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This work is protected by SACD
(Société des Auteurs et Compositeurs Dramatiques)
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Andy Warhol said in the 1960s that in the future, everyone would be famous for 15 minutes.
He was right about one thing.
… As for the fifteen minutes, it turned out he had greatly overestimated our attention span.
Episode 2 // Fortune & glory
The world, through the eyes of Tom Cruise, could be divided into two categories of individuals: those whose phones were protected by a case… and the rest. He had developed an entire theory on this matter, convinced that this tiny detail could reveal volumes about people – their perspective on life, and most importantly, their level of reliability, or to use the term he so favored in its original form – trustworthiness.
Editor’s note (click to read) :
Untranslatable pun in English. During that all passage, Syd Vesper employs a double entendre here: in French, « phone cover » (or case) is called « coque de téléphone, » and the word « coque » sounds exactly the same as « cock » (penis) in English.
During those never-ending Hollywood cocktail parties, when he occasionally—albeit too rarely for his liking—spotted one of the guests holding a phone snugly encased in a thick, preferably black, case, his heart would fill with indescribable joy—a feeling he couldn’t quite explain. And he would then regain some faith in humanity, never failing to think:
« Here’s someone who owns a yacht, several luxury cars, a villa on Mulholland, spots for their kids in the best private schools in Calabasas, and yet, they take the trouble to protect an object as trivial and cheap as an iPhone Pro ».
So, he had secretly made it his creed to only do business with people who possessed one thing: a phone case. And for that reason, when producers, actors, or directors came by for a new project, even if the interview had gone well, he always ended up, at the moment of making his decision, casting a discreet glance at their phones. And that’s when he solidified his final choice.
Tom Cruise was a reliable guy, serious in business. Trustworthiness. How could it be any different? He had a phone case.
At least, that’s what he hoped people thought of him.
He had woken up that morning with what had initially seemed like a simple headache. He had been driven to the Chateau Marmont hotel where his staff, along with a battalion of journalists, awaited him for a day of interviews on the occasion of the release of Jack Reacher 3.
He was led into Suite No. 10, where two cameras were already in place—one for wide shots, one for close-ups. He took a seat in the chair and checked the framing and lighting after asking the technical team to orient the video feed towards him:
— It looks good, guys. Just like that… Nice job.
He gave a thumbs-up to one of his publicists, and a moment later, the first journalist entered. Each had fifteen minutes to ask their questions.
Tom Cruise wore a broad smile, but internally, he cursed. Dozens of media outlets would parade through during this marathon day. And that damn headache continued to throb in his head.
He answered the first few questions without even thinking, on autopilot, reciting almost verbatim—but always with his impeccable smile and diction—the press kit his assistants had prepared the previous day.
After about five minutes, unable to stand it any longer, he asked for a painkiller. They brought it to him, along with a 33cl bottle of Evian and a glass:
— Thank you very much… excuse me, — he said to Rob Jones, the journalist from The New York Times.
— No problem. Are you feeling okay, Tom?
— Excellent! … and don’t worry; the two-minute interruption won’t be counted against your time.
— That’s very generous of you.
He unscrewed the cap of the bottle:
— Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s always a pleasure to see you. How’s your wife? Is she still working at The Washington Post?
— Exact, — replied the journalist without hiding his surprise.
Tom Cruise swallowed the pill in one gulp and shook his head like a cartoon character:
— Feeling better… Can we continue, Rob?
— Jack Reacher: Shutdown is the third installment of the series, Tom. In recent years, we’ve seen you take on multiple franchises—Mission Impossible with its 8 films, The Mummy with its new installment, and the upcoming third part of Top Gun. Would you say you’ve become a franchise actor?
— I like the idea of returning to the audience from one film to the next to extend their experience. These franchises are a source of pride because they are among the last entertainment works that bring people of all ages, backgrounds, and social levels together at a time when audiences are increasingly deserting theaters and losing interest in movies in general. It’s on social media now that the stars of tomorrow emerge.
— It seems like in recent years, you’ve started to step back from your career, your own legend. I’m thinking particularly of Top Gun: Maverick, which talks about passing the torch to a new generation. Are you thinking about passing the torch, Tom?
— Not yet, but I’m considering it, (laughs) What’s certain is, as long as I have the energy to make these kinds of films, I’ll do them. I’m having way too much fun to stop.
— Looking back, which film are you most proud of?
— I’m proud of all the films I’ve done, I think they’re all good in their own way and in their context. Of course, I can’t put Eyes Wide Shut and… let’s say Cocktail, on the same level. On one hand, you have a work of art directed by a master, Stanley Kubrick. On the other, you have pure entertainment that today makes you smile. But Cocktail was a perfect film in the context of its time. Similarly, we didn’t have the same ambition when making… let’s say Indiana Jones, as when making, uh…
— In… Indiana Jones?
Tom Cruise gave him a dazzling smile:
— I’m sure you’ve seen them all, Rob.
— I… yes… uh… yes, of course, but…
— Isn’t it incredible what technology allows us to do? In the latest installment, I was able to play several versions of my character at different ages of his life. All thanks to computers! I find it mind-boggling. Imagine the boundaries it pushes: your grandchildren will see me in new films I didn’t shoot during my lifetime, Rob… long after I’m dead! All these new characters I’ll portray, all these new lives I… He paused, shook his head, then laughed: It’s almost giving me a headache, my friend!
The bewildered journalist watched the actor over his glasses and turned to the star’s staff, who exchanged equally bewildered glances.
Tom Cruise took another sip of Evian, this time from the bottle, spilling some on his pants, cursing, and asking to tighten the frame a bit while the stain dried:
— …To answer your question, Rob, you asked me which film I’m most proud of… I’m going to be honest: with hindsight, it could well be this one… no, actually, I’m sure of it.
— I… uh… I’m sorry, but which film are you talking about?
Tom Cruise burst into long laughter that echoed in the hotel room:
— Rob? Are you with me? Are you listening to me? I’ve been talking about Indiana Jones all this time…
Panic overcame the journalist. He searched through his notes:
— I… Tom… I’m sorry, but I have to confess something… I had no idea that you acted in Indiana Jones… In fact, I didn’t even know you had any connection to that film.
The actor’s smile froze on his lips. He furrowed his brows but didn’t completely lose his amused expression:
— What are you telling me, Rob? I thought you’d seen my films… and come on, everyone knows Indiana Jones, right? The guy with the whip, the hat? You know? The adventurous archaeologist? Doesn’t that ring a bell? It was me, my friend.
— I… um… but…
The actor turned to one of his assistants:
— Kathryn, can you bring me my phone? The one with the thick black case… Let’s show the film journalist who Indiana Jones is. Seriously, Rob, you’re killing me on this one…
But at the other end of the room, the actor was met with only silent looks of astonishment. The assistant emerged from the shadows and stepped into the spotlight, asking the technician to cut the camera:
— Tom, are you sure you’re okay? She whispered, placing a hand on the star’s shoulder.
— Meh, still got a headache… but what’s wrong? Why are you stopping the shoot? Listen, Kathryn… no harm done, okay? Rob messed up, but that can happen to anyone… a little memory lapse… we’ll redo the take… well, the question… like nothing happened.
— No, Tom, it’s you… I don’t understand anything about what you’re saying about Indiana Jones. Is this some kind of social media joke? Because I don’t remember us discussing anything like that in our meeting last night.
Tom Cruise shook his head, waving his arms:
— But I’m just answering the question, Kathryn! Exasperation was starting to creep into his voice. He asked me what film I’m most proud of…
— Okay, but… uh… Indiana Jones, Tom? What does that have to do with anything? You weren’t even in that damn crappy movie!
The actor recoiled as if struck by a devastating blow. He widened his smile, using it like a shield:
— Seriously? He jumped up, waving his hands and scanning the room. Seriously?! Someone had turned on the lights. Their pale, glaring, aggressive brightness revealed the foundation makeup lines on the actor’s face. He was sweating profusely. Each drop had pierced the triple thread of his Ermenegildo Zegna shirt. It clung to his chest like a second skin. Seriously, all of you? Oh… okay, you’re trying to pull an April Fool’s prank on me, right? Or is this one of those silly TikTok things?
— But Tom, you…
— Well, you’re starting to annoy me, okay? I don’t find it funny anymore… There’s a line, alright? And you’re all crossing it, every one of you!
The door to the room had been opened in the meantime, and several people rushed in. Voices echoed:
— Is there a doctor around?
— Call 911, we have a problem, quickly!
The assistant had already brandished her phone, which, the star noticed, was devoid of a protective case. In the panic, it slipped from her hand, and the screen shattered on the floor.
Tom Cruise groaned, running his hand over his shiny, scarlet forehead:
— Good Lord, Kathryn, look what you did to your phon…
— It’s nothing, Tom… chill!
But the headache was only getting worse. She took off his jacket and tried to get him to sit down:
— Breathe, okay?
— Indiana Jones, my best film… In 2023, during the Oscars luncheon, Spielberg told me I did it; I saved Hollywood… me! You can check! The video is online!
— I… uh, said the journalist, it seems like it was for the post-COVID theatrical release of Top Gun: Maverick, Tom.
The actor parted his lips, revealing the abyss of his throat, a terrifying depth, and burst into laughter, spraying drops of sweat around him:
— Shit, of course not… it was…
A silence fell. Everyone had pulled out their phones and was watching him like a strange little animal:
— What? the assistant asked. What, Tom? What are you talking about?
The actor noticed that none of them had a case:
— Fortune and glory, he said before collapsing in the middle of the room. His incisors shattered upon impact. His phone, on the other hand, bounced merrily, then slid under the carpet, protected by its thick, sturdy case.
*
USA Today / Disappearance of Tom Cruise
11:45 AM:
A piece of cinema history collapses today. The New York Times is reporting at this moment the death of Tom Cruise.
According to their film journalist, Rob Jones, the actor collapsed approximately 30 minutes ago in a suite at the Chateau Marmont hotel, where he was staying for a promotional day ahead of the release of the 3rd installment of the Jack Reacher saga.
Currently, we have no information on the exact cause of death, but according to Rob Jones, the star complained of « sharp headaches » upon arrival. He was given a painkiller, after which, during the interview, he started to utter incoherent statements before collapsing in front of his staff and the journalist. Despite the presence of a doctor on-site and the swift arrival of emergency services, the actor could not be revived and was pronounced dead at around 10:32 AM.
With this new and strange death, it is difficult not to mention the sudden passing of singer Rihanna, which occurred yesterday.
Stay tuned; we will keep you informed minute by minute of the progress of the investigation.
12:00 PM:
We have just learned from our colleague Rob Jones, film critic for The New York Times, who was present at the scene when the incident occurred, that Tom Cruise had suffered a « crisis of dementia » a few minutes before collapsing, claiming that Indiana Jones was the film he was most proud of as an actor.
Stay tuned; we will keep you updated in case of any possible reaction from Harrison Ford.
*
— No, baby, listen to me, Pauline pants as she navigates her way through Orly Airport’s Terminal 2. I’m not saying Talk That Talk was her most commercial album! I’m just pointing out that it has her biggest hit, We Found Love. That’s all I’m saying, okay?
— Well, we can agree on that, baby… Besides, strictly speaking, Good Girl Gone Bad is the one that sold the most!
The young woman sighs, pulling her suitcase, gasping for air, taking a break, wiping her forehead, thinking she did well not to wear makeup, stressing because her phone is almost out of battery.
— The fact that it’s the best-selling one doesn’t necessarily make it the most commercial! (She wonders if 2% will be enough for a story) But I see what you mean… I think… And besides… you can’t compare the numbers of an album released in 2008, before the explosion of streaming platforms…
The argument had started in the taxi. Pauline was tense because they were running late. The flight to Santorini was scheduled for 2 PM. It was noon. And the boarding for regular passengers would begin at 1. They had first-class tickets, and Pauline wanted to take advantage of the fast track. Subtitle: skipping ahead of everyone else. So, they needed to be early. It would make a wonderful story for her followers.
The Tesla had started, and Pauline had made a passive-aggressive joke to the driver: « I hope you’ve filled up… We’re not early ».
— Chill, baby, boarding closes at 2 PM, Victor had pointed out.
— … the battery, of course! (But the driver, named Isham, didn’t seem to catch the joke either).
… And boarding doesn’t close at 2 PM, by the way! The plane takes off at 2!
He shrugged, which only raised his annoyance a notch higher. Pauline believed that Victor always played the good role in their relationship, in life as on social media; the cool and carefree guy, capable of arriving at the airport without even knowing their terminal number until the last minute. Their followers adored him. Pauline was aware of that. It had only taken her a few months to establish herself, even after Kevin, her previous boyfriend, who was so popular.
Kevin had more followers than her, and when he had left her, Pauline had feared sinking into anonymity on social media. Then she had met – or rather, her agent, Mégane Chookagian, had introduced her to Victor at a partner brand’s launch party.
Victor had fewer followers, he was younger, but according to Mégane, he was on the rise. And Pauline had let herself be tempted, thinking it would be a new adventure; to start over; to try her luck with someone fresh in the business. She was dangerously close to twenty-five and sometimes wondered if life still had a lot to offer her. If her vacation in Crete last year with Kevin hadn’t been the pinnacle of her existence. What wonderful stories they had created there, what beautiful experiences they had lived. Arranged couples were common in the world of influencers. It was all about algorithms. And Victor’s smile was adorable. And he had a nice… you know. And Pauline contemplated learning from him; stealing some of his carefree attitude. That’s what functional couples did, right? They learned from each other.
Towards Porte d’Orléans, amid the honking of horns, after a few minutes of battling through traffic to gain the right to enter the A6, Rihanna’s latest mega-hit, Nine, started playing on the car radio. Pauline, suddenly inspired, raised her phone and asked the driver to turn up the volume – which he did with conspicuous reluctance. Thunderous bass pounded through the cabin:
« I already have nine of them in my pocket / Bitch, who’d ya think I’m talkin’ to? »
And Victor leaped in his seat to join her – as the young woman had anticipated – pointing his phone at them as they chanted, shoulder to shoulder and cheek to cheek:
« Better wear a gun with ya’ helmet! / Cuz’ fuck I’m going through! »
In the little movie playing in their heads, where they were the stars, the car dramatically swayed from side to side, zigzagging among the four lanes, weaving through other vehicles; mere followers, extras, mesmerized, suffused with envious and abrasive admiration – all to the beat of a universal song that was theirs alone. And they must have thought that Riri was watching them from above, her mischievous smile gracing her impeccable lips. Down here, the driver threw glances at them in the rearview mirror.
With the chorus and story completed, Pauline asked for the volume to be lowered as she wrote the caption for her story: « Heading to Santorini! » all in a rather ordinary font (but above all: sans-serif).
Victor seemed disappointed, ready to continue with the rest of the song:
— It’s such a shame that she’s gone…
— Don’t bring that up, baby…
— …But you know, I think she left us with her best tunes…
And that was the prelude to their bickering, which was to occupy them for the rest of the journey to the airport.
They reach gate C18 at 11:59 AM, one minute before the start of normal boarding, Pauline notes with satisfaction. Most of the passengers are already standing, forming a compact line leading to the boarding counter. Her phone has only 1% battery left. The young woman doesn’t know what to do, but she grabs it, thinking she has nothing to lose anyway. Too many options, narrative branches for the main role she embodies. Should she play the chic couple rushing into First Class at the last moment? Or at the other end of the spectrum: breathless like dynamic backpackers, trying to be cool – but silver. She thinks they are a bit of both in the end. She would love it that way, at least. She asks Victor, who doesn’t seem to grasp the stakes of her question. For once, she decides to align her attitude with his. Relaxed, she watches him hand over his passport and electronic ticket to the stewardess. Pauline observes, without surprise, that despite the dim light of the terminal, Victor’s smile looks great on the iPhone.
The front seats of the plane are already occupied by elderly people; forty-year-olds knitting in their carry-on luggage, hoping to find their precious AirPods. On the window side, their offspring cavort. Up front, the flight attendants are breaking a sweat.
All these families arrived on time for First Class opening.
« What doesn’t make sense when you think about it, Pauline whispers to Victor, handing him her suitcase to stow in the overhead bin. The whole point of traveling First Class is not having to adhere to a strict schedule. »
— You did look a bit stressed in the taxi, though, he remarks, taking his seat.
— That’s not the same thing. I wanted to be on time for the story.
— Save your stories for Santorini.
— Amateur, she murmurs, giving him a kiss.
They watch the other passengers come and go, then the flight attendant gives them the safety instructions.
—An emergency exit? At 9,000 meters altitude? Victor chuckles when she points out two exits a little further down.
— Stop with that, Pauline snaps, that’s such a boomer comment! You sound like my dad… Do you think the captain will say something about Riri’s passing?
— I doubt it, baby, it’s been two days already.
— True… Pauline’s gaze drifts out the window to the tarmac. It’s sad. She gets lost in the distance, finding a certain form of comfort there. In that emptiness. A refuge. A place of her own.
Victor hears her sigh: People forget so quickly what we used to be…
— Fasten your seatbelt, baby, we’re taking off.
Their hotel is in the town of Oia, at the northern tip of Santorini. One of the most expensive on the island. One of the best located as well. Many celebrities. Plenty of influencers, too.
— …No, baby, it’s not that I find Anti overrated, but for me, it’s clear that it took Robyn to bring back that pop simplicity, like in Loud, for example.
— Huh? But Robyn is an incredibly complex album, baby!
The bellman opens the doors to their suite.
Welcome, Madam, Sir, he recites in more than acceptable French.
Victor doesn’t bother to unpack and heads straight for the terrace. The private pool is there, almost as beautiful as in the booking photos. A photogenic panorama reveals the west coast of the island, the sea, and of course, the volcano, just as advertised.
—Amazing! Pauline is furious. She resents him for not waiting, for darting off like an eager puppy. She would have loved to capture the moment in a story.
— But we can still do the story! Victor reassures her.
— It won’t be as spontaneous, baby…
— Come on, let’s do it again… He signals to the bellboy. Close the door. I’ll pretend! I’ll act.
— It’s not about acting, Vic! It’s about being professional…
I hope you enjoy your stay at our hotel, the bellman recites, still standing in the doorway.
— …Tell me, Pauline blurts out, that thing you said earlier about her dress at the Superbowl, was that a joke?
— No, I think it paved the way for pregnant women in fashion. She showed that there’s a path in that direction too.
— If you say so… Pauline replies, handing the bellman a tip to dismiss him.
— Hey, guess who I saw in the lobby when we arrived?
— …Simon Porte Jacquemus.
— Hm… um… yes, but who else?
— I also spotted Agathe Rousselle, Amir, Marie-Ange Casta, Clou, um, and also…
— …Stop kidding, baby, I’m talking about someone really famous… let me give you a little hint: model, actress, feminist…?
Pauline rolls her eyes:
— …Emily Ratajkowski, I know… don’t make a big deal out of it, baby.
— You saw her too?!
— Yes, Pauline says (pretending not to notice her before). You should do the same; be discreet, Emily has a lot of followers.
— Imagine if she recognizes us and wants to do a story with us.
— That’s exactly what I’m telling you…
The next hour is spent organizing, arranging, distributing her dresses, hats, shoes, and trinkets, arranging her products in the bathroom (with meticulous care), arranging the room to her liking, moving the furniture to her liking, and changing the curtains (which should have been done before their arrival). An hour later, things start to take shape. The lavender-colored linen curtains float in the room, gently ruffled by the sea breeze. Victor has already slipped into the pool, which annoys Pauline; he’s naked as a worm, his thick tail waving heavily under the surface. He didn’t even bother to unpack his suitcase. She wanted him to wait; for everything to be finished; arranged as best as possible. When she finally joins him, she comes face to face with two mojitos on the tiles. She slips into the warm water and asks while clinking glasses:
— When did you find the time to do all this, baby?
Victor sucks on his straw, savors the drink, swallows, furrows his brow.
— This? I ordered them at the hotel bar.
She smiles. Pauline is a bit disappointed, but the cocktail is excellent. The lemon isn’t too strong; the rum isn’t too present, and the mint leaves aren’t too crushed at the bottom of the glass.
— This place is incredible, the young woman exclaims, admiring the view. The blue of the sea and that toothless crescent described by the narrow strips of land.
— Yeah, I read that all of this used to be part of the same island, Victor says, pointing to the rest of the archipelago. There was a massive volcano in the center that erupted. It killed everyone around and then caused a tsunami that went on to destroy Crete… You know Crete isn’t far, babe?
— Yes… yes, the young woman pauses, casting a glance at Victor, who is toying with his ice cubes. I went there two years ago… with my ex.
— … the damage was so crazy that it practically ended the civilization that lived in this part of the Mediterranean at the time. It was like millennia ago, babe!
— That old? Pauline sighs, taking off her bra to expose her chest to the sun.
— Yeah, it was before Jesus and everything… But it seems the volcano is still active.
— Still active?!
— I’m not sure… I didn’t finish reading the Wikipedia article… it was when we were landing…
She stretches her leg, playing with Victor’s testicles in the water. Very quickly, he becomes as hard as a rock.
— Thanks for unlocking a new fear for me, baby…
— You’re welcome, babe, he says, splashing her.
The next fifteen minutes are devoted to making love.
Pauline and Victor go down for dinner around 9:30 PM. Small tables have been set up on the terrace, covered by a pergola, with huge white curtains drawn to shield them from the evening breeze. At this hour, the last rays of sunlight slip to the west, the hills turn crimson, and the sea takes on a deep blue hue. Pauline went to wash her hands. When she returns, Victor has already struck up a conversation with the neighboring table, who are also influencers. She cautiously integrates herself, still unsure of who she’s dealing with, like a wary creature.
Aline is an entrepreneur and digital nomad living in La Motte-Piquet. Paul works in digital marketing, somewhere near Rambuteau – Pauline didn’t quite catch where because Victor laughed at one of Aline’s jokes at that moment. They push their tables closer together, and at some point during the meal, Pauline takes advantage of a pretended phone call to check their profiles and realizes they have fewer followers than she does. Reassured, she returns to the table, where the small group is laughing at one of Victor’s jokes about the mean face of the fish served to Paul.
— Are you going to visit the mountain too? Aline asks to bring her back into the conversation.
— It’s a volcano, Pauline corrects.
— A crater, Victor corrects her.
— Actually, a caldera, Paul explains.
There’s a brief silence.
— Caldera… Caldera… We had a cocktail called that in the spring… where was it? Pauline turns to Victor.
— In Madeira.
Aline nods with interest, adding that they were in Ibiza themselves, but they plan to visit Madeira next year. Her sister lives in Lisbon, and according to her, the quality of life there is fabulous. Pauline says it sounds great and mentions that she has a friend who works in Bali.
But I have to say she loves diving.
Aline smiles, rubbing her nose, and Paul takes the opportunity to ask Victor what he thought of Robyn, Rihanna’s last album.
— It was dark.
— I think, unlike Anti, she managed to see all her production ideas through. It’s one of the most coherent collections of songs even though it’s a double album… and I’m not sure Pink Floyd was able to do the same with, uh, Dark Side of the Moon, which had a lot of flashes of genius but also some filler tracks. Honestly, I think only The Beatles White Album could match it.
— Did you happen to see Emily? Aline asks Pauline casually.
— Emily… Emily… She pretends to think, then exclaims, Oh! Emrata… yeah, it seems she’s here! Victor met her in the lobby.
— I saw her, he says, ordering another bottle of rosé. Anyone want more rosé?
— Thanks, Paul and Aline respond in unison.
— She’s supposed to be nice!
— Oh, she’s a sweetheart, Pauline assures.
There’s a brief silence.
— Do you… know her?
Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re having a pleasant evening, the waiter slips in, changing the ice bucket with a new bottle.
— And you, what’s your favorite song from the album?
— We won’t be very original, but it’s Nine! the couple exclaims, exchanging a knowing look.
Victor and Pauline exchange a knowing look too, clearly pleased with this response.
— We sang it all the way to the airport in the taxi! Pauline exclaims. But we also love Sunken!… I love the chorus! She turns to Victor, waiting for his answer, but he suddenly grabs his phone with a bewildered look.
They suddenly realize that the terrace has fallen silent. The other customers are glued to their screens.
— What’s going on? Pauline asks.
Victor finishes his drink, a pool of melted ice.
— Beyoncé just died.
— What?!
— And wait, it’s not over… apparently, Ariana Grande, The Rock, Elon Musk, Cristiano Ronaldo, Taylor Swift, Jeff Bezos, Messi, and the list goes on.
— Were they, uh, like on the same plane? Paul asks.
Victor shakes his head.
— No, uh, no. They were all, uh, in different places… well, in different locations, you know…
A light, icy breeze creeps in between the tables, smelling of salt and death. The immense curtains flutter, swell, come to life, and inflate like the sails of a departing ship.
— Does it say if this will cause a delay in Amazon deliveries? Pauline’s question pierces the silence. Anxiety is palpable in her voice. Everyone looks up at her.
— I mean… (she swallows) well, in relation to Jeff Bezos.
—- END OF EPISODE 2 —-
Syd Vesper 
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