Page 13 of For You, Sir

“I live alone, too,” I laughed. “I’m sure you’re way more ‘worth it’ than I am.” He looked uncomfortable again. I must’ve said something wrong. “I’ve got simple tastes,” I added, “and the soup and sandwiches you make are so good, you could open a restaurant.”

His alluring Mona Lisa smile returned.

“How about spaghetti,” I suggested, “with meat sauce?”

Jun’s face brightened. “Certainly, Sir. Would you like a wine to pair with it?”

“Whoa. You’re a sommelier, too?”

He shook his head. “Not certified. But I’ve been trained on wine selections and pairings.”

“Did you go to, like, a butler school?” I chuckled.

“Yes.”

Oh. Who knew there was such a thing?“Well, yeah. Surprise me. I like wine, but I never know what to get.”

“Does Sir prefer red or white?”

“Red. Anything but the driest of the dry.”

“Certainly, Sir. Leave it to me.”

Am I an asshole if I admit I love the way he calls me “Sir” all the time?

We shared a moment of congenial silence, eating together, while I considered what a lucky bastard I was to have him.Sorry, studio. Your money is wasted on trying to get me back to work, but I’m enjoying every minute of Jun’s attempt.

“How did you first become a butler, anyway?” I took a sip of my beer to hide how interested I was in the answer.

“I like the work,” Jun said. “It’s important.”

I’d intended the question more literally:How does one get a job as a butler?But if Jun wanted to explain his psychological motives, all the better.

“Some people may think service work is menial,” he said, “but I find it rewarding. Most jobs… it’s hard to see the value of what you’ve contributed to society. But I love seeing the difference it makes. Helping a client get organized or relieving them of stress—it’s meaningful.”

Man, Jun was a rare breed, especially in Hollywood. He was so damn nurturing, it made me wish he was my househusband.

“You said it.” I nodded. “Peoples’ lives are what matter. I’ve always been interested in stories about everyday people tackling big problems.”

“I’m aware, Sir. I watchedCorrupted Crownthe other day.” A little color rose to his cheeks.

I stopped chewing. It was the first time Jun acknowledged I made films for a living. And he’d mentionedthatmovie out of all of them—the one with the infamous sex scene that critics called“gratuitous”and“self-indulgent.”I suddenly felt overexposed. Did he like the movie? Understand it? Would I seem like a needy artist if I asked what he thought?

“I enjoyed it,” Jun said. “It made me think.”

“Uhh, I’m glad.”

“It made me think”was a phrase that could be a backhanded compliment, like describing a piece of art as “interesting,”but I would take him at his word. Even if Jun thoughtCorrupted Crownwas a mixed bag, that was fine. I knew some of my directorial choices would alienate viewers while I was still shooting the damn thing.

“Do you plan to write a sequel, Sir?”

I furrowed my brow. Was he screwing with me? “Do you mean toCorrupted Crown? OrThe Fringe?”The Fringewas the one most people had seen. The one with the notorious would-be sequel.

Jun shrugged innocently. “Either.” He bit off a corner of his panini.

I tightened my lips and took a swig of beer. It went down bitter, like my mood.The Fringehad been my salvation and my damnation, yanking me from comfortable obscurity into the searing limelight. The film that broke me.

“I already wrote a sequel toFringe,” I said.Tried to, anyway.“Didn’t you know?”

---