Chapter 95 – Sugar Daddy
Tim Burton's latest Gothic take on Batman had seriously tarnished the goodwill built by the previous film. Audiences weren't quite buying it this time, and the box office returns were largely propped up by Batman's brand recognition alone.
This misfire made Jonathan Keller, the President of DC Comics, far more cautious about how the company handled its iconic characters. Even a figure like the Joker—also from Gotham—wasn't guaranteed to win over viewers, despite his notoriety.
At Warner Bros.' Monday morning executive meeting, a thick packet outlining a new film proposal had been placed in front of every senior executive. The conference room was filled with the rustling of papers, but no one spoke first.
A film project centered on a villain as the protagonist—if pitched by anyone else—would likely have been dismissed without discussion. But this one had made it to the table for one reason: the director behind it had just delivered a massive box office success.
The current trend in Hollywood was all about spectacle—explosive action, massive set pieces, and blockbuster energy. Films tackling serious social themes in an arthouse style were increasingly niche.
"Knock knock."
Warner Bros. CEO Kevin Tsujihara tapped the table to quiet the room, drawing everyone's attention.
"Jeff," he said, "this project came through you, submitted by Garfield's agent. What's your take on it?"
Jeff wasn't entirely confident. The final page of the proposal outlined a projected budget between $50 to $60 million—undeniably first-tier for Hollywood.
Before he could respond, Thomas Mendes from the film production division, sitting across from him, raised the packet in his hand and spoke up first.
"Based on the script and proposal, the project does seem viable. But we also have to consider Garfield's directing style. His last two films resonated massively with younger audiences—and a big part of that was his unique production style."
"He thrived on smaller budgets where he could let his directorial instincts run wild. But this is a major studio production—we're talking tens of millions. Can he handle something on this scale? That's a big unknown."
And that was the core concern. The director's career had moved fast—maybe too fast. He had no experience handling productions of this magnitude. There were directors in Hollywood who made waves with small indies, only to fall flat when handed a blockbuster.
Running a top-tier studio film crew wasn't like managing a 30-person indie set. It required vision, leadership, and organizational skill on a very different level.
"This project is a perfect fit for Garfield," Jeff finally leaned forward, his fingers interlaced on the table. "The tone and structure play to his strengths. And his commercial record so far speaks for itself. My suggestion: bring him in to discuss the project before we make a decision on greenlighting it."
Thomas Mendes shrugged, along with the rest of the room, turning their eyes toward the CEO.
"Alright, Jeff," said Kevin Tsujihara, setting the proposal aside. "Set up a meeting with him at the Warner building. Let's talk face-to-face. That's all for now."
He picked up another document. "The Pelican Brief—this one's also from you? Directed by Alan J. Pakula?"
Jeff, relieved to have gotten a yes for Garfield's meeting, nodded. Despite lingering doubts, he still trusted the director's instincts. Wayne's track record had earned that much faith.
He had submitted two projects that day—Joker and The Pelican Brief—and in his eyes, they carried equal weight.
"Yes," Jeff said. "The Pelican Brief is already through the research phase. Its outlook is very promising. Pakula's a proven director. He's planning to cast Julia Roberts and Denzel Washington. Everything is lining up."
---
Meanwhile, back at the Garfield estate, Wayne was enjoying a walk with his golden retrievers, blissfully unaware that his next project had stirred debate inside Warner Bros.
Once this step was taken, there was no going back—he could only press forward and do everything he could to push the film into production.
As he and the dogs rounded the garden path near the front gate, a red Ford rolled up the driveway.
The car stopped right in front of him. Out stepped Naomi Watts, sunglasses on, with her signature poise.
"Hey," she called out, smirking. "So, I hear you've got yourself a hot little kitten lately. Playing sugar daddy now, are we?"
Wayne let the dogs out and gave her a quick hug, completely ignoring the teasing about being a "sugar daddy." With a slight smirk, he said, "The theme for now is vacation. I've submitted the new project to Warner Bros. and I'm still waiting to hear back."
After letting go of the blonde beauty, he looked her over—she was dressed like she'd just come back from the beach. "So, where have you been vacationing? What made you think of coming to see me?"
"I went back to Australia for a few days' rest. Come on, let's talk inside."
Naomi Watts patted the car and got into the driver's seat. Once Wayne had herded the dogs into the back seat and climbed in himself, she restarted the car and drove it up to the main house.
Once they settled in the living room, Naomi finally got to the point. "Nicole Kidman's throwing a party tonight. She invited me, and I want you to come with me."
"When is it?" Wayne didn't particularly care for these kinds of events, but if it meant accompanying Naomi, he didn't mind.
"Tonight." Naomi seemed a little hesitant. "There'll be a lot of Australians from the industry. It's kind of a hometown gathering—and it's close, at the Cruise residence."
"Hey, Naomi, no need to look at me like that. I'm all yours tonight." Wayne's eyes slid down to her long, exposed legs. "But after the party, tonight you're mine."
"No problem." Naomi had never refused him on this sort of thing. The two of them were so in sync, and to her, the experience was always enjoyable.
"Sugar daddy! I want the whole new Chanel collection too. When are you taking me shopping on Rodeo Drive?"
Hearing that again, Wayne raised an eyebrow. "Where are you hearing this stuff?"
"You don't read the tabloids?" Naomi rolled her eyes. "They're full of photos of you shopping with that girl. Figures—you're always out of the loop. The gossip rags are speculating that you dumped Halle Berry for Cameron Diaz. You've even earned yourself a new nickname: 'Sugar Daddy!' How's that sound? Like it?"
"We're just having some fun. But hey, if you want new clothes, we can go shopping anytime." Wayne really didn't follow the tabloids; his routine had been exceptionally quiet lately.
Especially after handing off the new project to Jimmy for submission to Warner Bros., Wayne had barely left the estate—he was either walking the dogs or brainstorming shots for the new film.
This movie was much more complex than the last two. He was planning to shoot entirely on location in New York, which posed a decent logistical challenge. It would require Warner Bros. to coordinate with the NYC government.
Casting the Joker was another issue. Joaquin Phoenix was still too young. While Hollywood had actors of every type, someone of that unique temperament was hard to find. For now, he could only hope the auditions turned up a surprise.
"You heading home or going straight from here?"
Naomi pointed outside. "I brought a change of clothes. We'll head straight from here together."
Wayne nodded and glanced at her long legs curled up on the couch. "Your room upstairs hasn't been touched. Want to go take a look?"
Naomi caught the glint in his eyes and immediately understood what he meant. She knew this man too well.
Licking her lips teasingly under his gaze, she stood up and headed for the stairs. "You're such an animal, Wayne."
The steamy afternoon passed quickly. As night fell in Los Angeles, Wayne—now dressed sharply—got into the Rolls-Royce with Naomi. Just five minutes after leaving the estate, Sergei pulled the car over and lowered the privacy divider.
"Boss, we're here."
After stepping out, Naomi gently held onto Wayne's arm and handed the invitation to the security guard at the entrance. The two of them walked into the mansion.
Unlike the Garfield estate, Tom Cruise's house had no front garden. A stone path led directly from the entrance to the main building. Instead, the back of the house had a wide open space—where the party was being held on the lawn.
The driveway was packed with luxury cars. Unlike Wayne's taste, which leaned toward understated elegance, this place looked more like a luxury car show—Bentleys, Cadillacs, and Mercedes were outnumbered by high-end sports cars.
"They may have had their differences and some competition," Naomi whispered, arm in arm with him, "but at your level, Tom Cruise would never openly feud with you. Even if there's dislike, he'll maintain appearances."
Wayne understood. Naomi didn't want him making enemies unnecessarily. Tom Cruise probably felt the same way—otherwise, he wouldn't have smoothed things over at the last party.
That's how Hollywood worked. Everyone had a public image to maintain. Even if cooperation was unlikely, people tried to be civil after the dust settled—no one could predict future opportunities.
"A lot of Aussie actors don't get along with Tom Cruise, like that one…" Naomi nodded ahead.
Wayne followed her gaze and spotted Mel Gibson chatting with Sylvester Stallone.
"Tom doesn't just dislike Mel Gibson—he practically loathes him. But for Nicole's sake, since they're both Aussie stars, he tolerates him being here."
Wayne wasn't particularly fond of the "Aussie wild man" either. Some of Mel's public remarks had always been controversial.