NOVEL NEXT Chapter 19.5: Grint Chocolate Chip
Chapter 19.5: Grint Chocolate Chip
WB Offices London, UK. December 2005.
Was there a curse on the movies or something? Rupert couldn’t help but have that thought as he shook the new director’s hand. “Nice to meet you, David Yates.” Were they going to have another major production change after two more movies? Ay-yay-yay.
Cuaron was great. He was creative and set the standard, but Rupert understood that the creative types had itchy feet and took off running the moment they got a fresh new pair of fleets.
Money wasn’t a good motivator after you’d already made it for people like him.
“Great to have you on board.” Rupert glanced at his two co-stars, welcoming the fresh addition to the team. He caught Bas’ eyes as Emma politely shook Yate’s hand. He didn’t know how the guy kept up these charades. Bas looked pointedly at him and jerked his head at Yates. And Rupert hated how he’d been dragged into Bas’ schmoozery, too.
But friends were friends. Sometimes you just listen to the guy with the idea and hope for the best.
“I really liked The Girl in the Cafe.” He’d said it blunter than a sledgehammer and laid it out thicker than pig shit, but Yate’s smile, Bas’ wink, and Emma’s approving nod probably meant he did it right.
In truth, he enjoyed the movie. Out of the three of them Emma was busier, burying her nose in her textbooks and huffing the benzene, and Bas had very little interest in television films. So the axe fell on Rupert’s ginger head to watch and compliment their new director’s most recent work.
“That’s very kind of you, Rupert. I’m rather proud of it myself - which I should be. It got me this job after all!” Rupert knew his smile was about as genuine as Yates’ laugh. Bas’ smirk wasn’t half as nice as his own, though. Rupert could practically hear his bud’s eyes straining not to roll behind Yates’ back. “Mr Heyman was effusive in his praise for my nuanced storytelling and atmosphere creation. He said that our franchise was ideal for my creative lens.” Rupert smirked right back at Bas when Yates suddenly turned around and made his nervous appeal to the others. Bas had immediately schooled his expression and nodded along jovially.
“Then I just might need to check it out if Grint likes it.” Bloke could bloody well act when he wanted to, couldn’t he? But with the way he was hamming it up now, they’d have to do a retake for sure.
What a liar he was, though. He’d never watch that movie. Bas had confided in him why he thought Yates had been brought on.
According to Bas, while his work was probably alright, Yates was more likely brought on because the studio was sure that the Harry Potter franchise is so big that the director’s name doesn’t matter anymore. So they chose a guy who can sort of mimic Cuaron’s aesthetic on the cheap and who can also work on a tight timeframe.
His mate could be pretty mean spirited. Must be all that time in Hollywood rubbing off on him.
Rupert felt his expression falter a little at that thought. He brought his hands around his back and clenched his hands. He knew it wasn’t fair - blaming Bas for the opportunities he gets versus the one Rupert had.
It was almost funny if the joke wasn’t at his expense. Both he and Bas had gotten movies filmed from behind the wheel of a car - practically at the same time as well. Yet, while his was a quaint little indie filmed at home. Bas had his turn racing a car down the crowded streets of Tokyo.
At least his would come out months before the Hollywood hullabaloo swallowed all the air in the room.
“Lovely to meet you all. You kids run along, now. Plenty of work to be done before we get you back in front of cameras.”
Just the lights and action missing. That was probably it, huh?
Rupert loved what he’d done, sure, but which one sounded like the bigger blockbuster? Driving Lessons or Tokyo Drift?
A clammy hand slapped wetly on his forehead. “Are you feeling ill, Rupert? You’ve been rather quiet.” Emma seriously needed to go see a doctor. Why did she sweat so damn much?
“M’fine.” He grabbed her wrist and pried her hand away. “And keep these juicy sausages away from my face, thanks. I just got rid of my spots.”
Haw! Affronted, Emma snatched her hand back and gasped. “Boys are the worst! Show them even a bit of compassion and they scratch like frightened cats. Hmph! See if I ever ask after your health again.”
“Lay off him.” Bas held her wrists and started waving her hands about as she tried to tug them away. “He’s probably just worried about the films.”
That was scarily on-point.
“It’s literally Mr Yates’ first day, give him a chance at least.” Emma, by this time, had stopped tugging away and tried to smear her hands on Bas instead.
“That too.” He easily and playfully continued to fend her off. “His other movie comes out soon, as well.”
It was frustrating. How do you stay cross with someone when they get you? At least let a bloke stew in anger for five minutes before you knock him off the stove.
“Not to mention he’s only got Julie Walters to take as a date to the premiere.”
Oi! Rupert demanded the immediate return of the good feelings he had in his heart. “Keep talking, and I’ll stick you in a frock and heels. Then we’ll see who’s my date.”
“Only if you promise to buy dinner first.”
“Aren’t you two just the most progressive young men in Britain?”
“I don’t think we’re stealing that feather crown from Elton John anytime soon.” Rupert heard his own laughter join theirs.
“Take it easy, rocket man. The movie’ll do great, don’t worry.”
Rupert knew he was two years older than him, but truthfully, Bas’ effortless charm really made him feel like an older brother sometimes. Who else could get you in and kick you out of the doldrums so easily?
Emma twisted and somehow entangled herself in Bas’ arms. He held her closer. “I prefer tiny dancer.”
She’d never been shy, Emma, but recently Rupert had noticed she’d been eager for more contact with Bas. Another insecurity to add to the list he had hidden away in the back of his mind, Rupert thought. Hermione seemed more into Harry than Ron these days, even if the books and scripts said otherwise.
Now that he thought about it, she’d been like this since around the pool party last summer, maybe.
And there were all those barmy rumours about Bas sneaking away with Gemma. Sure, they’d attended Goblet’s screening together, but that didn’t mean they’d done anything, did it?
Too many gum flapping gossipers these days.
“Alright guys, I’ll catch you soon. I’ve got my meeting with Jo now.”
See? Bas had been having these behind closed doors rendezvous with JK Rowling for years now. Soon enough there’d be even more shit slinging at Bas and how he’s being ensnared by Rowling. Like the incident where he broke his arm - some nosey newsy would report how Bas did it at her urging in a few years.
Bas was crazy. But not quite so far round the bend.
“But you haven’t even given us our souvenirs from Japan yet!” Emma complained. She was right - someone had promised Rupert a samurai sword. And he sure as sushi wasn’t slashing one around his room so far. “You promised you’d get me original copies of Sawako Ariyoshi books.”
“And my Katana!”
“Yes, yes. I’ve got all your gifts wrapped and ready. You’ll find them under your trees at Christmas. Now if you’ll excuse me, I also need to listen to Jo asking me for things.”
“Actually, Bas. Before you disappear.” Rupert stopped him from leaving. “I’d actually like to talk to JK before you both barricade yourselves.”
“Oh? What about?” Rupert averted his friend’s concerned stare. How do you tell someone you’re jealous of them and resentful of their success?
“It’s a bit private, mate. I just want to talk about Ron with her.” Because if Rupert caved and brought the issue to Bas, he knew he’d hear the right things and be given the best solutions.
But sometimes a man needs to solve his own problems.
“... Fine then, keep your secrets. C’mon Watson, let’s go see if we can’t sleuth out some snacks.” He chucked his arm over her shoulder and dragged Emma away, who no doubt had her own questions plaguing the forefront of her overactive mind. “And tell Jo I’ll be there in thirty; that enough time for you?”
“That’s perfect, mate. Thanks.”
He’d been inside a hundred times before, but Rupert didn’t know why the door to JK Rowling’s office felt like an impenetrable portcullis today.
Get it together, Grint. It’s just another conversation. Deep breath, knob turned, and greeting called. “Hello?”
“Finally, you’re here!” Something told Rupert JK hadn’t seen just who’d entered her domain. Probably the precarious pile of teetering papers on her desk she had her head hidden behind.
“It’s Ru-”
“That’s a wonderful anecdote, dear boy, but we really must be getting to work. Now, first off, I’m having a hell of a time cluing Neil on the significance of Phineas without giving away the whole gag. And I know, I know what you’re going to say, but it doesn’t mean I can’t bitch a little.”
“No, I’m no-”
“Oh, very well. On to more pertinent topics. Do you remember that girl I told you about? The one with the eating disorder in the hospital who I’ve made a bit of a penpal of? Well, she’s been recovering splendidly over the last few months and has recently intimated that she’d like to audition for the role of Luna Lovegood. I, of course, encouraged her fully, but I’d hoped you might take some time and sit in on her casting. Perhaps read a scene with her? I know you’d make her feel comfortable and I’m sure she’d be well suited to the part.”
She sure loved to talk, didn’t she? Only one foot in the door and Rupert felt his ears ready to fall off.
Bas really wasn’t kidding when he said she’d want him to do things. Help with the screenplay, help with the casting; god only knows what else. How many bloody hats did the mad lad have to wear?
“Er… I’m not Bas.” Her head popped out, her eyes nearly followed suit.
“Rupert! When did you get here? Where did Bas go?”
“I’ve been here the whole time, Bas was- nevermind. Do you have a mo’? There’s something I wanted to talk about.”
“Say no more. I did say my door was always open.” She circled her desk, put a comforting hand on Rupert’s shoulder, and guided them to the softer chairs surrounding the coffee table. “So. What’s got your goat?”
“It’s about Ron. I’m just struggling some with his character.” Rupert shied away from her penetrating gaze, choosing instead to focus on his twiddling fingers.
He couldn’t see her face, but he caught her shifting one leg over the other. “What aspect of it?”
“I just…. don’t understand his role anymore. Why does Harry need him? Why does Hermione need him? Why does the story need him? What’s the point?”
Rupert plucked up the courage to look up. Rowling was looking at him with narrowed eyes and a hand stroking her jaw. “Rupert, do you remember the first three movies? Their scripts?”
He nodded, “yeah ‘course.”
“Then you must remember how many of your lines were changed from the books. Kloves asked me the same questions you did.” Rupert had no doubt, the original screenwriter really didn’t like the character, they all knew that. “Do you know what my answer was? If he’s so unimportant, why do you keep feeding his moments to Hermione?”
Well, when you put it like that… “I guess my question does sound silly, huh?”
“Not at all. I’ll be honest with you, dear, as long as you’re honest with me. Is this about Ron or is this about Rupert?”
Rupert’s eyes immediately darted back to his fidgety digits. “Bas casts a long shadow.” Rupert didn’t know why, but that felt both good and horrid to admit.
Hmm. “Do you know why?”
If he did, Rupert wouldn’t be here. “Nuh-uh.”
“It’s because he puts himself out there more than anyone else. That, and he’s more than a little insane. Unfortunately for you, you’re a bright young man with a good head on his shoulders.”
Did she slap his face or caress it? Either way, Rupert was confused. “Then what do I do?”
“What you’ve already been doing. Working hard. As far as I can tell, you’re doing more for your career than just about anyone else. You’re still young Rupert. You’ll find your edge.”
“And Bas?”
“Don’t play with naked blades. You’ll only cut yourself.”
It was strange. Somehow, knowing that Bas was the problem and not Rupert made him feel better.
Welp. Time to go swing his own sword.
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