Talented Maestro

Chapter 11: Not as Simple as It Seems

All this over a chair—it sounded absurd. But in Hollywood, absurdity was practically part of the job description. Especially on set, where egos clashed in the high-stakes game of fame and status. Everyone was vying for attention. And let's be honest—most people in this industry had the emotional sensitivity of glass.

When Wayne walked up to the prop truck, he saw Ross, the prop master, and Mia, the set designer, glaring at each other like two cats mid-standoff. A couple of temps nearby were keeping their distance, clearly trying to stay out of it. No one said a word.

They'd probably already finished yelling. It was only the first day, and there'd already been a series of mishaps. Now this—personnel conflict. Wayne felt a strong urge to smash something.

"Mia. Ross. I don't care what this was about—this is your one and only warning. If this kind of crap starts interfering with work, I'll let your contracts do the talking."

He slapped the side of the prop truck hard to get their attention. Both of them looked over, and Wayne delivered the warning with steel in his voice.

To his credit, Ross was the first to respond, maintaining a professional demeanor.

"Okay, Wayne. I promise it won't affect the job, and there won't be a next time. I'm really sorry."

He stood up and gave Wayne a sincere apology. Wayne gave him a slight nod, signaling he'd heard him. Ross then climbed into the truck without another word.

Mia, seeing Ross take the lead, shrugged and offered her own half-hearted apology. Wayne didn't mind conflict among the crew—he even expected it. But having a shouting match in the middle of work, in front of everyone, only made the already difficult shoot even harder.

By 2 p.m., the crew was slowly back in motion, still working on the road scene. Wayne had revised the schedule to group all these exterior shots together at the start of the shoot.

Though things were still rough, at least it was better than the chaotic morning. Everyone was gradually adapting, adjusting to the deliberate, painstaking rhythm of filming.

"Naomi, same note—watch your eyes. Let them convey the shock, not your face."

Since they weren't filming in sequential order, Naomi had to shift between various emotions for each take. It wasn't a complex performance, but Wayne liked to keep the standards high. Truth be told, as long as it was passable, he'd let it go.

After all, this character was mainly there to look good. It didn't require much acting depth.

"Wayne, like this?"

Naomi widened her pupils slightly, her eyes growing with just a hint of alarm. Her entire presence shifted. Her expression remained numb, yet there was a subtle undercurrent of fear—not the dramatic kind, but something unspoken and uneasy.

"Perfect. Hold that. I'm going to use a soft-focus and do a close-up on your eyes."

"Scene One, Shot Five—action!"

Wayne slowly pushed the camera forward, circling Naomi halfway before zooming in on her face, capturing several seconds of eye-focused footage.

"Okay. That's a wrap on this one. Lily, touch up Naomi's makeup—we're moving to the next setup."

Seeing that Naomi was in a rare good flow, Wayne decided to grab a few extra takes of the same scene. Better to have extra footage than not enough when it came time to edit.

The location was perfect. For big-budget productions, sometimes a shot only a few seconds long required a soundstage that took months to build. The more prepared you were during pre-production, the smoother things ran during filming.

"It's getting late. Let's push through the last scene. Naomi—at this point, your character Tree has been killed multiple times. She's exhausted but still clinging to the hope of finding the truth. Use that sense of drained determination we practiced."

As filming resumed, the entire crew silently hoped this would be the last scene of the day. It had been a long, frustrating shoot.

Naomi staggered slowly along the road, looking weary but resolute. She encountered various people, helping them as best she could. After an exhausting day, she had finally found her groove—the performance had real weight. Unfortunately, it was the last scene of the day.

"That's a wrap! Luke, keep an eye on the footage—make sure it's stored properly. Lock it in my safe when we get back."

As Wayne gave the wrap order, the crew began packing up and loading equipment. He waited until the others had left the school location before driving off in his own car, heading back to the hotel.

Naomi was already waiting in the car—they'd planned to have dinner together.

"So," he asked while driving, "how does it feel, shooting all your scenes on the first day? Exhausting?"

Naomi looked tired, but her eyes sparkled with energy.

"No, Wayne—it's exactly what I wanted. It's exhausting, yeah, but being at the center of the camera, with everyone revolving around me? It's amazing. When I was just an extra, I used to envy this so much."

Her smile made it clear—no matter how hard the day had been, this was where she belonged.

Wayne watched her—clearly running on adrenaline—and couldn't help but feel a bit speechless. Everyone else was worn out, dragging their feet, but Naomi looked like she was ready to shoot another scene. He parked the car in the hotel lot, and instead of heading up to their rooms, they went straight to the restaurant.

The entire crew had gathered there, clearly starving, eating in quiet exhaustion. Naomi tugged on his arm and led him to a quieter corner before grabbing a plate and heading to the buffet with enthusiasm.

Wayne watched as this unusually energetic woman returned with two heaping plates of food, her face glowing. He decided now was as good a time as any to say something serious.

"Naomi, want some advice?"

Still chewing, she looked at him and gestured for him to go on.

"Your acting has room for growth. Like today—your adjustments were good. But once this film wraps, I suggest you consider enrolling in an acting workshop. Learn more, polish your craft. Pretty faces are never in short supply in this industry, but there's tough competition. You need to stand out."

He said his piece sincerely, then picked up his fork and began eating, not really expecting her to listen. People who make it in this business tend to be headstrong, rarely swayed by advice.

Besides, in this country, everyone values personal freedom. Even family won't interfere with someone else's life path.

Naomi paused, visibly taken aback by what he said. Ever since moving to Los Angeles, she hadn't thought much about self-improvement—she was too busy surviving. But maybe Wayne was right. Maybe he was someone worth learning from.

Work hard. Build your value. Seize the opportunity when it comes. Wasn't that exactly what Wayne was doing? He was focused. Driven. Hungry for success.

"I will," she said. "Wayne, do you have any other advice for me?"

He gave her a rare, serious glance and continued:

"Figure out what it is you really want. Once you know that, everything else will start to fall into place—your direction, your drive, your methods. Think about the Walk of Fame. Think about Beverly Hills.

"You need to focus. You'll endure anything if your goal matters enough to you. And to get there, you have to stay focused. You have to keep learning, keep growing."

After finishing, he put down his plate and got up, walking over to Steve, the lighting technician.

"Steve, for tomorrow's shoot, I want to use more upward mixed angles. It'll give a more immersive, first-person perspective. Adjust the lighting accordingly—I don't want the same harsh brightness we had today."

"Got it. No problem."

With the plan in his head, Wayne returned to his room. There was still a lot of work left. Day one had gone badly—he needed to revise the shooting schedule.

---

The Next Day

Early the next morning, the production convoy returned to the school. From the first shot of the day, things weren't going well. Curious students gathering nearby disrupted the concentration of both actors and crew. Even Wayne found himself distracted by the chaotic surroundings.

Technical issues piled up—camera glitches, lighting problems, props misplaced. Tension hung in the air like static, contagious and spreading fast. By the end of the day, they had only managed to finish what should have been completed yesterday.

Wayne's temper was fraying. Every time someone slipped up, his frustration surged, threatening to boil over. And every time, he forced himself to hold it back.

"Cut! That's a wrap. Back to the hotel."

Wayne barked the words and, this time, couldn't stop himself. He slammed the director's notebook onto the ground in anger. Luke picked it up, handed it back to him, and gave his junior a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"You need to blow off some steam. Come to the bar with me tonight—grab a drink. Might help."

Wayne nodded, acknowledging the advice. Once he'd cooled down, Luke returned to help the crew pack up.

By nightfall, the November air in Los Angeles had turned cool. Wayne changed into something casual, tossed on a jacket, and made his way into the hotel bar next door.

The place wasn't crowded. He found a stool in the corner of the bar and sat down, pulling out some cash and handing it to the bartender.

"Hey man, give me a beer."

He sipped it slowly, watching the bartender rinse glasses and pour drinks. Even now, his mind was racing through production problems.

"Why're you sitting here alone? Still thinking about work?"

Naomi appeared beside him, holding a glass of whiskey. She took a large sip. From her slightly glassy eyes, it was clear she was already tipsy—probably her own way of coping with the stress.

"It's nothing. Just frustrated," he replied. "Didn't you say you were staying away from hard liquor to keep your figure?"

"I just want to get drunk tonight," she said, setting the glass down. "It helps me fall asleep faster."

Without warning, Naomi slid onto his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and whispered against his ear.

"Hey, Naomi, you're pretty drunk. I should take you back to your room."

Wayne caught her in case she slipped, steadying her with both arms.

"Let's go. You need to rest. We've got work again tomorrow."

"I don't want to rest," she murmured, grinning. "Wanna do something fun, Wayne? I know what you like…"

Wayne sighed and helped her back to her room. No way he was leaving her alone like this. If some stranger took advantage of her and she vanished from set tomorrow, he'd lose his mind.

He tossed her onto the bed, pulled off her heels, and tucked her in with a blanket.

"Get some rest. We've got another full day tomorrow. I'm heading back."

Just as he turned to leave, her voice stopped him.

"You're not staying? Don't want to play a little… superhero? Come on, Batman, Catwoman likes it rough. Meow~"

Wayne turned—and froze. She was slowly crawling toward him on all fours, shedding everything she had on, her movements feline, teasing, impossible to ignore.

His self-control snapped.

Without a word, he stepped into the bathroom.

Moments later, the little wildcat followed him in, crawling inch by inch across the floor.

(End of Chapter)