Talented Maestro

Chapter 17: The Other Side of the Industry

After dinner, Wayne changed into a fresh set of clothes and headed to the bar.

As usual, he didn't bother mingling. Instead, he found a quiet corner by the bar, ordered a large beer, and sipped it slowly while lost in thought.

"Hey, Wayne. Why is it you're always drinking alone? Or do you just like secretly watching everyone else from the shadows?"

Naomi slid into the seat beside him, clinking her bottle lightly against his. Wayne took a big gulp of beer and glanced in the direction she came from. Lily was chugging shots with Ross, the two of them laughing loudly with the others.

"I'm just not used to that kind of scene," he said. "What about you? Why aren't you joining in?"

Naomi tilted her head toward the rowdy group, frowning slightly as she watched Lily tilt a whole bottle of hard liquor straight down her throat while others cheered her on.

"Oh god… doesn't she care about her figure anymore? I don't think I'll ever get used to that kind of behavior."

"You're not wrong," Wayne replied. "But Lily's part of the crew — her looks don't affect her career unless she lets them. And this? This is nothing. In this industry, even among big-name stars, actual self-discipline is rare."

Wayne had seen enough to understand what went on behind the glossy surface. Substance abuse, binge drinking, wild hookups, bisexual flings — people in showbiz had elevated self-destruction into an art form.

Naomi, being new and relatively grounded, hadn't yet been exposed to the darker layers. She asked curiously, "What about famous actresses? If they party and drink like that, how do they stay in shape? I just can't imagine it."

Wayne finished the rest of his beer in one big gulp and tapped the counter for another. Turning back to her, he said:

"Not all of them, but yeah — most of the big names party hard. Booze, pills, powdered highs, and pot — it's all normal. That's just how this place works. It's not about gender; actors and actresses alike are constantly chasing some new thrill."

Naomi listened, half-shocked, even though she'd heard the rumors before. She wasn't naive, but she'd still believed there was some glamour, some idealism behind the curtain. The truth was far murkier.

"Do you think we'll end up like that too, Wayne?"

He looked at her calmly. "Don't overthink it, Naomi. That kind of lifestyle? It comes after you've made it big. Right now, we're not even close. That's why everyone's grinding so hard — if you don't make it, you don't even qualify to indulge."

Naomi gave a bitter smile and nodded. It was true. The only reason she was still curious was because the reality of that world was still out of reach.

"I'm going to the restroom. Be right back."

As she put her drink down and headed out, Luke took the opportunity to slide into her seat, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath.

"She's a calculating one, that girl," he muttered to Wayne, "but I can tell she hasn't been completely eaten up by the game yet. She's good to you — maybe you should consider making her your actual girlfriend."

Wayne lit a cigarette and shook his head with a dry smile.

"Not yet. Right now, all I care about is the work. Until I've made it, I won't let myself get caught up in emotions. This setup's fine. We like each other, we spend a night together. If we don't feel it anymore, we move on. It's classic Hollywood love — no strings, no expectations."

Wayne's attitude might get him labeled a "scumbag" on modern short video platforms, but in Hollywood — and especially within this industry — it was nothing out of the ordinary.

In fact, beyond the glitz and glamour, breakups and hookups were just part of the rhythm of life. Sure, certain parts of America — like the conservative Midwest — held on to traditional values, but most young people in big cities embraced a much more open, fluid approach to relationships.

That's just how things worked in the West. Give it another decade or two, and even in that miracle-growing game server of a nation, breakups and flings would become the norm among the urban youth.

"Whatever makes you happy!"

Luke clinked glasses with Wayne, then grabbed his bottle and went off to join the rest of the crew in their wild celebrations.

Naomi returned from the restroom just then and pointed toward the group.

"Wayne, aren't you going to do something about them?"

Wayne turned to look and saw that the crew had gathered in a booth, dancing loosely to the music. Ross was holding a hand-rolled cigarette, took a deep drag, and passed it to Lily, who was clearly already drunk.

"Forget it. Let them have their fun. Let's head back — I've had enough to drink and don't feel like staying here anymore."

He pulled on his jacket and led Naomi toward the exit. At the door, he paused and waved Luke over. After quietly reminding him to stay safe, Wayne left the bar with Naomi.

There weren't many people at the bar tonight — mostly just crew members and a few extras. Wayne wasn't worried about anyone causing trouble. Filming was done; whatever they did now wasn't his concern.

At parties like this, alcohol and weed were basically staples. It wasn't uncommon to see clouds of smoke hanging in the air.

Back in high school, Wayne had been around marijuana plenty of times. He was curious, sure, but never once gave in. He understood — even then — that substances like that were gateways, the same ones that eventually led people to harder addictions.

He'd seen Ross and the others sneak hits between scenes but had never tried to stop them. That would've been naïve. This was Hollywood. Under California's sunshine lay a whole world of darkness people rarely talked about.

"We're heading back, right, Wayne?"

"Yeah. If you still want to talk, there's beer in the hotel."

Back in his room, he opened the fridge and handed her a cold can. They sat together by the window, gazing at the bright night sky.

"Wayne, don't tell me you've never tried that stuff. Not even at school parties?"

Naomi shot him a curious glance. She'd seen the flash of disdain in his eyes earlier when he saw Ross smoking.

"Never," he said firmly. "I've been tempted, sure, but I've never touched it. After a while, my classmates and teammates thought I was boring and stopped inviting me to parties."

Not just then, not now — and no matter how much pressure he faced in the future, he'd never touch that crap. Hollywood was a place that amplified every emotion, where everything — power, fame, fortune — was gambled with life as the stake. Too many in this industry had gone from victims to perpetrators, trapped in a vicious cycle.

The craving for fame, the relentless stress, the adrenaline of success, and the ease with which money and power came — it all created a distorted environment. People lost themselves fast. Keeping your sanity, your principles, your self in such a world was no easy feat.

He'd read enough in the news from the future to know how many A-listers in Hollywood had ruined themselves on these substances. You'd practically have to queue up to count them all.

There were the famous cases:

Robert Downey Sr. and Jr. — the latter infamous for following his father's path even harder. After several arrests and jail stints, he survived only because Mel Gibson helped him land odd acting gigs.

Even after Marvel's Iron Man resurrected his career, rumors of continued drug use never really stopped — they just weren't reported anymore. After all, media was just another tool in the hands of capital.

Then there were others who weren't so lucky.

River Phoenix — who quite literally overdosed to death. It was only after witnessing his overdose that Keanu Reeves and Johnny Depp began to pull away from the edge. Without that wake-up call, who knows whether they'd have reached the heights they did?

"Hey, what's going on in that head of yours?"

Naomi poked him hard, snapping him out of his thoughts. He blinked, apologetic.

"Sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?"

"I asked if you want to come to my room… or should I stay here?"

Wayne shook his head gently.

"No, Naomi. Get some rest. I've got a lot to think about for post-production."

This was the final night of the crew's existence — and a pivotal night for him as a director. Two months of shooting had taught him more than any book ever could. He had learned not only how to create — but how to compromise.

Most of the crew, aside from Luke, wouldn't be involved in post-production. Their jobs were finished. All they had left to do was drink hard, party harder, and then move on to the next gig.

All the doubts people had about him, all the arguments between set designers and prop masters — it would all dissolve with this one night.

The next morning, the convoy headed back to Los Angeles. Quietly, the team began to drift apart. Wayne stored the completed film reels in a bank vault and returned to his small apartment, alone after two long months.

There was no holiday for him. A new phase was about to begin.

He picked up the phone and called his agent.

"Hello? This is Wayne Garfield. Jimmy, the shoot's over. I've got something to talk to you about — if you're free, come by the apartment."

"Sure, I'll be there this afternoon," Jimmy replied.

In the past two months, Jimmy hadn't visited the set once. Aside from an occasional call to two of his clients, he'd stayed completely detached. In his eyes, this film was just a practice run — a student's final project.

He had helped cast most of the crew and actors himself and knew exactly how lightweight the production was. If it weren't for a small upfront commission, he wouldn't have bothered.

In the world of indie films, a crew of barely a dozen people was considered ultra low-budget — practically a garage band. Pulling off something truly good under those conditions? Nearly impossible.

Still, hearing that the film had wrapped successfully… well, Jimmy had to admit: maybe Wayne had some real skill after all.

He knew one thing for sure:

This young director wasn't aiming for a simple portfolio piece. Wayne wanted it in theaters.

Not impossible — but the odds were brutally low. Hollywood had hundreds of shoots happening every day. Only a tiny fraction ever made it to the big screen.