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Chapter - 131
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 15:36:11 +0000 UTC[Title : I Think I Am Finally In]
….
Tomorrow, [The Hangover] will hit theaters for its full box office run.
Which meant the big pre-release showing. 70mm screen, packed house, first public screening, and obviously everyone who mattered was supposed to be there.
But the captain of the ship…. wasn’t there.
He wasn’t anywhere near the venue.
Instead, he was sitting cross-legged on the ground, one leg stretched out, the other bent - his back resting against something rough and worn.
It is a gravestone.
A quiet graveyard stretched around him, hushed and windless, the kind of place untouched by time or noise. And behind him, nestled carefully at the base of the stone, was a bouquet unlike any other.
Blue Himalayan poppies.
Just like their name, they are Rare, with bright and sky-blue petals while soft gold in the center. Almost fake-looking, like something painted in only a dream.
Overally, the flower seemed the kind that doesn’t belong in a place like this.
But his mother loved them.
She had fallen for them years ago on a trip to the Himalayas. He was a kid then. She had shown him a picture in a book once - a long buried bedtime story.
….
“See this flower?” She had said.
“It grows in the freezing cold, where nothing wants to live.”
“And it still blooms. Isn’t that something?”
Then she would look at him, softer.
“It means even when everything’s stacked against you, something beautiful can still push through.”
For some reason, he never forgot that.
….
The other grave next to hers had its own offering - a wine bottle resting at its base.
Alas, unlike his mother’s it was nothing fancy, just a solid vintage one could buy anywhere.
Still, that was his dad’s kind of gesture. Practical. Rough. But Just enough to say, I was here.
Regal stayed there a while, staring at the two headstones in silence.
Eventually, he let out a quiet sigh and stood, brushing the dirt from his tailored pants. The coat he wore, the polished shoes - it all hinted he was supposed to be somewhere else, somewhere far more public and celebratory.
Instead, he looked down at the bouquet.
“Time to go, Mom.” He said, voice low.
Then he glanced to the side, at the bottle, at the second grave.
“And you too, old man.”
A small pause.
“…Also - I think I am finally in.”
The words came out small. Honest.
This was his third film.
And somehow, this one felt different.
His dad used to talk about that -
How the first job in Hollywood was fluke.
The second was just getting by.
But the third? That meant something.
“Third time's when you know.” His dad once said. “That is when you are really in the business. That is when it’s not just a phase.”
The man had written more scripts than Regal could count, a lot of them with someone else’s name slapped on the credits.
But even then, the man never claimed to be in.
“I am still an outsider.” He would mutter, like it was just a fact of life.
Maybe he was right. Maybe he wasn’t.
But Regal - he felt it now.
After everything. After scraping through two films, pushing this third uphill with everything he had…
He had finally understood what he meant.
And for the first time, standing there between the two of them, he didn’t feel like an outsider anymore.
It means it was just the beginning.
He was finally in.
Regal bent down and picked up the wine bottle near the grave. With a quiet motion, he uncorked it, poured a small splash onto the soil, then lifted the bottle halfway to his lips.
He stopped. “Yeah... Just a sip.”
He muttered, averting his gaze with a faint smirk. “So don’t worry.”
With that he turned and walked away, his footsteps soft on the gravel path.
He passed rows of other graves, each one a silent witness to stories long since ended, until he reached the wrought-iron gate at the cemetery’s edge.
Just as he pushed it open, his phone buzzed.
[Simon]
Regal picked up. “Yeah?”
[“Dude.”] Simon’s voice came through, exasperated. [“Samantha’s a devil. You said I just had to hold down the fort for an hour, but if you’re any later she is going to rip my head off.”]
Regal chuckled. “I will be there in... half an hour.”
He actually finds this kind of cute… A guy his size, letting her push you around?
Though these days, after hanging out with Rock for too long for Regal, Simon’s starting to look like a kid.
Maybe that was the reason.
Simon sighed. [“Let me guess - you are not going to be here for at least another hour, are you?”]
“You know me too well.”
[“I would like it better if it was a woman saying those words.”]
“Yeah, yeah.” Regal muttered, smiling. “I will try to get there as soon as I can.”
[“Fine. Oh, and Keanu asked about Ross - he is not coming?”]
“Nope. He is catching a movie with his buddy.”
Simon didn’t ask who the ‘buddy’ was. He clearly didn’t want to know.
[“Alright.”] He said instead. [“Just don’t take forever.”]
The call ended. Regal slipped the phone back into his coat pocket, exhaled, and stepped out onto the quiet street just beyond the cemetery gates.
A taxi idled just outside, its engine humming faintly in the stillness of the evening. Regal opened the back door and slid in, settling into the seat with a muted exhale.
The driver, a middle-aged man with a sharp but friendly edge to his expression, glanced over his shoulder.
"Took your time, huh?"
"Sorry about that." Regal said with a faint smile.
"No worries. Getting paid to sit around? Could be worse." The driver quipped, his tone easygoing.
Then he nodded toward the man in the passenger seat.
“But I would appreciate better company next time. This guy hasn't said a single word.”
Regal leaned forward slightly and glanced at the passenger. The man was broad-shouldered, taking up more space than the seat seemed built for. Silent, unreadable.
“Yeah.” Regal said with a light laugh. “He is shy around new people.”
As the car pulled away from the cemetery, Regal noticed the second wine bottle - he had left it behind earlier on the floor of the car. He picked it up, looked at it for a moment, then held it out to the driver.
"Here. A gift."
The man raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bottle before shaking his head with a grin. "You trying to get home in one piece? Handing booze to the guy driving you isn’t exactly reassuring."
"Drink it when you’re off-duty." Regal replied, his tone dry but good-natured.
"Fair enough." The driver said, finally accepting the bottle. "Thanks."
They drove in silence for a beat.
“You mind a little music?” The driver asked.
“Go ahead.”
A moment later, the speakers filled with a familiar beat. Regal recognized it instantly - [Right Round].
“Huh… you heard this one?” - the driver asked, nodding along. “Pretty catchy.”
“I have.” Regal replied, trying not to smile too obviously. “It’s a good one.”
“My daughter put me onto it.” The driver said. “She said it’s from some new movie. Been stuck in my head ever since. I have been playing it on loop all week. Can’t remember the name of the film, though.”
Regal looked at him, amused.
That explained the driver’s earlier complaint about Rock being too quiet - he just liked talking. A lot.
But Regal didn’t mind. Not even a flicker of disappointment that the man knew the song but not the film it came from.
In fact, he liked it that way. It meant the music was starting to live on its own - disconnected from the branding, the hype. Just something people were responding to.
He leaned back in the seat, eyes half-closed.
“Your daughter has got good taste.” He said.
The driver smiled in the rearview mirror. “She gets it from her old man.”
….
“So, what was it like?” Stephen. Sr. leaned back, arms crossed. “Working with Regal on two movies?”
Ross barely looked at him. “That brat? Same as always. What’s so new about a movie set anyway?”
Stephen scoffed. “That attitude of yours… it’s dragged you down more than a few times. Have you ever thought of changing it?”
Ross didn’t respond. Just stared ahead. The silence stretched.
They were sitting alone in the dark - well, almost alone. Just a few seats were occupied in the theater house. The kind of quiet that lets you hear your own breathing.
“…He is finally getting noticed.” Stephen. Sr. said, almost to himself. “Regal.”
His tone was hard to read - part approval, part caution. Maybe even a hint of bitterness.
Ross nodded slowly. “With this movie, he’s going to make some real noise.”
“Oh? So it turned out good, huh?”
Ross glanced sideways. “Did I say that?”
The screen lit up. The opening frame rolled. Their conversation ended as naturally as it started.
Then Ross spoke again, low and casual.
“How long can you hold your breath? You sure you didn’t pick up asthma from locking yourself inside all year?”
Stephen. Sr. frowned. “What kind of question is that? We are not sinking on a ship.”
“You will get it soon.” Ross said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
For once, he liked this.
The feeling of knowing something Stephen. Sr. didn’t.
.
….
[To be continued…]
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