On Maui, it was as if time did not exist.
Harry lay back on the lounger, sunglasses tilted just enough to keep the glare off his eyes, the ocean stretching endlessly in front of him. The warm sand and the steady, consistent breeze caused him to feel calm and tranquil and as if for a brief period of time, the world forgot about him.
He had often thought how much Sparky would have enjoyed being here with him watching the kids play around the surf. Unfortunately, Sparky was not able to come, and Harry knew that back home Sparky was probably driving Maria crazy and was reminding Lisa of everything she didn't want to have a dog for.
Anne was also not here.
She was somewhere in L.A. bouncing between studios, and he could imagine that her phone was going off every few minutes with offers to audition for Disney to play a role in "The Princess Diaries."
Ironically, a few months prior to this moment, she was just glad to get noticed by any director. Now, however, casting directors were calling her for auditions, and he could only imagine the ripple effect or "butterfly effect" that was taking place with her life and career. He smiled to himself and turned to face the warmth of the sun.
Greg, on the other hand, was definitely not in a cheerful mood.
Harry glanced at his watch, frowned, and then shrugged. Time zones? They were more like loose guidelines. He picked up his phone and dialed.
After a few rings, the call finally connected.
"What is it," Greg answered, his tone flat.
Harry winced. "Good morning to you too."
There was a brief pause. "Do you have any idea what time it is here?"
Harry squinted up at the sky. "Early morning?"
"It's not early," Greg replied. "It's downright rude."
Harry chuckled. "You sound like you've been up all night."
"That's because I have."
"Well," Harry said with a light tone, "I'm offended on behalf of sleep everywhere."
On the other end, there was a heavy silence, thick with irritation.
"If you called me in the middle of the night just to tease me," Greg said slowly, "I will hang up and pretend this conversation never took place."
Harry straightened up a bit. "Alright, alright. My mistake. I totally forgot about the time difference."
"You always forget."
"But," Harry pressed on, "you still haven't caught any sleep. That means you're spiraling."
That did it.
Greg let out a sharp breath, and then the words tumbled out in a rush. "Do you have any idea what it's like to juggle three productions at the same time? I'm prepping for No Country, handling post-release accounting for Gambit, dealing with all of Fox's Oscar drama, contracts, schedules, meetings that could have just been emails—"
Harry listened, now more quiet.
"Everyone thinks being a producer is just about sitting behind a desk and saying yes or no," Greg continued. "It's about solving problems at three in the morning, calming down actors, convincing agents that delays aren't the end of the world, and it's a job that never really turns off. And you—" He caught himself. "You're just on a beach."
Harry let the silence linger after that. The sound of the waves filled the space between them.
"I'm listening," he finally said.
Greg sighed, feeling the tension slowly ease out of him. "Sorry. That wasn't fair."
"No," Harry replied calmly. "It was spot on."
Another pause hung in the air.
"I can make your life easier," Harry offered.
Greg's interest piqued immediately. "How?"
Harry smiled to himself, savoring the moment as he waited a beat, then another.
"We get another producer."
Silence hung in the air.
Greg took his time before responding.
"You're the owner," he finally said. "It's your decision."
Harry frowned at that familiar neutrality. "That's not really an answer."
"It's the only one I can give you right now."
Harry rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "I met a guy in London last year. Peter Safran. He's a producer—sharp, ambitious, and knows how to juggle creativity with logistics."
Greg mulled that over. Bringing in another producer could mean less chaos and more delegation. Maybe even—he hesitated to think it—some time off.
But it also meant sharing the profits.
"Tough choice," Greg admitted. "Less work, but also less money."
"You'll manage," Harry replied dryly.
Greg let out a breath. "I need to think it over."
Harry nodded, even though Greg couldn't see him. "Fair enough."
Then a thought struck Harry. "Oh, by the way. Chris called me."
That piqued Greg's interest right away. "Nolan?"
"Yeah. He says he's finally ready with his new script."
Greg sat up, wherever he was. "Did you read it?"
"No."
"You didn't—Harry, come on."
Harry flashed a grin which Greg could see through the phone. "It's Chris."
"That's not really a solid argument."
"It is for me. He's sending it to the office. I want you to offer to produce."
Greg rubbed his face, feeling the weight of the conversation. "Shouldn't we at least read the script first?"
Harry shook his head, unwavering. "I trust his scripts."
"That trust cost us sleep last time."
"And it also made us money."
Greg fell silent for a moment, contemplating. "Alright. If you want another producer, that's your call. If you want to offer it to Nolan, we'll do it the right way."
His tone remained neutral, but maybe a bit too neutral.
Harry groaned in frustration. "You're really testing me. At least argue back!"
"I'm just too tired," Greg admitted, his honesty cutting through the air.
Harry chuckled. "Okay, I'll think about Safran."
"And what about the director situation?" Greg chimed in. "Cormac isn't exactly thrilled."
Harry sighed, feeling the pressure. "I know. He wanted me to direct."
"And you turned him down."
"I did."
"Why?"
Harry leaned back, gazing at the sky. "Because I don't want to fall into a predictable pattern. And that story deserves a fresh perspective."
"Who?"
Harry smiled. "Ever heard of the Coen brothers?"
-----
Harry hung up the phone and set it down, sinking back into his chair. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, while the ocean remained unchanged, completely indifferent to film deals and the sleepless nights of producers.
December had felt like a battlefield.
As expected, Lord of the Rings had taken the world by storm. Tom Cruise had done his usual thing. Blind Man's Gambit was still hanging on in a few stubborn theaters, refusing to fade away completely. Fox, pleased with the box office numbers, decided to push it for awards anyway. The critical acclaim gave them the perfect excuse.
Harry didn't put up a fight, afterall who didn't want to allure of shine?
He stretched out, closed his eyes, and let the warmth of the sun wash over him.
For once, everything felt… just fine.