Talented Maestro

Chapter 16 – It's a Wrap

In the outskirts of Orange County, Greater Los Angeles, the Happy Death Day crew was setting up the final shooting location beneath a concrete bridge.

Wayne stood with his director's notebook in hand, scribbling notes and shot ideas while the only two remaining actors rested on foldout chairs. Poor Tree, the endlessly tormented heroine, had already been brutally stabbed twice that morning.

Ross gave him a subtle nod from the crew area—everything was ready to go. Wayne walked over to the actors and began giving instructions.

"Naomi, keep an eye on the ketchup packs under your shirt. Don't let them shift or fall out—I want them to burst dramatically when you get stabbed. Lots of splatter."

He pointed to the props—packets of ketchup that would mimic blood. This was one of the major stylistic choices he'd made for the film: every time Tree died, it had to be wild, over-the-top, and visually shocking.

Then he turned to the actor playing the masked killer, who had just finished adjusting his mask.

"Same as before—chase her down, stab her hard, brutally. Make sure you hit the prop target."

With that, Wayne stepped behind the camera and signaled everyone to quiet down.

"Happy Death Day, Scene 227, action!"

As his voice rang out, Luke raised the boom mic, and Wayne himself picked up the camera, jogging along with the panicked, stumbling Tree as she ran a few steps forward—only to once again fall victim to her violent fate.

"Cut! That's a wrap for this one. Everyone, move to the next location!"

The team efficiently packed up and started walking a short distance away to a nearly deserted road that hadn't seen traffic all day.

"Hey, Luke! Didn't you always dream of being a director and cinematographer? Here's your big break. Make sure you shoot me from my best angle!"

Wayne joked as he slipped into a police uniform. This was the very last scene of the entire production. It featured Tree running to a police officer—played by Wayne—for help, only for him to be killed by the masked murderer. Tree, of course, would get stabbed yet again.

This was Wayne's own idea. He wanted to appear in his debut film—but without distracting from the story. So, he gave himself a tiny cameo: a no-name cop, two lines max, gets run over and dies. Quick, effective, and done in seconds.

Once everything was in place and Luke called for action, Wayne stepped in front of Tree's car, asking her what happened. Right on cue, a speeding car barreled toward him. There was a cut for the switch to the dummy prop, and then a full-speed shot of Wayne's "corpse," doused in ketchup, lying sprawled far from the point of impact.

"Cut! We got it!"

Wayne stood up, grinning as he walked over to the monitor, nudging Luke playfully.

"So? Not bad, right? One take! That's gotta count for something—I've got some acting chops!"

Luke gave Wayne a strange look, then motioned for him to check the monitor. Wayne took a glance—and immediately fell silent. His big moment? Barely a second of face time, and he wasn't even in the center of the frame.

Well... so much for the glorious cameo.

After watching it once more and confirming there were no issues, Wayne clapped his hands loudly, drawing everyone's attention.

"Thank you all for your hard work on this project! We've officially wrapped all the scenes. Time to pack up and get ready to enjoy your well-deserved break!"

He gave the crew a slight bow—not overly dramatic, but sincere. The message was clear: he truly appreciated their efforts.

And then, unexpectedly, everyone burst into applause—even the two temporary workers who had been quietly packing up joined in. Once the clapping died down, Wayne raised his voice again.

"Oh, and don't forget—tonight at the bar next to the hotel, everyone's invited. Drinks are on me! No need to hold back—let's celebrate!"

Wayne was being generous for once, and it showed.

But the cheers that followed weren't just for the free drinks. They were for the film, the journey, and for Wayne himself.

Everyone in the crew knew just how difficult this production had been. A rookie director, a team patched together on a tight budget, and somehow—without a single delay or overspending—Wayne had brought them across the finish line. He didn't just survive the chaos; he overcame it, piece by piece, with sheer professionalism and meticulous planning.

The entire shoot took exactly two months. They hadn't used much film—Wayne didn't believe in shooting excess footage. Every shot was previsualized in his head. With his storyboards, shot lists, and carefully coordinated setups, they saved a ton on film stock—leaving more than enough for post-production.

As he watched the crew wrapping up, everyone chatting and laughing like old friends, Wayne felt the tension finally drain from the air. Even Ross, the props master, and Mia, the set designer—two people who'd been at each other's throats the entire production—were now lifting equipment together, talking and smiling.

It was surreal.

Wayne stared at the two in disbelief. More than once, he or Luke had to intervene to prevent an all-out war between them. And now they were acting like old comrades.

"Crazy, huh?" Luke stepped up beside him, following his gaze. "It's kind of magical."

"Yeah," Wayne nodded slowly. "This is my first real production. I get that most conflicts are born from ego and ambition, but sometimes it's just baffling. Seriously, look at them now. I swear, give them two drinks and they'll be in bed together by midnight."

He laughed, half-exasperated. If they had shown even a fraction of this camaraderie earlier, he wouldn't have needed to break up so many fights.

Luke gave a wry smile, pointing at the once-feuding pair.

"That's just it. Most of the tension came from status, jealousy—status stuff that comes with the job. But now that filming's over, that pressure's gone. What's left? Just two people who've been through hell together. They're not thinking about who did what anymore—they're just remembering the effort they shared."

Wayne turned to him, staring intently. This guy really gets people. Maybe it came from experience—Luke had probably seen his share of messes on all the sets he'd worked.

"Yeah... well, not everyone. I'd bet you anything our lead and supporting actress aren't going to hug it out anytime soon. If anything, they'd love to scratch each other's perfect faces while yelling 'bitch' at the top of their lungs."

Wayne was in a good mood and felt like joking for once.

Luke chuckled, eyeing Wayne like he was trying to reconcile this gossiping, loose-lipped version with the obsessive workaholic director he'd worked with for two months.

"Wayne, actresses and crew members are different species. You'll understand one day. Some actresses would literally poison each other out of jealousy—no joke, I've seen it."

He leaned in conspiratorially.

"Once worked on a set where a connected leading lady almost got poisoned by a jealous minor actress who couldn't accept that someone less prettier than her got the spotlight. Luckily it was caught in time. And that's just mild compared to what I've seen. Don't even get me started on diva celebrities—some of them will make you wish you had a gun."

While Luke continued spilling industry horror stories, Wayne kept an eye on the final stages of packing. He wasn't ready to relax just yet.

Luke was about to continue with more stories when he noticed Naomi walking toward them from her car, freshly changed out of costume. He gave a quick shrug and whispered to Wayne: "Don't underestimate anyone—especially a woman willing to give everything for a no-budget indie flick like this one."

Then he slipped away to help the others with the gear.

"Hey, am I interrupting something?" Naomi asked playfully as she wrapped an arm around Wayne. With the work done, she no longer cared how others looked at them—not that she ever had. She knew exactly why the crew respected her.

Was it because she was the lead actress? Even she didn't believe that. It was obvious: it was because of Wayne. Everyone knew their relationship was more than professional.

Wayne didn't care what people thought either. This was Hollywood, after all—arguably the most chaotic web of relationships on the continent. If there was anywhere messier than Hollywood itself, it was a Hollywood film set.

Actors and actresses, hopped up on hormones, often took their on-screen chemistry off-screen the moment someone yelled "cut." That was just the norm.

"Nothing important. Just talking shop," Wayne said. "Naomi, now that it's all wrapped up—what's next for you?"

The crew had started boarding their vans. Wayne pulled Naomi into the pickup truck and shut the door.

She paused, gave him a long, thoughtful look, then replied seriously.

"I'll rest a couple of days, then enroll in a short-term training course. Keep auditioning, keep grinding. I've decided not to go back to Australia. I'm going to wait for the next opportunity. Honestly? Right now, the thing I'm most excited about is this movie. You know how rare it is for someone like me to land a leading role."

Wayne wasn't surprised. Naomi was a woman of steel nerves, fierce ambition, and endless patience. She had always been willing to bet everything on her dreams.

Just like Luke said—women like her were not to be underestimated.

Even in his past life, Wayne hadn't paid much attention to this particular blonde. But for someone with no background, no connections, to make it big in Hollywood? That was more than impressive. Calling her a "white lotus" or a "green tea bitch" would be doing her a favor.

"Chase your dream, Naomi," Wayne said as he parked at the hotel. "I truly believe you'll make it to Beverly Hills one day. Your name? It'll be carved into the sidewalks of Hollywood Boulevard."

He declined her invitation to dinner, met up with Luke, and carried the reels of completed film back to his hotel room. Only after locking them safely in the vault did Wayne finally, truly relax.