Everything Everywhere All At Once

Author's Note: Every single chapter title alludes to a movie or a television series that I have watched and enjoyed immensely, and would whole-heartedly recommend to you all.

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21st January 1998 (Wednesday)

Ricky Stirling (POV)

"More fill on the left side! Kate! Move it! We need to soften those shadows!" He yelled, as the lighting team adjusted the light, casting a softer glow on my face.

"Sandy! Tousle his hair a little, we want that windswept look on the cover page- and Jeremy! Get me that reflector, we need to bounce some light on his eyes!" He continued, all the while commandeering his crew like a dick… tator.

… I'm hilarious.

I think to myself as the brunette stylist rushed in, disheveling my hair delicately, as the gel holds it in its desired place, without springing back into its neatly combed shape. 

All the while, an assistant quickly dashes in and grabs the reflector, positioning it to bounce thin rays of light on my cheek. The second the shoot starts, all I need to do is turn my head a sliver to the right, and my eyes will sparkle like a million dollar close up.

Robert Alcott, the man responsible for this photoshoot, pipes in with his version of encouragement, "Okay folks, let's keep the energy up! We're capturing literal magic here!" He clapped along, before leaning in to whisper something into Draymond's ears.

Draymond, the hard-ass DoP, and the man behind the camera. A famous photographer, with a stacked resume boasting collabs with Victoria's Secret, Time Magazine and… a series of… I'll just come out and say it. He's worked with Playboy, Penthouse, Esquire, Maxim, etc, etc, et-fucking-cetera… you get the point. 

He's controversial, but nevertheless highly respected in his field, and can truly make magic, given the right ingredients. Plus, he's definitely got an eye for talent and photogenic folks, considering how he practically drooled when I got in my designated suit. And the best part of it? It wasn't in the creepy lustful way I expected but rather… His eyes oozed admiration and… well he kept asking me to be his 'muse' again and again, until Robert, bless his heart, finally put a stop to it.

A male 'muse'... eye opening if nothing else.

"All right! We roll in 3! Come on, start the countdown!" 

"1, 2, 3!"

And then light flashed brightly in my eyes, blindingly bright, and yet I kept them open with flinching even once, changing my posture seamlessly to ensure they didn't miss a single angle. 

The clicking sounds of the camera shutters echoed through the studio, as nearly everyone watching held their breath in anticipation… me included.

Wasn't a hassle for me truly, I could easily hold my breath for a solid 8 minutes without showing signs… I could probably stretch it to 10 if needed. In this case, I chose not to breathe, to ensure no indentures in my nose form, to display even the tiniest hint of asymmetry.

And it worked out impeccably. 

…

"I'm telling you Ricky, this is gonna change everything! Everything, you hear me?! '100 most Beautiful People of the Year', and you as the cover star! People's Magazine is read by 40 million Americans every year Ricky, and I'm being conservative here… also, congratulations boss!" Daisy switched from fervently enthusiastic to professionally courteous in the blink of an eye, as I button my shirt in the changing room, all set to leave and get on with my day.

"What for?" I question, directing a curious look at her through a mirror I was facing towards.

"Catch," she air-quoted, "surpassed 100 mil in domestic gross. You are now the only actor in cinematic history to lead in 3 consecutive films that have grossed 100 mil domestically. GQ wants to feature you in their annual 'Men of the Year' list. Also, the Gazette reached out. Congratulations, you are officially the 'Auteur of The Year'. They wanted a date for an in depth interview, photoshoot, their featured 'Candid in Candlelight' segment, and were hoping to reach out to your friends, family and co-workers, past classmates, and- you get it."

Oh damn… that is a big deal. Not the GQ thing, I mean, I'll accept their recognition, but if I hadn't gotten it, I wouldn't have cared in the slightest.

Nope, the big deal here was the Gazette. 'Starlight Gazette', a monthly magazine, that tracked all the various cinematic milestones and records broken every month, and provided unique insight on them, by featuring segments with the 'record breakers'. Every year after the Golden Globes, they come out with these 'Top 5' lists, covering nearly every conceivable field with artistic and technical merit, featuring exclusive interviews with the best in each set of 5.

And then the top 2 titles, 'Actor of the Year', and 'Auteur of the Year'. The word 'auteur' was interchangeable with director, but having both titles start with an 'A' was some sort of deep symbolism apparently… or just pure artistic choice. 

Anyways, the former was so out of my reach, it wasn't even funny, taking into account their tendency to award it to actors above 40… it's happened 94% of the time. I did the math. 

As for the latter… I had a 'prepare for the worst, hope for the best' kind of approach to it, and it seems like it paid off. Seriously, stacking up the exposure from these titles, featurettes, interviews, and cover page shots to my already burgeoning trophy bag, my fame was shooting through the roof, in all the right ways.

Oh, I certainly had my fair share of detractors and critics, everyone did… but as the saying goes, 'there can't be a rainbow without a little rain'. So I ignored most of them, and only ever addressed the most notable instances, which included either clarifying certain misunderstandings some judgmental idiot had about me, or just questioning their credibility to make such inflammatory statements with no leg to stand on. 

A massive chunk of it was handled by my PR team, with the ever competent Hugh 'Hughie' Boyle headlining it to cook up tremendous results. They not only managed my media interactions, but also monitored general perception of me, among various diasporas, age groups, ethnicities, etc. The data they collected might not mean much now, but the way it changes later on, will be a massive indicator on how I am truly perceived by the diverse communities in this country. 

Every future fan interaction or televised event, will feature answers that'll be aimed at appealing to the largest common denominator to maximize engagement and relatability at all stages, while simultaneously minimizing derision and scorn in their mentality.

Reducing people's thoughts and opinions to numbers like this… I don't enjoy it. No one who isn't a high functioning sociopath does in fact, but in the end… It's all necessary.

If I need to artificially manufacture responses to seemingly candid questions asked in public, then by the non-existent God, I shall do it! It'll only be for a few more years… I gained my status, but I need to spend time consolidating it, or it'll all crumble like a cookie in the end. And that starts with the Gazette's featurette.

"Let's not bother celebrating the record just yet… the way 'Whiplash' is doing, it'll be '4' in a couple of weeks. As for the Gazette, co-operate in full with their probe. Provide them contact info of every notable acquaintance in my life, but call them in advance, explain the situation to them, and make sure they praise me to high heavens without making it sound obvious… As for the photoshoot, see if the weekend works. The interview can take place next week, preferably Monday. Also, Hughie called me earlier, Vanity Fair wanted to interview me and Pacino together in light of our on-screen chemistry generating some buzz. Call Al's agent. Useless dick he may be, but he won't pass up an opportunity like this." I shoot rapid fire instructions at Daisy, putting her note-taking skills to the test as she scribbles on the yellow legal pad in shorthand. 

"... Call Frankenstein… done, will that be all?" She asks, tucking a wayward strand of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear, looking at me expectantly.

I pause for a second… before going off again. "Call up the guy at TAG: Heuer, ask him about the status of the shipment. The screening is on Friday, and I need to prep 120 gift bags. They try to stall, you threaten them. Tell them Longines was poking around. Also, the Pepe Jeans contract? Tear it up, I've got something far better lined up post-March… That's all, I got nothing more." I wave my hand in dismissal, right before she runs off in her heels outside, trying to hail a cab.

She is a diamond in the rough… truly a find on my part. It's rare to find someone so competent and dedicated in this day and age.

And with that thought, I walked out and entered my car, waving for Benji to drive towards the next location, Sherwood.

I do have that lunch/screening on Friday, and as the host of it, I need to ensure the preparations are on track. Luckily, Hughie's got a guy on his team who used to be party planner, and a girl who was a part-time caterer, truly the perfect blend to throw a relatively low-profile, yet highly extravagant event for a number of famous big-wigs, all of whom will be shown a screening of 'Whiplash', and all of whom are, rather conveniently I must say… members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS), making them all eligible to vote in the Academy Awards in the categories of their respective divisions. 

Truly a bevy of coincidences don't you think? 

Wink Wink

23rd January 1998 (Friday)

Lance White (POV)

"Dad, where is he?! You told me he'll be here, you- you promised…" My sweet little daughter, barely out of high school, pesters me around as I try in vain to reassure her.

"Lily jus- I don't know what to tell you except he'll be here! He's the one hosting it dear, it might take a minute or two but- he'll be here ok?!"

My love-struck daughter nods reluctantly, her expectations clearly set way too high.

Y'know sometimes… sometimes I feel like taking a shovel to his head… at least that way the girls in my family can move the fuck on! Then other times I'm reminded of just exactly who he is and what he has managed to get done in a single year, before I drop the thought like a sack of potatoes.

Infuriating he might be, but one can't deny he's been a force of nature these past few months, his movies sweeping critics circle awards left and right, his name on every damn channel… Not to mention his… charm.

The way he speaks and smiles, he could charm the panties off a lifelong nun in minutes flat I reckon. Why just the other day I was out drinking with Gallagher after he caught his wife rubbing herself and shit, watching one of his late night appearances with volume cranked up to full… I had to comfort a sad, insecure mess of a man that night.

Just then, a hush swept the ballroom as the door opened, and in he walked with an immaculate ensemble, being accompanied by his fellow cast and principal crew members. He strode forward with a sense of purpose, right before he flashed that stupid smile of his and almost instantly, the room descended into applause, with the occasional hoot thrown in. 

"Thank you, Thank you- it means a lot to me that every single one of you sacrificed your day for little old me, truly it warms my heart! Ah, and what a day it is today. To share the depth of my work and some lunch with my fellow accomplished thespians and their plus ones… truly a delight of the highest order! Now, the hall will be ready in a matter of minutes, and you will all be guided to your seats in an orderly manner soon after but until then… feel free to enjoy my hospitality." He concluded with a slightly exaggerated half-bow, before making rounds around the room, interacting with everyone, shaking hands, exchanging kisses and hugs, and even sharing a laugh or two.

Just then I felt my hand being tugged at with some degree of force- 

"Daddy, I wanna meet him! Can you like, introduce me to him? Please daddy?!" The blush on her cheeks made me draw her in with an arm in a protective manner. A genius he may be, but for me, a father to a teenager, my girl is 'little red riding hood', and he is the 'big bad wolf'.

Ricky Stirling (POV)

"Miss Jones I must say, you are positively glowing!" I say this to an obviously pregnant woman, who also happened to be one of the greatest Broadway stars of her generation and a BAFTA winner to boot. 

"Oh! You sweet boy, enough! Now come on, answer me this. Your skill in acting cannot be understated darling, but do you have any plans for Theater? After all, the stage and the screen have co-existed in harmony for decades, but you can't possibly call yourself a true 'Thespian', without having acted on both!"

I nod along, seemingly in agreement, "Oh absolutely! Without any doubt Miss Jones in fact…" I look around, before leaning in conspiratorially, "I'm actively developing plans for a Musical re-imagining of 'Catch Me If You Can', a Broadway show to boot! Now, perfecting the concept will take time, so it probably won't debut for over a year, but when it does, I shall personally mail you front row tickets for you, your husband, and your child… that is if he shares our inclination for the fine arts."

We share a boisterous laugh at that, before I eventually move on to greet the next bigwig.

"Mr. White! Thank you so much for accepting this invitation, your presence here means a lot to me!" I prattle off with fake sincerity before flashing a quick smile at the girl besides him, "And who do we have here?"

"Hey man, good to see you! I knew you were making rounds around the 'Academy' voters but honestly… never expected this whole, shindig. Also where are my manners, Lily, this is Ricky Stirling, actor, director, producer, writer, musician, and so much more that I can't begin to cover it all here! And Ricky, this is Lily, my daughter who recently got accepted into your alma mater I believe- you did go to USC right?" He questioned inquisitively.

"Oh yes, I have a Masters in Fine Arts from there, spent the best 5 years of my life on that campus Lily." I said before waving dismissively, "Just remember to have fun once in a while, studies ain't everything after all." I added, raising an eyebrow… only to elicit a raging blush from her and a squeak… oh fuck.

I raise my eyes to meet Lance's, confirming my worst fears in an instant.

And now the million dollar question… will the man whose daughter clearly adores me, actually vote for me and mine in the upcoming round? Or will he be petty enough to snub me out of spite? Then again, he could be a consummate professional who is intent on voting for who he believes did best… votes can be swung in most cases, but there are always a few hard nuts to crack… the ones with a sense of integrity and self-righteousness, the ones who vote based on merit and nothing else, or at least… their definition of it.

Rather than thinking too hard for an answer, I continue my candid interaction with them, laughing once in a while, before recommending a starter and moving on to the next guest on my list.

Hopefully the screening and the subsequent Q&A will impress them enough to leave a lasting impression.