The Greatest Showman #675 - Do it with ease
Since arriving in New York two years ago, this was the first time Renly had come into direct contact with the top decision-makers of Hollywood's six major film studios. Though he had previously secured the leading role in Edge of Tomorrow, that opportunity paled in comparison to the gravity of this moment. This wasn't just another audition; this was a test of presence, of belonging. Yet, in Hollywood, hundreds of auditions happened daily, and most faded into obscurity.
Jeff and Brad stood like magnets, effortlessly drawing curious glances. Around them, other notable figures formed an exclusive cluster:
David Ayer, who made a name for himself with Training Day and later directed Suicide Squad. Few knew he also contributed to the script of the first Fast and Furious film.
Michael Fassbender, who had catapulted into the limelight with Inglourious Basterds and solidified his reputation this year with Shame, A Dangerous Method, and X-Men: First Class.
Jessica Chastain, Hollywood's busiest actress in 2011, with seven films released that year—two of them alongside Brad Pitt.
They stood casually between two beach chairs, appearing as if they had merely stumbled into conversation. Yet, despite the swirling crowd, their circle remained exclusive—an island within the carnival of the party. Others observed from a distance, some lingering nearby, hoping for a chance to integrate, but unable to breach the invisible boundary.
Renly, however, couldn't afford to be a mere bystander. He had to engage Jeff in conversation and, if necessary, even outshine Brad. The thought alone made his scalp tingle. Even seasoned second- and third-tier actors hesitated to take such a risk, often choosing to wait for a lull before attempting to insert themselves. But Renly understood the rules of Vanity Fair: avoidance today meant irrelevance tomorrow.
So, he chose to step forward.
Paul Walker walked beside Renly, visibly uneasy. Though he had spent over a decade in Hollywood, encounters of this caliber were rare. Still, he reminded himself that Renly was the one in the spotlight tonight. He had to play his part, providing support where needed. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders.
As they approached—just twenty meters away—Paul recalled an interview mentioning Brad Pitt's interest in sports cars. However, the exact brand and model escaped him. He mentally scrambled for a conversation starter.
They halted within a respectful distance, careful not to interrupt. Only those with immense power or strong personalities could afford to interject without consequence. For the rest, timing an entry into such a conversation required a delicate social finesse. Even aristocrats, for all their status, observed such etiquette.
Three or four others stood nearby, champagne in hand, pretending to converse but stealing glances at Jeff and Brad. Their intentions were clear.
Empty-handed, Paul suddenly felt out of place. He regretted not picking up a drink—something to hold, something to serve as a conversational crutch. Spotting a waitress, he looked around for the nearest waiter.
"What's wrong?" Renly asked, noticing Paul's distraction.
"Champagne," Paul muttered.
A bunny-eared waitress in a bikini and a fluffy tail approached with a tray of champagne flutes. But before Paul could reach for one, a burst of laughter erupted from Jeff's group.
"I just finished my whiskey," Jeff announced, smiling at Jessica. "I need another drink. What about you?"
Renly seized the moment.
"If I were you, I wouldn't choose champagne. And definitely not whiskey," he remarked to Paul with an easy smile, his voice slightly raised to carry over the noise.
"Why not?" Paul asked, perplexed.
Renly turned to the waitress. "Two glasses of rum, please."
She nodded with a smile, unfazed by the special request.
Renly continued, "Whiskey isn't ideal for this time of day. Even the finest single malt loses its depth in the afternoon heat. The changing temperature, the sun, even our own taste buds—none of it allows whiskey to be properly appreciated at three in the afternoon."
Paul caught on. Renly had subtly raised his voice just enough to be heard, aligning his words with a pause in Jeff and Brad's conversation. The unspoken rule of human nature took over—when a voice cuts through silence, people instinctively listen.
Paul played along. "So, what should we drink? Don't tell me it's afternoon tea. Jesus, I'm not British. This is a party."
The surrounding group chuckled.
Renly smirked. "If I had my way, absinthe would be the best choice. Rimbaud once said, Let the earth spew green wine springs, and Hemingway even created a cocktail using absinthe called Death in the Afternoon—now known as Hemingway Champagne."
The eloquence in Renly's refined London accent lent an air of sophistication to his words, drawing attention effortlessly.
"But," he continued, "we're at a party, not a Parisian bistro. So, rum is the better option."
He let the words settle for a moment, the surrounding chatter seeming to hush slightly in anticipation.
"A good rum deserves to be tasted twice. The first sip, swallowed quickly, carries a sharp bite—like a rough brushstroke. The second, held on the tongue, allows its fragrance to unfold, dancing lightly before warming the throat. The aftertaste lingers between five and thirty seconds, like the final notes of an opera."
A brief pause. Paul, intrigued, leaned in slightly. "And then?"
Renly smiled. "Then, you let yourself drift under the golden sun, by the blue pool. A bit of indulgence makes an afternoon worthwhile. If you want, wrap yourself in a scarf and let the warmth embrace you."
Soft laughter rippled through the group. The casual charm in Renly's delivery had effortlessly captured their attention.
"Sir, your rum." The waitress returned with impressive efficiency, placing two glasses on the tray. The timing was impeccable, almost as if orchestrated.
Renly and Paul took their glasses, but before the waitress could turn away, another voice chimed in.
"Wait a moment," Jessica Chastain said playfully, flashing a bright smile. "I think I need a glass of rum too."
She turned toward Jeff and Brad, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I wouldn't want to miss out on this experience."
Renly met her gaze with an easy grin. The first move had been made.