The Lion King (1994)

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8th September 1997 (Tuesday)

Ricky Stirling (POV)

"Mr. Stirling! Sir-"

"Ricky Stirling-"

"I'm from Screen Daily and I-I have a few questions-"

"Over here! Mr. Stirling, I am from The Wrap and I-"

It was pandemonium.

I had to constantly sidestep whenever anyone got too close to me, as Pacino and my father somehow managed to slip out the side, while Trent led the way, mouthing off a quick insincere apology as he took off… leaving me all alone to deal with the flock of ferocious vultures.

Or as they liked to refer to themselves as… reporters.

A mix-matched pack of them descended on me, the second I exited the hall, as they strategically blocked off my exits, and at the same time somehow managed to steer the way away from the gate to prevent blocking it.

Oh, they pretended to be enemies… competitors. But their seamless coordination in managing to cordon me off, surrounding me from all sides as they held up mics to my face… it was uncanny.

"Wait! Jus- wait, everyone stop talking!" I raised my voice a little, and they all stopped.

"One by one everyone. I'll answer a few questions. Now, you? In the black jacket. Go."

She blew a strand of her hair out of her face as she fired off, "Mr. Stirling tonight you've done the near impossible, and won one of the most prestigious awards of the film industry at the age of 19, how are you feeling right now?"

Really? How am I feeling right now- what kinda amateur question is that? Then again, can't expect every question to be insightful, some of them are downright stupid.

"Oh, I'm half-convinced this is a dream and that I'm gonna wake up in a hospital bed any second now, that's how surreal the past hour has been. But otherwise? I'm brimming with joy and uh, amazement at the fact I was awarded such a high honor on my 2nd production. I mean, I thought it would take a few decades before I would get here, you know? All right, next… you. Blue shirt- and please, just call me Ricky. Mr. Stirling is my father."

"Ricky it is! Now, can you tell us how you plan to celebrate this incredible achievement?"

"Oh I don't know, probably spraying a bottle of champagne on the cast at tonight's after party, and then a couple of toasts to their exemplary effort, without which all of this wouldn't have happened. Next, you- EuroNews."

"How do you think winning the Golden Lion will impact your future career in film-making?"

"Huh… Erm, to be honest? My 3rd movie is currently in post-production, and I've already started work on script and score of my 4th project… And I'm bouncing around ideas for the 5th so, it won't really have an impact on the work I'll engage in for the next year or so. Though I suppose the acclaim that I've been subjected to, could snowball into more popularity, which would mean betters results at the box office… and all of these factors will translate into bigger, better opportunities for me down the road-"

"Do these opportunities include collaborations?"

I… did he just interrupt me?

"...uh. Yeah, sure. I mean, ever since I entered college, I have dreamt of working with several actors, directors, cinematographers, producers, and other artists in world cinema. And I suppose this award today has propelled me to the international stage, thereby opening the floodgates for offers of all sorts really. So I suppose- we'll see won't we? Nothing is set in stone after all. Hope that satisfies your question. Now, I need to get going but we've got time for one last query… You! In the yellow dress. Go."

"What advice do you have for other young filmmakers who aspire to follow in your footsteps?"

I take a pause, before looking right at the camera's lens.

"Advice? For people trying to follow into MY footsteps? Yeah sure, I've got advice. Don't. As in, don't follow into my footsteps. The movie I made might have come out looking good, but the production process was taxing on me, both physically and psychologically. I spent weeks on the script, then pitched the movie to a few people who liked it. Then I got involved in casting, then in principal photography. I directed the movie, starred in it, produced it, and then sat in front of a dozen computers editing it. I wrote the damn score and sung the song at the end. My point is… My lack of trust in others to encapsulate my vision, ultimately made my paranoia win, and I ended up doing most of the work myself… Don't do that. Learn from my mistakes, kids. Hire talented people, trust them to do their work, and then feel free to delegate. Don't start thinking you're an auteur, just cause you did most of the heavy lifting yourself. You only have the right to call yourself that after decades in the field, and dozens of projects under your belt. Remember kids, just cause my work somehow, came out great, doesn't mean you try to replicate my frankly demented methodology. Be better than that… Okay- yeah, I think that's it. I'm afraid I need to get going so, thank you very much for this, it's been a true pleasure, and… Erm. Goodbye!" I finished with a smile and a wave, before casually side-stepping all of them, practically dancing on my toes, as I skillfully navigate my way through them flawlessly.

And right then, my car arrives.

Well… more like my limousine.

I didn't buy it! I'm not that frivolous with my money. It was actually a rental, paid for in full, by 'Stirling Studios'.

Apparently, it'll be written off as a marketing expense.

I open the door, and take a seat, before slamming it shut, as the sounds of cameras snapping pics finally dulled inside the walls of the car.

After taking in a deep breath, my eyes finally swiveled to the opposite seat, upon which lay perched, my dear Sherry… going all out with a crimson red dress, and matching lipstick, a slit revealing the milky skin of her long legs, as she smirked in anticipation. Her eyes on the other hand…

Not bothering to restrain myself any longer, I get up with a jerk, and push myself to the other side, smoothly taking the empty seat beside her, pulling her into a long, and frankly, much awaited lip-lock.

One hand around her neck, while the other sat on her waist, we engaged in our passion for the better part of a minute, before breathlessly separating.

I gaze towards my right, where on the seat, lay the culmination of the last few months of my life… the Golden Lion, in all its naked glory.

"It's beautiful." She whispered, "How do you feel?"

"... Much better now that I'm with you." I reply in earnest, as she leans in, laying her head in the crook of my neck, as we embrace for the next few minutes… the limo, taking us to the highly glamorous after party, hosted by the luxury watch brand, Jaeger-LeCoultre.

I bask in the warm presence of my dear Sherry, as I internally prepare myself for a night of merriment, combined with heavy networking, considering the star-studded guest list the elegant Gala boasts of.

The rest of the cast are probably waiting for me outside…

Nope. Who am I kidding? It's free booze and gourmet food, Trent is probably piling up at the buffet, while Pacino and daddy dearest are most likely smoking cigars… or at least preparing to do so.

Alfredo Pacino (POV)

"... Hey Ambrose?"

"Yes Al?"

"I just felt a cold wind brush against the back of my neck a second ago, did- did you feel anything."

He scoffed before replying, "It's probably just the shot of tequila, doing its magic a little late. Nothing to worry about, happens all the time. Now, where is the lighter?" He asked, brushing his hands against the table, as he felt out the tablecloth.

I open my hand, revealing the lighter as I bring it up to the end of my cigar, lighting it up… before passing it to Ambrose.

We each take a deep puff, before pulling out the Cuban piece of goodness out of our mouth, as smoke slowly exits in wisps… and then proceed to exhale at the same time, producing a stream of smoke in front of our faces, obscuring our view in the process.

Ambrose coughs lightly, before proceeding to take another heavy puff, "Good stuff this is. Where did you get it?"

"I know a guy, who knows a guy, who's from Cuba. Long story short, I have a box full of these in my hotel room… or well, had a box full of 'em. I thought they would last the entire festival, and some more. But these are the last of them I'm afraid."

"A pity… haven't had one of these in a while now. My boy keeps a tight watch at the office, and my butler forbade me from bringing all of it home. Between the two of us… thanks Al. I really fuckin' needed this. Especially after tonight-"

"Oh! Tonight, what a night Ambrose! Wha- it's been one hell of a night buddy. Helluva night! Your kid, Ricky… a fuckin' trailblazer he is! The Golden fuckin' Lion?! And he's still a fuckin' teenager!"

He nods heavily, pride clearly visible in his eyes as he grins goofily, "My boy, oh my boy. He's gonna shake the world one day Al. You jus- you just wait and watch, I swear to god, the same god in whose face he has spit by the way… I swear to him, that one day, the world's gonna catch up, and realize what a freak of nature he really is. And then… he's gonna change the world Al, at least 'our' world, if not the whole of it. That would be a tall order for sure!"

I just throw my head back and laugh without a care in the world, smoke still leaving my mouth in bursts as my raucous laughter draws an eye or two.

… Who the fuck cares? I definitely don't. Never will in fact. So fuck 'em.

"Speaking of the kid Ambrose… when's he gonna get here?! We've been her for 10 minutes, while that Trent kid disappeared a while ago doing god know what-"

"He's by the washroom, making out with… someone. Trent I mean. It's just what he does. Ricky on the other hand? Probably taking his sweet little time in the limo, with his… uh. What would the Italians call it?"

"La Fidanzata?"

"Yes! Yeah, whatever the hell that is. As long it means girlfriend. He's still probably in the limo, having his own little party, before arriving fashionably late."

… Huh. Good for him, I guess.

But who in the hell would be crazy enough to shack up with him of all people?!

Oh hell, I gotta hold back on the tequila for now.

Gotta stay sober for when they arrive… I need to ask some questions to the lass, mostly along the lines of oh- I don't know… 'Are you fucking insane?!'... Yeah, that'll work.