Chapter 107 – Indulgence
["Warner Bros. is making a gamble. Sixty million dollars for a director whose only experience is with micro-budget films? The production pressure alone could crush him…"]
["A villain as the lead? After two low-budget hits, Wayne Garfield seems to be hitting a dead end. Warner's vetting department may have seriously miscalculated…"]
["The Joker? Wayne Garfield will likely blow $60 million making what amounts to a glorified horror flick. The young director's obsession with graphic violence and extreme gore might just become his downfall…"]
For every media outlet praising him, there were just as many predicting his failure. That was the nature of the entertainment capital—no one here ever lacked opinions, especially pessimistic ones.
Wayne was like an iceberg that had just broken the surface after the sea around it had been drained. He appeared abruptly and unexpectedly—but what truly mattered was the massive volume hidden below.
By the time everyone realized the size of his presence, it was already too late—he'd taken up space, resources, and attention. And in Hollywood, there's only so much room on the plate. Every bite you take means someone else gets less—or nothing at all.
"That's all they've got?" Wayne asked, tossing aside the newspaper.
The articles slamming him didn't come from any major, credible outlets. Most were from small- to mid-tier tabloids, the type always hungry for controversy.
Seated beside him, Halle Berry set down her own newspaper. Her eyes held a trace of sympathy as she looked at him. But Wayne didn't respond to the sentiment—his expression was calm as he lit a cigarette.
"There'll probably be more tomorrow," she said softly. "These are just from the quicker outlets. I really thought everyone was rooting for you. Guess I was wrong—seems like a lot of people are just waiting for you to fail."
Before coming over, Halle had made a stop at a newsstand and specifically bought the harshest, most critical papers. She'd ignored the ones praising Wayne and instead brought a stack filled with biting skepticism.
And yet… Wayne didn't look angry. He looked focused—maybe even energized.
Because for him, doubt wasn't discouraging. It was fuel.
That little stack of critical tabloids? It was just Halle's way of getting a bit of petty revenge. She didn't expect it to hurt him much—just wanted to annoy him. After all, when he kicked her out before, he hadn't even shown his face or picked up her calls.
This man was cold to the core. When he wanted you, he could act like the perfect boyfriend—but once the spark was gone, he'd toss you aside like a used rag.
The only upside? He was a man of his word. What he promised, he delivered. No ghosting. No betrayal. Just clinical detachment.
"Halle, I'm not the U.S. dollar—I can't expect everyone to like me," Wayne said with a calm shrug, unbothered by the pessimistic media. Controversy bred conversation, and conversation was good for business. As far as he was concerned, those articles were just free publicity.
The truth was, Warner Bros. had done some digging and discovered that, thanks to his last two films, Wayne had already built up a solid reputation among younger moviegoers.
The phrase "A Wayne Garfield Film" was slowly becoming a recognizable brand among cinephiles and college-age audiences.
"You've got quite a few scenes in this project. I'm not worried about your acting—it's not that kind of role," he said while reaching out and tilting Halle Berry's chin to inspect her face. "You're too striking. We'll need makeup to tone that down. The character isn't supposed to be this pretty."
Her head bobbed left and right as he studied her face. She didn't mind the way he treated her like he was choosing a show dog—her voice was just a little tense as she asked:
"I'll get through the audition… right?"
"Assuming you make it to the second round," Wayne replied, releasing her chin. "I won't be at the first. Got too much on my plate."
He gave her one more tip:
"Before the audition, get a good makeup artist to dull down your features. Make yourself look… average. I'll inform the casting director. As long as you don't screw it up too badly, you'll be fine."
"Thank you, darling…" Halle cooed, hugging his arm, her eyes glinting with ambition.
Wayne just shook his head.
"Keep your current acting level. That's all this role needs."
Halle didn't care about his dismissive attitude. She didn't need affection—she needed the role.
Her eyes twinkled as she leaned in and whispered a word into his ear—one that started with an "A"—before gracefully walking up the stairs, hips swaying like poetry.
Wayne didn't bother watching her go. His mind was still on the film, weighing choices, trimming ideas.
In hindsight, it was easy to credit Joker's success to Joaquin Phoenix's performance—and it wouldn't be wrong. The film was a one-man show, demanding an intense performance. But Wayne had plans, and those plans required letting go of certain things.
Who was the greatest Joker of all time? That was a debate with no clear answer. But the two most successful Joker-led films? Most people would say Nolan's The Dark Knight and 2019's Joker.
And in Wayne's eyes, the Joker was absolutely the true protagonist of Nolan's trilogy.
He wanted to take the best of both approaches. He'd show Arthur's transformation from average nobody to chaotic icon—but unlike Nolan, he wasn't going to ditch the comic book flavor too early.
This wasn't just a crime drama. He needed to leave enough breadcrumbs—enough hooks—to make Warner Bros. remember this film years later, when it was time for more.
"Hey honey! Aren't you coming up to claim your reward?" Halle's sultry voice echoed from upstairs.
Wayne looked up at the fading light, then grinned like a beast and made his way up.
Whatever she'd whispered earlier had clearly done the trick. For now, the storm in his head could wait—there were other forms of release, and no better outlet than a willing woman who wanted to help him unwind.
---
The next morning, the golden sun of Los Angeles crept through the windows and woke Nina.
Last night had left a shadow in her heart. She was questioning everything—including whether her own romantic history had been hopelessly boring. Was I doing it wrong this whole time?
From the window, she watched in disbelief as Halle Berry, now fully wrapped up like a burrito, limped cheerfully toward her car.
The irony? That smile on Halle's face was bright enough to blind.
Wayne, unfazed by his assistant's disturbed expression, shared a casual breakfast with her before hopping into the car for Warner Bros. HQ in Burbank.
Halfway through the ride, he noticed Nina's death glare.
"Can you stop looking at me like that? What's the problem?" he finally asked.
"Boss," Nina sighed, gently rubbing her dark eye circles. "There's no insulation between the second and third floor. It's summer in L.A.—I couldn't shut the damn windows…"
"Ah. Sh*t." Wayne smacked his forehead. "Sorry about that. Really. I swear—it won't happen again."
Nina just pursed her lips.
Won't happen again? Please. One night nearly broke that poor woman. A couple more and she could kiss her Hollywood dreams goodbye.