….
On October 20th, the second major filming schedule for [Train To Catch] officially wrapped.
The cast and crew were scheduled for a short break, but the work was far from over.
Regal Seraphsail was determined to release the movie by late December; that meant jumping straight into post-production for the scenes they had already shot.
Sound mixing was especially crucial for this film, and under normal circumstances, Regal would have stayed in the editing bay day and night without taking a single day off.
Alas, there is something even more tricky right now–
Samantha laid out the problem directly. "The Hollywood Foreign Press Association locked the Golden Globe Awards at the Beverly Hilton for Sunday, and the live broadcast starts at five in the evening, and we are seated at Table One."
Regal, dressed in his usual simple black henley, was leaning back in his leather.
"That brings us to the actual complication." Samantha continued, pointing at the calendar. "Sunday, November 10th. Do you remember what you made me personally clear on your schedule three weeks ago, Regal?"
Regal's gaze drifted to the top right corner of the desk, where a silver-embossed envelope sat tucked securely into his organizer.
His expression went still.
"Sunday…." Regal murmured. "November 10th."
"Yes." Samantha said, her eyes fixed on him. "Jordan's wedding."
The silence inside the executive suite instantly deepened, thick and heavy.
"Can I suggest something you will definitely reject?" Samantha asked.
"Go ahead." Regal replied.
"I know Jordan is an old friend, but you run a multi billion dollar studio now." she said gently. "With hundreds of employees and partners watching you, send him a generous gift and visit him later. He will understand."
"How about absolutely not?" Regal answered firmly
"I figured." Samantha said, pulling up the timeline–
It isn't that Samantha wants Regal to skip it either; as his PR representative, it's her job to make sure her boss knows which option is most optimal.
"Here are the facts: the Golden Globes ceremony starts at five. Our biggest nominations won't be announced until near the end, around eight-twenty. Meanwhile, Jordan's wedding ceremony in Glendale starts at seven, and dinner is at eight-fifteen.
"In Sunday night traffic, driving from Beverly Hills to Glendale will take at least an hour… maybe ninety minutes if streets are closed."
"I can't miss out on the awards either." Regal stated.
Samantha looked at him. "...well, we have only one solution."
"Yes." Regal began. "I will participate in the customary red carpet with Gwen, and will do the press line as usual, before taking our spots. And I can't leave until all the announcements of our nominations are completed, which should be done by eight twenty."
"And…" Samantha asked. "You are gonna skip the after-parties?"
Regal said flatly. "All of them."
Samantha nodded and explained as if she already expected him to say that. "Regal, unlike other films for the compilation, we don't promote our nominated films, and most of the business happens in after parties of Golden Globes. That's where we have always brought most of the Academy voters."
"True, but that's the only choice I am left with." Regal replied with a smile on his face. "Anwway, let our work speaks for itself like always."
He turned his head toward the corner. "Rock"
Rock, who was finally back to his position after weeks immediately nodded. "Boss?"
"We have to avoid all our big company cars." Regal ordered. "I don't want to be spotted by the media or be stuck in traffic. Take any small rental car, and park it in the Hilton's underground loading dock by the banquet service kitchen. Samantha, get me the service corridor blueprint."
Samantha's eyes flickered with sudden, sharp realization. "The hotel kitchen connects directly to the freight elevator behind Ballroom B. If you exit stage left during the end credit crawl, you can bypass the main foyer entirely."
"Done." Regal said. "The moment the announcements will be finished, Gwen and I walk off the ballroom floor, through the pantry, into the elevator, and into the SUV.
"From there, it's on Rock to take me to the wedding."
Though Regal had planned everything down to the last detail, he hadn't accounted for the fact that his plan to attend the wedding was going to become considerably more crowded than he had initially expected.
Samantha stared at Regal. "You will be making headlines again."
Regal smiled faintly. "And you, my friend, are going to stay at the Waldorf party with others and proceed formally."
….
Across town, far removed from Burbank and the Beverly Hills–
The neon sign above the convenience store is opened, and with a grumpy man behind the counter–
It was Jorden.
He is holding a pen as he stares at a pad covered in chicken-scratch inventory calculations. His graying hair was trimmed slightly shorter than usual, and he was wearing a clean flannel shirt that lacked the usual grease stains, though his sharp, deadpan scowl remained completely unchanged.
The door opened just then–
-as two older men stepped inside, both carrying paper bags from the hardware store down the block. They were wearing greasy mechanics' jackets from the transmission shop two doors down.
"Hey, Jordan." the heavier one, Sal, grunted, heading straight for the refrigerated beverage case to grab a six-pack of domestic lager. "You still open, or are you too busy getting your wedding outfit?"
Jordan didn't look up from his notepad. "Grab your beer and get out, Sal. Eight-fifty."
Sal and his buddy, an older mechanic named Frank, walked up to the register, chuckling.
Frank tossed a ten-dollar bill onto the table.
"I saw the news this morning, hotshot." Frank said, pointing a finger at Jordan. "Turn on the television, and there's that movie kid… who apparently 'used' to work for you. The Golden Globes official day was announced, and it was all about kissing his boots saying he got ten nominations."
Jordan stated. "Good for him."
It was already all over the internet that Regal had called Jordan "boss," and while it had caused quite a scene at the time, like most pieces of information, the story eventually died down and was quickly replaced by the next piece of news.
"So?" Sal pressed, leaning over the counter with a broad smirk. "Is your billionaire buddy showing up to the chapel on Sunday? Or did that shiny silver invitation you carried all the way out to Burbank end up in his studio shredder?"
Jordan bagged the cans with a swift flick of his wrist, his face completely unreadable…
"Leave the kid alone, Sal." Jordan said, his voice carrying sharpness. "He is a busy one, and he doesn't owe this neighborhood a damn thing."
"Oh, come on, Jordan, don't get sensitive!" Sal laughed, backing toward the glass door with his paper bag. ""My daughter read about it online, and apparently every movie star in the country is going to be at that fancy hotel, drinking fifty-dollar cocktails, so you really thought Regal Seraphsail was going to skip out on Hollywood royalty just to watch you exchange rings with Martha in some old stone chapel?"
"I never asked him to skip anything." Jordan retorted, his voice rising just enough to carry that classic, no-nonsense bite. "I gave him an invite because it was polite. Because he was a good kid who did his shifts without whining too much. What he does with his Sunday evening is his business."
"Right, right." Sal chuckled, the bell chiming twice as the door swung shut behind them. "Keep telling yourself that. But Martha's sisters are already taking bets on whether the Hollywood kingpin is going to send a cardboard cutout instead."
The convenience store fell back into silence.
Jordan stood alone behind the counter; the low, continuous hum of the refrigeration units droned on.
Slowly, the rough exterior on his face began to crack, replaced by the exhaustion of a man who had lived long enough to know how the world actually worked.
He reached beneath the counter, pulling open the drawer where he kept spare receipt rolls and rubber bands.
Tucked right in the corner was a printed RSVP card from the Glendale chapel, marked with an empty checkmark beside Seraphsail, Regal.
Beside it sat an old 4x6 photograph in a cheap plastic frame.
It was from the winter of 2010.
Regal was nineteen, wearing an oversized green apron with the store logo peeling off the chest, clutching a mop handle with one hand and a notebook in the other, smiling like an idiot who honestly thought he was going to conquer the world.
Behind him, Jordan stood by the coffee station, scowling with his arms crossed, looking ready to fire him on the spot.
Jordan took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the rough heel of his palm.
'Of course he won't make it', Jordan thought, a faint, bitter, familiar chuckle catching in his throat.
How could he?
The whole world was bowing at the kid's feet this morning.
When Jordan walked through those massive studio gates three weeks earlier, he hadn't expected to hear yes to anything.
He had only wanted to see the kid one last time and find out whether seven years of fame had turned him into another soulless Hollywood monster who walked around like a god, only for that same kid to pull him into a hug, call him "Boss" in front of a hundred screaming journalists, and have security escort him home like a visiting dignitary.
'That was enough,' Jordan told himself as he slid the drawer shut, knowing that it was already more than an old boss had any right to ask of him.
"Don't be an idiot, kid." Jordan muttered to the empty aisles, a faint, resigned smirk touching the corner of his weathered mouth–
"Stay at your fancy hotel and drink your champagne. Don't go ruining your own big night for an old man's second wedding."
Everything was cleared now, and the wedding and Golden Globe plans were still exactly as Regal had intended, but there was one other thing on his schedule that he had been keeping in mind.
A competition, or more precisely, the Olympics.
What was that all of a sudden? Well, it wasn't actually all that sudden.
Anyway, right before watching the game, Regal was planning to visit his editor, Zack, and his composer, Leo.
.
….
[To be continued…]
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