CRISP-19 (english version)

Episode 2 : Fortune & glory

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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?