box office numbers beyond the initial projections.
---
Inside the Warner Bros. studio lot, Wayne was busy checking the schedule. They were almost done filming on this set—just a few scattered shots remained to tie things together. Now he needed to calculate a wrap date, because once principal photography was done, he'd be moving Halle Berry into his house. Keeping public interest high was critical.
"Luke, how's the prep going with the deer? We're not gonna get slammed by animal rights activists, are we?"
The deer would appear in multiple scenes, symbolically representing African Americans.
"All set! As soon as we finish here, we'll head out to the countryside," Luke replied confidently. "No animal rights folks have shown up yet, but we should shoot fast—just in case."
"Good."
Wayne's biggest concern was precisely this. These animal advocacy people had their priorities upside down. They didn't care about safety issues on set or how the crew was treated—just the damn animals.
If they did show up, he wasn't going to waste time arguing. Plan B was already in place: swap in props. Sure, fake deer wouldn't look as good, but it would save them a ton of trouble.
"Alright, let's roll. Once these shots are done, we're more than halfway there."
He flipped through the production notes, placed the logbook on the table, and had Luke notify the crew to resume shooting.
What they were filming now were all fragmented insert shots, meaning constant changes in scenery, camera angles, costumes, and emotional beats. It was exhausting. By the end of the day, Naomi dragged herself over.
"How many more days of this torture?"
Wayne, distracted as he watched Luke pack away the finished film reels, answered absentmindedly:
"Not much left. We're close."
"You said that last week," Naomi muttered, clearly spent. "Coming over to my place tonight? Have a drink or something?"
Wayne's eyes finally settled on her polished blonde features.
"Can't. I've got dinner with Halle. Get some rest."
"Hey!" Naomi lowered her voice, glancing around. "I thought this was all for PR? Is that b*tch really that irresistible? I called the estate—Hella said you've been sleeping out a lot lately."
Wayne ignored the petty jealousy. As professional actors, personal feelings were hard to gauge, and he had no intention of trying. Maybe there was some genuine emotion in her reaction, but more likely, it was just competitive ego.
"Get some rest, Naomi. And one more thing—don't meddle in my personal life."
With that, he handed his bag to Nina and headed for the exit.
Outside, Sergei was already waiting in the car. Wayne opened the door and slid into the back seat while Nina got in front.
"How was the shoot today?" Halle Berry was already inside, practically beaming as she leaned over and began massaging his shoulders like a real girlfriend.
"We're just about done here." Wayne glanced at her, enjoying the attention. "Start packing. You'll be moving into my place in a few days."
He could guess what she was angling for. From day one, he knew what Halle wanted—and this arrangement benefited her immensely. The growing media coverage had quietly begun to give her a foothold in Hollywood.
Sensing that he was in a good mood, Halle's eyes gleamed with an idea.
"How about we go back to my apartment? I make a pretty mean Mexican dinner."
"Mexican food?" Wayne repeated with a smirk. He knew exactly what this black pearl was really offering.
He reached out and gently lifted her chin, pulling her close and planting a kiss on those plush lips.
In the front seat, Sergei gave the rearview mirror a quick glance—then silently flipped it away from them.
"Nina, drop me off at Halle's. You two can head back after that," Wayne said as he let go of the beauty in his arms.
The Russian bodyguard just shrugged. He was already used to this routine—every few days, the boss spent the night at her place. It seemed this dark-skinned beauty had really gotten under his skin.
---
Once they arrived, Wayne followed Halle up the stairs like he'd done it a hundred times.
"Mexican food? Oh, really?" he teased.
But the moment she opened the door, the idea of food became irrelevant.
They fell into each other's arms instantly.
Halle understood clearly: what Wayne really craved was her beautiful, seductive body. It was her most powerful asset right now. As long as she kept him satisfied, she could slowly begin working on the other goals she had in mind.
Twenty-five-year-old Halle Berry was, without question, in the prime of her beauty. During this time, Wayne had been enjoying a kind of pleasure that was wholly different from his experiences with white women. It helped him unwind and eased the stress and pressure of his intense work schedule.
"Wayne…"
After their passion had ebbed, Halle lay sprawled lazily across his chest, her deep black eyes watching the side of his face.
"I heard you've registered two more scripts with the Writers Guild. Is your next project another thriller?"
She could clearly feel his attitude toward her shifting, even if it was only because of how hard she was working to please him. That was enough. She planned to leverage this momentum for even more.
"The next project's still a ways off," Wayne replied, reaching over to the nightstand for a cigarette and lighter. "Post-production on this film will run till around January. Warner's planning a press screening in February, and the tentative release date is May. The box office results will decide the timeline for the next one."
"Wow, it's definitely going to be a hit," Halle said, clearly fishing. "So… another thriller?"
"Not exactly." Wayne shook his head. "If this one meets expectations, then the next film will be more commercially oriented."
He wasn't lying. His first two films were all about establishing a foothold in Hollywood—earning the investors' trust. But the next one? That would come with a much bigger budget. No more shoestring projects like this.
The real goal of Get Out was to give Warner Bros. enough confidence to back him on something big. Halle's meaning wasn't lost on him either—he knew what she wanted. The speed at which she'd shifted her personality and thrown herself into pleasing him made it obvious: she was gunning for a chance.
But Wayne wasn't the type to take and give nothing in return. As long as she played her role and helped keep the studio's promotional campaign going smoothly, then why not offer her a suitable role in his next project? The stuff written into her Warner contract was one thing—but a part personally handed to her by the director? That was another level.
He stubbed out the cigarette, leaned down, and kissed her gently.
"I know what you want, Halle. Just be patient."
Her eyes sparkled with joy.
"And how should I thank you?"
"Stick to the plan. Play your part."
Wayne's gaze slowly roamed down her flawless body.
"Halle, your figure is… absolutely smoking. Irresistible."
---
The passionate night in the apartment faded away like so many others. Like most men in this industry, Wayne left his emotions behind when morning came. He was up early and back to work.
That day, Wayne arrived at the studio at dawn. Get Out was in its final stretch. The studio shoot would wrap today, and any final establishing or scenic shots would be handled by Luke on location.
After a morning spent grabbing fragmented shots, nobody rushed to lunch. Instead, the crew gathered around the monitor, reviewing the morning's footage.
The core creative team—line producer John, assistant director Luke, lighting supervisor Steve, director of photography Robert, and Wayne himself—were all focused on the playback.
"Look here, Robert."
Wayne paused the footage and pointed at the monitor. The scene showed the housemaid, Mace, carrying a fruit tray into the living room toward the main cast.
"You used a flat, horizontal angle here. What if you tried something else—maybe a side-profile tracking shot from a low angle? A close-up on Mace's face might enhance the tension."
"A center-framed side profile?" Robert rubbed his chin in thought. "Yeah… with some tweaks in post, it could definitely boost the unease."
"Exactly. Let's reshoot this one," Wayne said to Luke, motioning him to prepare the actors. "In editing, we'll blur the surroundings slightly, keep Mace in crisp focus. It'll give that subtle, eerie vibe—perfect psychological cueing."
"If no one's eating lunch, might as well shoot," Robert added, seeing Luke already calling the actors into place. He grabbed his gear and went to reset the camera.
When they started rolling again, Wayne stayed glued to the monitor. The change in Robert's camera rhythm was immediately noticeable. He gave a sharp nod and called out:
"Cut!"
Everyone regrouped to review the take again, bouncing ideas off each other. After confirming the shot was solid, they turned their eyes to Wayne for the final call.
He looked around at the dozens of tired faces in the studio, then smiled and raised his voice:
"Studio shooting is officially wrapped! Everyone gets the day off tomorrow!"
"YES! Finally a break!"
"Holy sh—!"