Chapter 51: You'll Help Me, Right?
Wayne and Naomi sat across from each other at the dining table, enjoying one of his favorite meals—veal.
"Where's Hela today? Isn't she usually around?" Wayne asked between bites.
"I told her we needed some private time, so I let her off early," Naomi replied casually, slicing into her steak. Beneath the table, however, her foot had begun to move.
As Wayne focused on eating, he suddenly felt something soft, wrapped in silk stockings, creeping up his pant leg. It slid slowly, deliberately, until it rested on his thigh.
He glanced at Naomi, who was still eating with an innocent expression. Without a word, he reached down and grabbed the mischievous foot.
"Naomi, what are you up to now?"
"Rewarding you, of course," she purred. "I had a new Catwoman costume custom-made... and I even got a matching Batman suit just for you. Want to try them out together?"
"With great pleasure, ma'am."
Without another word, Wayne finished the last bite of his steak, stood up, and pulled her toward the master bedroom on the third floor.
"Don't rush, Wayne," she whispered teasingly. "It's just the two of us in the house tonight. I brought a longer leash this time—you can walk your little kitty as slowly as you want."
"You go get changed," he said, heading into his study with a sudden idea. He grabbed a handheld camcorder—a brand-new toy he'd just gotten his hands on. It was one of the latest releases from Canon.
"Naomi," he called, "do you mind capturing a memory or two?"
"Of course not. We can even watch it together later…"
---
The next morning at 7 a.m., Wayne was already up, jogging laps around the garden. He didn't wake Naomi, who was still sound asleep. After breakfast, he met up with Nina and headed straight to the studio.
Today's main task was still casting. So far, they'd only locked down two lead roles. As for the three Black characters, not a single suitable actor had been found yet.
Inside the temporary director's office, Nina brought him a fresh cup of coffee. Watching him immediately dive into the stack of résumés at his desk, she finally understood what Naomi meant—he really was a total workaholic.
And as his live-in, full-service assistant, her main job was to handle every little thing except his directing.
"Boss, what's this thing?" Nina asked curiously, noticing a strange-looking device on the table. "Is it some kind of camera for filming?"
Though she hadn't worked with Wayne for long, Nina already knew he didn't care much for formality. As long as she did her job well, he didn't mind casual conversation—so she spoke her mind freely.
Wayne glanced up from the stack of résumés and smiled faintly when he saw her holding the camcorder.
"Technically, yes—it's a type of camera. But it's called a DV, short for Digital Video. The guys from Canon brought it by the studio to pitch it as a new product. I took two."
Nina fiddled with the lightweight device, aiming it at both herself and Wayne like a selfie stick.
"This tiny thing can shoot movies? It's so much smaller than a film camera."
Watching her experiment with the device, Wayne shook his head with a smile and turned back to his paperwork.
"Maybe one day someone will shoot a movie with it—but not yet. This kind of tech isn't widespread enough. Replacing film with digital… I'd say that's at least another decade away. But for daily life? It's perfect. Handy, simple. You like it?"
Nina looked at him, intrigued.
"It's yours," he added. "Use it to record whatever you want."
"Thanks, boss! I'll take it with me after work." She stuck out her tongue playfully at the camcorder's lens, made a silly face, and then peeked over at her focused boss. Quietly, she stepped out and closed the door behind her.
---
Meanwhile, Wayne thought back to the night before.
Everything that happened between him and Naomi had been captured on that DV camcorder. Every wild second.
And now, the day continued—with more auditions ahead, more decisions to make, and a career still very much on the rise.
Just as Nina stepped out of the office, she saw a striking Black woman waiting near the door. Tall and curvy with a distinctly seductive figure, a sweet face, and lighter-than-usual skin, she was clearly the kind of beauty who could stop people in their tracks.
"Hi, I'm the assistant to Director Garfield. Can I help you?" Nina greeted her with a smile. This woman's looks made her instantly likable to strangers.
Halle Berry had been hovering near the door, trying to confirm whether she'd found the right office. When she saw the white girl step out and greet her, she quickly put on her most charming smile.
"Hi! I'm the actress who auditioned yesterday. Would it be possible for me to speak with Director Garfield? It's urgent."
Sizing up the assistant, whose looks and figure were plain by industry standards, Halle spoke with honey in her voice.
"He's working at the moment, but I'll check," Nina replied, stepping back inside.
Wayne glanced up in confusion when Nina returned so quickly, but then he spotted the "Black Pearl" standing outside and instantly understood.
Before Nina could even explain, Wayne waved a hand.
"Let her in. You can go back to your work—no need to worry about this."
Nina shrugged and left, glancing at the woman as she entered and closing the door behind her. She'd heard plenty of stories about the entertainment industry and her mind immediately jumped to conclusions. A woman like that—gorgeous, confident, strutting in heels like she owned the place—fit too many familiar tales.
Nina wasn't just a plain-looking assistant; she was a top-tier finance graduate. After spending a good amount of time in L.A., she'd heard all the stories: actresses desperate to rise to the top who'd do anything to win a role. Flashes of Julia Roberts' infamous early years came to mind, stories no one could ever quite confirm—but everyone knew.
---
Halle Berry stood at a respectful distance from Wayne's desk, making sure he could take in her full figure. But to her surprise, the director didn't even look up, his eyes glued to the casting notes with a deep frown.
"You needed something? I'm very busy, Miss Berry. Say what you came to say," he said flatly.
Halle took a slow breath. "Director Garfield, my agent was informed last night—I didn't make it through the audition."
"That's right," Wayne replied, still not looking up. "Your appearance doesn't match the role's requirements, and it's a part that demands strong acting skills. We've discussed it and decided not to proceed with you in further auditions."
Finally lifting his head, Wayne took a long look at her. She was stunning—far beyond the standard features of most actresses in her category. Full lips, high cheekbones, delicate features… in fact, her look leaned more toward classic beauty than the typical "urban" aesthetic casting directors often expected of Black actresses.
"I believe I am right for the role," Halle said softly, taking a step forward, subtly showcasing her curves. "Maybe the character description could be tweaked just a little? I'm sure that wouldn't be difficult. Why not give me a real 'opportunity'?"
She moved up to his desk and leaned in, placing both hands on the surface and locking eyes with him. "Or… is it that you just have a bias against me?"
In her gaze, she saw it—that flicker. The same look of appreciation she'd seen in so many other men before. She knew exactly what it meant.
Wayne leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette, folding his hands in front of him. He studied her openly now.
"I don't discriminate against anyone based on race or skin color," he said, blowing out a stream of smoke. "And I mean exactly what I said: you don't fit the part."
Halle opened her mouth to speak, but Wayne raised a hand to stop her. Holding up one finger, he began to lay out the reasons:
"First, the character is supposed to be a plain, middle-aged housemaid. You're too tall, too attractive—it would throw off the audience's perception."
He raised a second finger.
"Second, the character is meant to look weathered, tired from years of work. You look far too young, too fresh. There's no way you can sell that kind of life experience."
Then a third finger.
"And most importantly, this role demands real acting chops—emotional depth, subtle facial expressions, a believable presence. Frankly, you're not there yet."
With every reason, Halle's expression grew darker.
"Can't the role be adapted a bit?" she tried again, quickly regaining her composure. "After all, isn't a character's essence more important than appearance?"
Wayne didn't even flinch. Of course, inner character mattered—but film was a visual medium. Appearance helped convey the story. If they rewrote this character, it would throw off the entire story arc and affect the rest of the script. It would mean rewriting entire scenes—basically starting from scratch.
And no matter how gorgeous Halle Berry was, she wasn't worth risking millions of dollars and the future of his directing career.
"You'll help me… won't you?" Halle's eyes gleamed as she stepped around the desk. Her gait was elegant, measured—like a model on a runway. She stopped just half a meter from him, a distance that clearly broke the norms of professional space.
"I'd be very grateful," she whispered. "Very… grateful."
It was the first time Wayne had seen such a direct proposition from an actress—and from the future "Storm" of X-Men, no less. The future Oscar winner.
But then again, he remembered the countless rumors about Halle Berry—how she supposedly landed certain roles, and what she was rumored to have done to win Monster's Ball and that Academy Award.
Women like her didn't hesitate to bet everything on a single opportunity. Once they set their sights on something, they pursued it relentlessly. Wayne respected that kind of drive, but it wasn't enough to change his decision.
As she moved closer, Halle could see the glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. She gave a small, knowing smile.
She'd heard it plenty—producers and directors often made decisions based not on words, but on actions.
So she decided to act.
"I understand," she whispered.
She took one more step forward.
Before Wayne could even react, Halle Berry was already kneeling in front of him, her hands reaching quickly for his belt.