Chapter 94 – Kindness on the Road
Cameron Diaz sat in the spacious back seat of the Rolls-Royce, her eyes filled with curiosity as she took in everything around her. The wide interior, sleek black leather seats, a minibar stocked with various bottles, and even a mini-fridge—all of it screamed indulgent, capitalist luxury.
Being surrounded by such opulence gave her a strangely intoxicating sense of unreality.
As the car turned onto Mulholland Drive, she peeked through the window, marveling at the luxurious mansions along the road. Each had its own unique architectural style, but all were tucked away behind layers of trees and high stone walls.
And perched at the very top of the hill stood the Garfield estate.
From the moment they entered the grand gates, the car passed through sprawling gardens and manicured lawns, finally pulling to a stop in front of the main house—on a small plaza with a fountain.
Cameron was still mesmerized as she stepped out of the car, a voice screaming inside her: This is the damn power of money!
Her gaze fell upon Wayne, who was lounging beneath a large patio umbrella on the lawn. One hand held a glass of lemon water, while two golden retrievers dozed lazily beside him on the other chair.
She glanced down at her outfit. Just earlier, she'd been confident about her looks, but now, standing in front of all this wealth, her cheap dress made her feel painfully out of place.
Sergei, the bodyguard, smiled and gestured toward Wayne, silently indicating she could go over.
"Thanks," Cameron whispered, then made her way toward the umbrella.
"Hi, Mr. Garfield!" she greeted cheerfully, flashing her sweetest smile as she stopped beside his chair. In this moment, it wasn't "director" or "producer" that mattered—what hit her hardest was the sheer wealth radiating from every inch of this place.
"Hey, Miss Diaz," Wayne said, pulling off his sunglasses and giving her a leisurely once-over. "You're looking smoking hot today."
She wore a light blue low-cut dress that clung to her curves, her face glowing with youthful beauty. With her age just past twenty, she was in that brief window when Western women shine the brightest—past thirty, it was usually a sharp downhill in looks. But Cameron was clearly in her prime.
"Let's head inside. Want something to drink?" Wayne offered warmly. He hadn't forgotten her skills from the last time they met. Unfortunately, things had been cut short that night—but today, he intended to make up for it.
With a playful glint in her eye, Cameron linked arms with him and leaned in just enough to show off her assets. "Got anything with a little kick? I'd love to check out your wine cellar."
"Of course. Come on."
Feeling the softness of her skin pressed against his arm, Wayne silently approved. This woman didn't wear a bra on purpose.
He led her down into the wine cellar, casually picked out a bottle of red, and took her to his favorite spot: the third-floor balcony.
From here, the entire city of Beverly Hills unfolded before them—most of Los Angeles, even. Every person who had ever stood here had been awestruck by the view.
Naomi Watts had been. Halle Berry too. And now, Cameron Diaz stood in silent awe, staring out at the glittering city below.
"My god, it's beautiful up here."
"Here—your pick." Wayne poured the wine into two elegant glasses and handed her one.
As their glasses clinked, Cameron's smile deepened. She took a long sip and let her gaze slide downward, then murmured, "A good wine should be paired with something special… something unforgettable."
Wayne set the bottle aside, sipping leisurely from his glass as he settled back in his lounge chair. "So, how do you suggest we pair it?"
Cameron licked her lips and tilted her head up, voice low and sultry. "You just sit back and enjoy the wine."
He did as told, lifting his glass and sipping, eyes on the horizon beyond Beverly Park. Behind him, Cameron sank to her knees and slowly crawled forward.
She knew what he liked—she'd figured it out at that party.
Draining the last drop of his wine, Wayne watched the retrievers tumbling around on the lawn below and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Sweetie," he said casually, "I've always been curious about
something…"
The girl tilted her head up to look at him. Unable to speak at the moment, her eyes were filled with confusion.
"I'm just curious," Wayne said, staring down at her. "Your neck moves like it's got a motor installed. Did they put one in your waist too?"
Cameron Diaz, her face flushed with excitement, nodded eagerly.
It wasn't until well past lunchtime that Wayne finally stepped out of the bathroom, arms around the passionate, uninhibited woman. He was ready to head downstairs and refuel with a proper meal.
Cameron looked awkwardly at her torn dress. There was no way she could go downstairs in just a bathrobe.
"Sorry about that, sweetheart," Wayne said sheepishly, slapping his own forehead with a chuckle. "Guess I got a little too rough. But seriously—you're irresistible."
He took her by the hand and led her into the walk-in closet.
"There are some women's clothes here. Just make do for now—we'll get you something new after lunch."
Inside the spacious closet, Wayne's own clothes barely took up any room. Two of the wardrobes still held remnants from Halle Berry and Naomi Watts. But the girl didn't seem to mind. She casually grabbed a white dress and slipped it on in front of him, completely unabashed.
As they exited the closet, she glanced again at the custom garments and toys stashed at the bottom, mentally noting that this man clearly had very specific tastes.
In the dining room, Wayne dug into a plate of steak with relish. Across from him, Cameron picked at a small salad. Watching her barely eat made him sigh—so that's how models kept their figures.
"You're eating too little, sweetheart," he said. "You should try the vegan bacon—it's low-calorie."
Cameron smiled politely but put her fork down. "That's more than enough. I count every calorie. It's all calculated to meet my body's needs."
She glanced longingly at the steak but resisted. Maintaining her figure came first.
Wayne shrugged and focused on his food. After polishing off two steaks, he took a long gulp of lemon water.
"So, what's your plan for the afternoon? I did ruin your dress—how about I take you shopping to make up for it?"
Her eyes lit up immediately. Wayne called Sergei to prepare the car and drove her down to Hollywood Boulevard for some retail therapy.
Since arriving in L.A. for college, Wayne had met all sorts of women—but none quite like Cameron Diaz. She was wildly passionate, open-minded, and had a rare kind of enthusiasm that made her stand out from the rest.
She wasn't shy about expressing herself—and she was very talented in certain... areas. A true free spirit.
After dropping more than a hundred grand on clothes and accessories, Wayne dropped a very satisfied Cameron back at her apartment. Before she got out, she leaned in close and whispered, "Call me anytime, darling. I'll always be ready."
But as Wayne shifted his focus back to his next film project, Cameron gradually faded from his mind. Once the proposal was finished, Jimmy immediately submitted it to Warner Bros.
Warner took the project seriously. Wayne had made them a fortune with a low-budget thriller—no one in the studio was about to ignore the requests of a consistently successful director.
Jeff Robinov read the proposal and promptly invited Jonathan Keller, president of DC Comics, to his office to discuss its feasibility.
After reading the script, Keller remained silent for a long time. DC's biggest draw in Warner's film slate had always been Batman. No one had seriously tried developing other characters, especially not villains.
Even if the script was solid, the film's unconventional, anti-hero narrative made it a risky venture. Would audiences even accept it?
Still, Keller, more familiar with DC than anyone else in the room, saw something bigger at play. The clues hidden in the script hinted at the director's ambition. He didn't voice it aloud, but if the movie became a hit, it could elevate DC's profile within Warner dramatically.
"There's no issue with DC granting the rights," Keller finally said. "But I'd like to meet the director in person. This script reveals a lot—I need to see if he has the capability to deliver."
Jeff raised an eyebrow and tapped the project folder. "It's on the agenda for Monday's executive meeting. The budget he's asking for is way bigger than last time. We'll need a thorough risk assessment. You should be there too."
The project tackled nearly every major American societal issue aside from race—and though it lacked flashy action sequences, the sheer scope of the subject matter meant the costs wouldn't be small.
Keller could tell just from mentally mapping a few scenes that this was not going to be a small-scale production.
"I've seen Garfield's Get Out," Keller said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Compared to his previous two films, this one is clearly his most personal. You can feel it in every page of the script."
"He's completely ditched the humor that appeared in his earlier work," he continued. "The tone is dark, twisted, and introspective. He didn't even rely on gory scenes—the horror is psychological."
"That's exactly what surprised me most," Jeff Robinov nodded. "Once he realized his dark production style resonated with audiences, he wasted no time dropping the parts he wasn't good at—like comedy—and leaned fully into his strengths."
"No," Jeff added, flipping to the end of the script. "He didn't ditch the gore. He hid it—right here in the final scenes, where Arthur commits murder."
"If those scenes are shot the way they're written, the impact will be far deeper than any blood-soaked special effects."
Keller nodded slowly. "Alright. I want to be involved in every stage of this project. After what happened with Batman's last few missteps, DC can't afford more disappointment. Maybe this film will change how the world sees us."