Pride and Prejudice

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19th June 1997 (Thursday)

Ricky Stirling (POV)

After an extremely hazardous bout of borderline rash driving, I reached the Stirling Studios building, throwing the keys of my car to a valet before dashing to the elevator, making it in the nick of time.

The ride to my dad's office gave me enough time to compose myself, and ensure I don't make an entrance as a sweaty mess of a man, wiping off drops of sweat from my brow, and above my lips.

A few deep breaths and-

DING!

The doors opened, allowing me to power walk to the office in question, hearing muffled voices as I near the door.

I open the doors, only to hear-

"-Unfounded in every way, as I have been telling you since we started, it never happened!"

"Now you're claiming the accident didn't happen? Really? What next, is the movie getting made at all? Is any of this real-"

"For the last time, the accident happened, but it wasn't due to the shoot-"

"But the actor was injured the day he was supposed to shoot a scene, so how can you claim the events to be separate-"

I cough loudly, and then proceed to clear my throat in a bid to stop their… whatever the hell I had stumbled upon.

Their eyes turned towards me, as I smiled towards our 'gracious' investor.

My father breathed out a sigh of relief, before making introductions, "This is Ricky, my boy. He's directing the film. Ricky, this is Mr. Nasrallah the finan- sorry, former financier. Please, have a seat, and assuage Mr. Nasrallah's worries regarding the production."

I take a seat to Abdul's right, grinning all the way, before turning to him.

"So, Mr. Nasrallah. My father conveyed your concerns over a phone call, but I would much rather hear it from you, ensuring we leave no stone unturned. After all, 5 million is not a small sum by any means, and making an irreversible decision of rescinding your- in my humble opinion- lucrative investment without discussing it thoroughly would be doing you a grave disservice. So if you wouldn't mind," I clapped my hands loudly, generating a boom that nearly startled him out of his seat, "let's take it from the top."

Interestingly, my father didn't so much as generate a wince at my clap…

Anyways, I asked him to narrate his concerns and boy… was it underwhelming.

I rushed here, driving like a fuckin' GTA character, expecting some deep controversy at the center.

Apparently even though he stringently claimed the motive behind his actions to be the misinformative reporting of tabloids, it was something far more… idiotic in nature.

"-apologize for hurting your sentiments Mr. Stirling, but as a newcomer in the industry, I cannot associate myself with unsavory and controversial happenings on my 2nd venture, and thus I'll have to repeal my offer-"

"How is your daughter faring, Mr. Nasrallah?" I interrupted him in the middle of his senseless rant, clearly being spewed out of some misguided idea of revenge.

…

A moment of silence followed my statement, as my dad turned his head towards me slowly… clearly coming to all the wrong conclusions. Damn, have I really cultivated such a lascivious image with my frequent hook-ups?

'Bitchboi', as I mentally resorted to calling Abdul, froze for a good few seconds, clearly making correct assumptions about the implications of my statement… before dismissing them, and going into denial.

"M-My daughter? W-wait, why are you bringing HER up of all people? She has nothing to do with the discussion at hand-"

"Zara Ansari, age 23, vibrant black hair, dull brown eyes, ears slightly bigger than normal, a thin nose, looking out of place with her other features, suggesting rhinoplasty, and mild liposuction under her chin. I auditioned 23 people for the flight attendant's role, and I. Do. Not. Forget. You could have approached me or the casting director for the role, and we could have made concessions given your contributions to the film. But you didn't. Ms. Ansari's demeanor suggested she was fairly independent, and the fact that she isn't using your surname hints that she wants to break into the film industry through her talent and hard-work. An admirable goal if nothing else, but she was rejected. I remember providing some constructive feedback in the rejection letter, asking her to work on her facial cues, and body language as a whole. I never heard back from her, not that I expected to really, but a month later, you're here using tabloids as a convenient scapegoat to facilitate your retreat, putting us in a tough spot. So let me ask again… How is your daughter faring, Mr. Nasrallah?"

…

AHA! Finally! And here I thought I had lost my ability to elicit shock from daddy dearest!

He stared at me, stupefied as his wide eyes expressed a whole lot of regret, and a touch of resignation at my actions.

In my defense… he didn't have to follow my request and keep 'Bitchboi' in his office till I got here. There were so many ways this could have gone really, but he just HAD to make that call didn't he? Interrupting my thematic meet with my fellow co-stars and production designers.

After some fumbling and stuttering, combined with heavy outrage, I managed to pacify him with a promise of providing his daughter a role in my next production, and even recommending a specialized method acting course to provide a much-needed boost to her skills.

He reluctantly withdrew his actions, grumbling the entire time, as he made his way out.

The moment the door closed with a click, my father mercilessly turned on me.

"How in the bloody hell did you know?"

"Know what?" I asked innocently.

My father stared at me with incredulity as he made a series of hand gestures that I couldn't begin to make sense of, before electing to use his mouth, "The daughter?! Her surname is Ansari, and that bellend is named after his heretic 'god'," He said derisively, using hand quotes, "So how the fuck did you make that connection? How-how did it even pop in your head to go through the list of girls who auditioned? For all you know, he was a dipshit twat, who was stupid enough to believe the tabloid? His kind usually are, after all."

I stared back at him in silent horror as he awaited my answer. 

I blinked for a second before smiling morosely, "His words were controlled, but his minute nonverbal tics indicated the motive to be highly personal in nature and that he derived vindictive glee from following through with his course of actions… revenge. I had encountered 2 Muslims in my auditions, both of whom were rejected. One male, one female. Ansari, and Bilal. Clearly his offspring had changed the surname, to avoid being targeted by rampant islamophobia and lack of opportunities, owing to the highly suggestive nature of the name, 'Nasrallah'. Making it highly probable that the progeny in question had taken up their mother's maiden surname."

After a few seconds of silence as dad internalized my little info dump, he spoke up again, "Could have been the boy… Why did you assume he had a daughter? Could have been a son?" He asked, raising his brows.

"... Balance of probability, the vindictive nature suggested protective sentiments often found in fathers caring for their daughters." I spewed utter bullshit with a straight face.

… I had to.

It's not like I could reveal the real reason right?

On a completely unrelated note, 'Observe' is one op skill to have.

In the future, I'll probably dedicate a shrine to the skill, and pass it off as some postmodernist bullshit or something.

People are stupid… They'll buy it. Hell, it'll probably sell for millions.

… Should I enter art?

"Ricky," My father spoke, breaking me out of my thoughts, "You're one scary kid, you know that? You realize that right?"

"... Hmmm. Do I?"

He just sighed heavily. "You know, for one scary second… for one scary ass second, I thought you slept with his daughter- and implied as such to his face. I was about ready to bow my head in apology to him."

"Awww! You would do that?! For little old me?!" I asked mockingly in a sickly sweet voice.

"Don't get the wrong idea. After escorting him out of the building, I would have been about ready to bend you over my knee and spank you silly, before kicking your balls for good… And while I was formulating my apology, you went off. You just… went off with your- 'deductions'. I couldn't make head or tail of them, but that raghead was turning paler by the second… and that made me ease up I guess."

"Hn." I nod my head, trying to coax a little more out of him for good measure… pointedly choosing to ignore the 'raghead' bit.

"That was of course before I began to make sense of your… words. Then I just stopped trying to make sense of it… go with the flow and all that."

He poured himself a glass of water and took a few sips, before continuing, "And before I knew it, you took charge… and you convinced him. That was… phenomenal by the way."

"Thanks dad."

For a few tranquil seconds, none of us uttered a word… until he broke the silence.

"So… what's the plan now? I heard the shooting is on schedule? Ed's little slip-off didn't cause that big of a setback huh?"

"Nah, it was super easy to deal with, barely an inconvenience really." I said, before chucking lightly. "As for my plan… I've got a few things in store." I conclude with a self-satisfied smirk.

…

…

5th July 1997 (Saturday)

Ricky Stirling (POV)

"CUT! Back to position, another take!" Daryl yelled, the moment I signaled I wasn't happy with it.

The scene we were shooting was of Cha- 'Brenda', arriving at the airport to meet Frank as discussed, to seemingly elope with him. But as 'Frank' comes out of his car to meet her, he notices a bevy of FBI agents surrounding her, clearly on the lookout for him.

Feeling betrayed, he took off to Europe to conduct a few more scams.

Now, my scenes were shot up, but Charlize's has yet to be. It had been 3 takes already, and I hadn't got the shot I wanted.

So here we were, gearing up for the 4th take… fingers crossed on this one.

…

8 takes. I love making films… but shit can get exhausting and monotonous real quick.

As the shoot wraps up for the day, I jog over to Charlize.

"There she is! The 'Atomic Blonde' herself. So tell me, how does it feel now that you're officially done filming all your scenes?"

Without missing a beat, she retorted, "A lot worse, after being subjected to your atrocious naming sense." She rolled her eyes, turning her back to me, before proceeding to walk towards 'wardrobe and makeup'.

"Hey! Come on now, be a good sport will ya? You've called me Poly an obscene number of times, turnabout is fair play."

"Agreed, but atomic blonde? How cheesy can you possibly get with this?"

"Trust me, you don't wanna find out."

"Hilarious."

"I know I am."

"... Yeah you are." She whispered, resigned and vexed together as she finally admitted it.

"Now that we've established that little tidbit, I need to talk to you about something… not work related."

"I need to get my makeup removed, and change back into my clothes. You mind waiting for a few minutes?"

"Anything for you." I smirk, taking an exaggerated bow before raising my right eyebrow.

She was stunned into silence, before sighing and making her way into the trailer.

… She's totally falling for me.

I think.

After about 15 minutes, she walks out of the trailer, her blonde hair reaching her back, and her face devoid of foundation and blush, looking far better than before.

Yeah, we had to apply makeup to mask her natural beauty… that's how alluring she truly is.

"So, what is it?"

"Remember a few days ago, when I asked you out?"

"I remember saying hell no-"

"Nuh-uh-uh! Nope, haha! You said no, you never used the word 'hell'!"

"... What's your point?"

"You said and I quote, 'I'm not going to go on a date with my boss, Ricky.' Now if you might recall your contract, since your scenes have come to an end, and the only other engagements you'll have to fulfill are promotional events which don't fall under my jurisdiction-"

"Anyone ever told you, you have a real knack for romance?" She grinned sarcastically.

"Quite a few actually," I noticed an eyebrow twitch in irritation, "you being the latest of all."

"Ha Ha." She deadpanned.

"So, if you're free tomorrow… I could give you a tour of the city, show you around a little, we'll make a fun evening out of it. What do ya think?" I ask, turning serious at the end, as I eagerly anticipate a positive response.

She makes a mock thinking gesture with her hands before finally succumbing to my charm, "Fine. What time?"

"How about I pick you up at 6? We'll get dinner, and then I guess. I could show you around the city of angels."

"You get one chance Poly. Better bring your A-game tomorrow." She poked my chest, before promptly walking off.

She quoted me back from the audition.

… Can't believe she still remembers it.