Chapter 6: Newboy

London, UK. March 2001.

Shooting wrapped towards the end of Feb, 2001. Almost immediately after the wrap party, there was a single press conference scheduled for the three of us - Emma, Rupert, and I - to attend.

It was surreal. A massive hotel banquet hall was packed to the brim with cameras and reporters. The lights flashed brightly and incessantly.

It was a wonder none of us went deaf from the clamouring voices or fell into seizures from the shuttering lens flashes.

While they finished setting up the tables on the stage where we’d be sitting, photo ops were given to the herd of frothing paps. They tried to get us to pose at first. I was given a dining chair to sit in, while my two cute little costars awkwardly framed me.

My broken arm in my lap with Rupert awkwardly leaning on the chair of that side, Emma was made to put her hand on my other shoulder. I sat straight, like Cadbury’d been training me to do. I wagered my smile was stiffer than my spine. I’d hated that so much - it felt too stilted and fake.

So I frowned.

“Smile, Bas.” came the instruction from behind the wall of flashing lights.

“Dictators don’t smile for photos.” I called back out.

“You’re an actor, Bas. Not a dictator.” The flashing began dying down, but the scribbling seemed to be picking up pace.

“Really? Then why’ve I been posed like one?” I responded facetiously. “You’ve given me minions and everything!” Maybe it was just my imagination, but I swore I heard the distinctive smack of a palm meeting a forehead.

“Minion?” That was Grint whispering as he scratched the back of his head.

Emma, meanwhile, was shaking my shoulder and whining at me in embarrassment. “Baaas!”

It’s not that I hated the attention, but these two deserve as much of it as me. I wasn’t exactly their best friend, but I’d spent the better part of the year bonding with them. I had no intention of letting them be sidelined. So I got up and pulled the chair aside.

I squatted and bent slightly with my back facing Rupert in the universal sign of a piggyback ride. “Mate, really?” he asked.

“Minions should do as they’re told.” I taunted good naturedly.

“I’ll show you minion! And suddenly, I was carrying a ginger who was playfully trying to choke me out.

“What about me?” Emma pouted at me for leaving her out of the mischief.

“What do you mean? Now it’s your turn to carry me!” With Rupert still on mine, I faked jumping on hers by wrapping my arms around her collar and leaned our combined weight on her a bit.

“No!” Peals of laughter tore out from both my costars - having basically forgotten the crowd in front of us.

The cameras went crazy, and the photos came out much better, in my opinion. At the very least, the smiles were genuine.

Then the inane Hollywood interview began. ‘How’s it feel to be in a movie? Did you like the books? Were you excited to meet any celebrities?’ Ad nauseum. Well, at the end we were asked what we’d do with the money.

“Put it in the bank till I turn twenty-one.” Emma said.

I flashed my still in-cast arm, riddled with well wishes from cast and crew. “I’ve already spent it at the hospital.” I joked.

And Rupert dropped the line that remained famous for twenty years to come. “Well, speaking as a wizard, they’re paying us in muggle money, And I don’t understand it.”

----------------------------------------

My caravan had been repossessed.

At the conclusion of filming, my coachman on wheels had been swapped out for a room at the Ritz on Piccadilly. Not forever, mind you, just for the time being. Cadbury was, of course, living with me now.

Shooting for Chamber of Secrets was yet to be announced. Post-production was underway along with promotion and I’d not been informed of the next steps yet. I’d just been put on ice.

Cadbury and I had only been in the suite a day before we had an uninvited guest. JK Rowling turned up with several copies of the script and a stack of post-it notes. “I hope our resident fixer is ready to work, because they’ve bungled this script badly!”

Just great.

----------------------------------------

Korea Town LA, California. April 2001.

Now that my schedule was temporarily empty, I carried on with my formal education. My internet access to past-papers would get their chance to shine again soon. With my A-levels this time.

I’d taken the important subjects for the three minimum. Maths and economics were beyond useful. Drama for the free grade.

Furthermore, once my cast had been taken off sometime in April, I’d be allowed to return to gymnastics. On top of that, I’d also taken up Taekwondo. Not for any other reason than it was the most cinematic fighting style, and that it complimented my growing acrobatic skill.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

The future was looking bright, and my shins were looking bruised.

The question you might consider at this point would be, how was I managing to facilitate this eclectic range of activities in rural Wales?

Well, the answer was I wasn’t, in Wales I mean; I wasn’t even in the UK anymore.

On my last visit to Mrs Stephens, she had agreed to extend temporary guardianship to Cadbury after their meeting and reassurances from Anita, so that I could stay in LA. With the money, power, and influence of a major corporation, all things were possible - the access to food here was entirely worth it on its own. There was only so much lamb and potatoes one could stomach in a lifetime.

No matter how much I might have preferred it, however, I wasn’t left entirely to my own devices. WB arranged an apartment for me to live in. Probably a very common occurrence with the wealthy elite.

Not far from my new home, down one of the streets off Olympic Boulevard, there was a sign. A very special one. It had my face on it. There were other people on it too, but my face was fat, front, and center.

“Man, I can’t wait for November.” I stared at the movie poster for the upcoming movie with pride. Hands on hips and lips stretching to my ears.

“Your ego is showing.” Harsh, my dear au pair, but ultimately correct. Best not to get a big head before I’d even become famous.

Though being fair, I’m sure even now, some people would know who I was. Granted, those people were likely limited to young children and their mothers alone. But still!

“Tardiness is intolerable.” With that final push, Cadbury urged me to step away and step in line to reach our destination.

Gym Won. My taekwondo studio.

The chime on the door scarcely had a chance to jingle before a complaint was launched at me. “You late.”

Even Cadbury couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. My master, Oh Dae Su, would reprimand the ocean for being too salty. Already used to his demeanor after the scant few sessions we’d had so far, my nanny studiously ignored him and planted herself on the sofa in the waiting area.

I pointed at the clock hanging on the wall above us. Dae Su didn’t even bother turning his head, and kept his stare, much like his small beard, pointed. “I’m fifteen minutes early.”

He just shook his head, his wild hair dancing with the motion. His finger jabbed at the floor. “This not LA anymore. This is Korea.” He then jabbed at me. “You not fifteen minutes early, you seventeen hours late.” The last jab was tossed over his shoulder at the large rubber mats behind him. “Shoes off. Time to stretch.”

I bowed as soon as I stepped on to the mat and began going through my warm up and stretches. Oh Dae Su watched attentively, correcting me whenever I needed it.

It being mid-morning on a weekday, an hour where everyone else was either at work or school, I had the studio and, more importantly, the teacher all to myself. It would have been perfectly reasonable for him to charge me for the much more expensive one-on-one lessons, but my master was adamant that I just pay the affordable group price. According to him, it wasn’t my fault the rest of the group was invisible.

All warmed up, I hopped up on my feet, and faced Dae Su. He tucked the two striking paddles under his arm and approached me.

He gently held my wrist and turned it over while prodding this way and that. Satisfied with his examination, he nodded to himself and then with a raised eyebrow addressed me. “Pain?”

I shook my head in denial. “Nah. Only when I wake up in the morning.”

“Good. Then today we striking.” We both took our stances and began our routine.

“Hana!” He shouted one in Korean. I spread my feet, bent my knees, and brought my curled fists in front of my hips.

“Dul!” I stepped forward and punched out. My hand struck the paddle.

“Set!” I immediately lifted my other arm over my head, elbow bent. His second paddle swiftly swiped down. I blocked it.

“Net!” hooked my arm, twisted my waist, and hit the first paddle with my elbow.

“Hana!” Back to one. Rinse and repeat

I’d like to say the next hour passed quickly, but my burning muscles and drenched shirt would only prove me to be a liar.

A few drops of my sweat hit the mat as my teacher and I bowed at each other, signaling the end of the session.

“You are fast, but not strong.”

“I think that’s called being tired.” My sarcasm might have been thick, but his skull was thicker.

“When I was your age, I fight off fifty men with weapons in small corridor. You too weak.” without giving me a chance to challenge him on his b.s., he called out to Cadbury. “Iron lady, what do you feed him?”

“A nutritional, balanced diet.” Didn’t that just sound appetizing?

“Not good enough.” He tapped my shoulder, turned on his heel, and gestured for me to follow him. “Korean food make you strong. You eat with my family, iron lady, you also.”

“I must protest!”

“Come off it, Cadbury.” She stilled. “It’s bad manners to reject offered hospitality. You taught me that.” I teased my nanny.

Instead of arguing, and knowing I was right, Cadbury relented and took off her sensible shoes before the both of us trailed behind the taekwondo master. I looked at her socks. Argyle. How predictable.

A small living area with a dining room and an attached kitchen was located in the back of the studio. Stairs went up to the second floor, which is where I assumed the family lived.

“Yobo!” Dae Su called out. A head with bright blonde hair and sky-blue eyes popped out from the kitchen.

My teacher was clearly living the American dream. She couldn’t have looked more US of A if she was an apple pie wearing a cowboy hat.

She looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. He said nothing as he sat me down in what was presumably his seat and raised his hands with two fingers stretched out. There were only four sets of cutlery on the table.

“Thanks for having us!” I quickly jumped. Whatever she was cooking smelled divine, and I didn’t want to lose my chance to taste it.

Cadbury, ever decorous, offered her help. “We apologize for the intrusion. Is there anything I may assist you with?”

“Don’t be silly. You just make yourselves comfortable. Lunch will be out in a jiffy.” With a bright smile, she welcomed us both to the table and ducked back into the kitchen. “Kids! Dad’s got company, get two more sets.” She called up the stairs.

They had two adult children. I learnt they both also worked at the studio upon introductions. I would’ve loved to continue the conversation, but Dae Su quickly took command as soon as the food was brought out. “Translate.” He told his son. “Sundubu jjigae” soft tofu stew, his son clarified. “Dak gang jeong” fried chicken, “and main dish white rice”

“At least tell them our names before the food!” His wife reprimanded.

“Jae Sok,” the older son ‘Jay.’, “Jin-Hee,” the younger daughter ‘Jenny.’, “and main dish, white wife.”

He laughed like it was the greatest joke ever told. I studied his scandalized wife, who whacked him hard repeatedly on his shoulder. I saw embarrassment and something else a little more…. I glanced at the kids then who noticed the same expression on their mom’s face. Cadbury just took it in stride.

Maybe it was telepathy, maybe it was coincidence. Whatever it was, the three of us simultaneously avoided all eye contact, focused on our over-laden plates, and stuffed the first piece of food into our mouths.

I avoided the rice.