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Sammy Lawrence was already regretting showing up to this stupid party. His head had been aching for what seemed like the whole day and his idea of a celebration was always more of a quiet night at his house with one or two close friends, not whatever this had morphed into.
“This” was what he was calling the wild celebrations running rampant at the hotel Joey had rented out; a way to raise morale for the exhausted workers of Joey Drew Studios after a particularly grueling few months of churning out cartoons. It was meant to have snacks and a few drinks at best, just a little warmup for a series of speeches the higher ranking members would give to their underlings. Then it had upgraded into a dance, his own music department bringing both money for the hotel’s jukeboxes and personal instruments while the animation department hung white sheets up on laundry lines to project the finished products.
“We’re paying for all this space,” was a common phrase tossed around in the days leading up to the party, “might as well get to show off!”
Show off indeed, as the dance underwent its final metamorphosis into Joey Drew Studio’s Grand Quinquennial Gala within a few hours. Plenty of people who weren’t affiliated had shown up to the gates of the borrowed hotel and didn’t seem to be taking no for an answer, joining in the festivities as if the spirit of the Dancing Devil had overtaken their common sense. It seemed that everyone was a little crazy for Bendy regardless if they worked in the studio or not, and the recent success of Sent From Above was proving anything it was that the fervor was only growing.
As sunset swallowed the venue, the party showed no signs of stopping and when Jack Fain road a horse into the pool Sammy decided that enough was enough for him and went to leave only to be stopped by a very insistent Joey Drew who somehow managed to convince him to stay “just a little bit longer”. So, here he was, desperately needing a cigarette yet unable to find one looking down from the second floor balcony at the mess below. The only sound that rises above the chatter is a low voice, slightly weary. “You mind if I come over?”
Sammy relaxed; it was only Henry. Anyone else and he might have shooed them off of the balcony. “Not at all. Too loud for you down there?”
“Mhm. So much for a small celebration.” Henry walks over to him, leaning forwards a bit on the marble bannister.
“You can say that again. Someone from marketing must’ve come up with the name. Quinquennial. Joey wouldn’t know what that word meant if it whacked him upside the head.” Sammy said, sticking his hands in his pockets as he came to peer down the bannister as well.
Henry frowned. “I don’t get why you dislike him so much. Joey can be a bit dense at times, but he means well and everyone gets paid fairly. There are some places out there paying their staff pennies.”
“I don’t think throwing a party’s going to help us in that department.”
“Fair. Poor Grant looks like he’s going to pass from stress at any moment.” Henry chuckled, nudging him with one of his elbows and pointing downwards at a man milling by one of the snack tables.
Sammy looked a bit closer at Grant, watching as he took out a pen and began scribbling once a rather drunk Joey chatting with a group of people he’s never seen before demanded another round of drinks. “Oh my god, is he listing things down in this light?”
“Yeah. No rest for the poor saps in the finance department.” Henry sighs. “Joey’s put in an order for statues of Bendy to put around the place. Grant came storming up to my office, demanding that I go talk him down. No dice, I’m afraid. Not looking forwards to breaking that news to the team.”
“Cardboard cutouts. Posters. Statues. You’d think we’re worshipping him at this rate.” Sharp bitterness leaks through Sammy’s voice. He didn’t mean for this to turn into a complaining session but he’s been carrying around his resentment for too long.
“That reminds me, Alice Angel is a big hit with the crowd! Not to say it’s thanks to your score but…” Henry smiled at him, a gesture that made something in his overworked body begin to dimly glow.
Ah yes, the music he had written out was initially dismissed by Joey as “unfitting of Bendy’s playful demeanor”. Sammy restrained himself from throttling the man and pointed out that the only reason that he had wrote the score was because of Joey’s request for something “with strings and a bounce”, a task that had the music department wracking their brains for days. Eventually he had been given the order to scrap the work entirely and draft up a new song.
“It’s a thirty second ditty and you’ve got thirty people down there with your banjos and cellos and pianos. You can make it work by the end of the week, right?” The end of the week, Sammy had avoided pointing out, was two days away and you couldn’t just make music “work”. It took time, effort and love for the craft to make something passable, but Joey just wouldn’t hear it. Eventually he stomped off to the breakroom, looking for any kindred soul willing to hear him complain.
Joey Drew Studio’s breakrooms were always somewhat empty, impromptu crunch time and accidents often stopping the many employees in the halls from taking their allotted rest times. The only person in the breakroom on this faithful day had been one Henry Stein, sitting and nodding patiently once Sammy had began relaying his issues. Three hours later, a rather sheepish Joey had come down to the music department apologizing for not understanding how much time their work took and saying that the track would actually be perfect for an upcoming short starring one of their new characters.
That was a common thread in Joey Drew Studios. The man of the hour would completely misunderstand something, someone would complain to Henry Stein, and a bit later Joey would come with an apology and a way to make things right. Many people had joked that instead of being the Head Animator, Henry should just be a messenger instead.
“Thanks.” Sammy eventually said. He was no lyricist or wordsmith; lengthy gratitude was best left to those who wouldn’t make complete fools of themselves in front of married men. Giddy shrieks come from below them followed by the hissing and popping of fireworks as they streak upwards from the tail end of the courtyard, bursting into dazzling reds, blues, and yellows. “Susie’s voice did all of the heavy lifting though.”
“Give yourself some credit. There’s no point in animating a song if there’s no tune to go with it.” The fireworks’s bright spiderwebs of color reflect off of Henry’s eyes. It’s one of the most beautiful things Sammy’s ever seen.
“Yeah.” He mumbles, tearing his eyes away from Henry and back towards the courtyard, where Susie laughs and links a graceless Wally Franks into a dance. “Yeah, I guess.”
They just stand there for a bit, listening to the sounds of celebration below. Somehow it doesn’t seem like they’re missing anything. Henry breaks their private silence. “Are you happy?”
“Huh?”
“Are you happy at Joey Drew Studios?”
Sammy mulls that over for a bit. Is he happy? The easy answer would be no; it was an open secret that Sammy disliked the studio’s head and decision-making skills. It wouldn’t be too far off to assume that he didn’t like anything about his job. Slip in a joke or two about the newest employee or how Wally always loses his keys and this conversation would diffuse and the two of them would go back to staring down at the party below. The hard answer was only when you’re around.
The hours spent pouring over his desk trying to finish a piece before the deadline slammed down like a guillotine blade were hellish until Henry shook him awake from his desk with a warm smile and cup of coffee. The rushed meetings often interrupted by a thousand other people competing for Joey’s attention who let it go to his head a long, long time ago were tedious until Henry waited beside him, patiently listening to whatever had caused him to seek out Joey in the first place.
“Decently so.” Sammy settles for halfway, watching one of his violinists chatter with someone from the Ink and Paint Department. “It’s no concert hall, but some of the company is better than others and the pay is decent. What about you? Are you happy here?”
Sammy has the feeling that the question was all an elaborate setup to get him to ask Henry this. He doesn’t mind it. In a place that champions making people laugh no one wants to voice dissent, especially not when their severance pay depends on it.
“I’ve been thinking about quitting.” Henry’s voice is soft and scared like he’s just confessed to shooting the Dancing Devil himself.
If it had been anyone else out on this balcony then Sammy would have scoffed and said something sarcastic about you and everyone else in this studio. Henry however… “Really?”
“Really. Remember what I said about the statues? It was more than just a simple denial. We got into a fight about it. Nothing too nasty, but no matter what I brought up he didn’t listen. Employee morale, budget costs, even interior design.” Henry laughed. It was a tired, huffing thing, a sound Sammy had made many times upon hearing the latest insane request. “He’s never acted like that before, and if it’s over something as small as this I’m worried about bigger things. Paychecks. Hours. He said there was no bad blood between us, but I’m not sure he was telling the truth.”
“He’s nicer to you. Gives you a bit of leeway in comparison to the rest of us, even if it’s only a tiny scrap. You’re the one thing he’ll listen to.” A beat. “Or at least used to.”
Henry turns to look at him with worried eyes. “Do you think I should stay, then?”
Sammy lets out a bitter half-bark of a laugh. “No. I think Joey would chain you to a desk if he could. In my opinion, Henry, you should get out now before he ties you up in a contract or something. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“You really think he’s that far gone?” Henry looked so dismayed by that Sammy wanted to retract his words immediately. It was true that he was exaggerating Joey’s malice, but someone had to give him tough love.
“Fame changes people, Henry. It might not be today, it might not be this year, but if you keep giving and giving eventually Joey’s going to leave you with nothing. Maybe it won’t be on purpose, but he’s the kind of guy that thinks about himself first and foremost.” It’s a bit more gentler than words he normally would have used had this been anyone but Henry. If anyone else in this studio came and asked if Joey was exploiting them, Sammy would have deadpanned yes and went right on back to being exploited by Joey.
“I don’t think I’m going to tell him until everything’s done and I can go without any complications.” Good, they’ve shifted from hypotheticals to plans. It’s a bit too late for one Sammy Laurence, doomed to forever be the composer for the kids cartoons. There’s no place he can go aside from another animation studio that would take him seriously, not enough power behind his name to levy respect. But Henry? Henry’s still got a tiny bit of influence left; Head Animator was a good position and any place worth their salt would be willing to snap him up in an instant, especially once his résumé boasted Joey Drew Studios.
“You deserve better than this place.” Sammy blurts out because it might be the last time he ever gets to say it out loud, because it’s the truth, because all of them deserve better than here. “You deserve to have your name up there in lights, not just in a little title card that disappears after three seconds. You deserve it because you made this whole country happy.”
You deserve this entire goddammed world, Henry.
“The people needed something to smile about with the Depression roaring on. Bendy just happened to be the first thing they got.” Henry’s nothing if not humble, even if Sammy can see a tiny bit of resentment boil to the surface, next words seemingly directed towards the big man downstairs. “But Bendy was a team effort. There wouldn’t have been any cartoons at all if it wasn’t for every single person in the studio.”
“Damn straight.” Sammy mimed clinking a glass, an action that Henry mimicked with a soft chuckle.
“The truth’ll get out eventually. It always does with these things.” Henry placed a warm hand on his shoulder, more for his sake than Sammy’s.
Yeah, he thinks, but how many years will it be until it does? “Joey, he’s a pretty face. He’s the guy you send out there in interviews with the papers and publicity speeches and all that other junk. He’s the skin. Keeps it together on the surface. But you, Henry? You’re the heart of this studio. You keep the blood pumping, and without you this whole thing’ll die and I think you should let it. No man should have to do all that just to keep a place that doesn’t appreciate him alive.”
Silence. Sammy’s screwed up now, hasn’t he? Oh yes, what a completely normal thing to say to a taken man, one who just knows you as a work acquaintance. He should walk off of this balcony right now before he gets reported to H.R. He should-
Henry wraps him in a hug, smelling like ink, old books, and coffee. Sammy just stands there like an idiot for a bit before returning it, resting his head on Henry’s shoulder. “The reason I told you before anyone else was because I knew you’d be on my side. Pretty selfish, huh?”
“I think if anyone’s allowed to be selfish, it’s you.”
“Thanks, Sammy. For all of this. For everything.” Henry pulls back, arms still around his body. “I think this is the perfect end to everything, if I’m being selfish. Nothing should last forever, but if I had to pick any day to remember it would be this one. Even if everything goes up in flames tomorrow, I’ll always have this night.”
“Me too.” Sammy mumbled, allowing himself to have this one moment with Henry, away from the studio staff below, away from society’s judgement, away from the man’s wife.
Unbeknownst to them, the studio begins construction on a horrible machine, one that will snap up every worker of Joey Drew Studios regardless of position or power. Henry will leave the studio much to Joey’s chagrin, and the situation will go from bad to worse. Sammy will be fed to this machine and come out as a dripping husk. Henry will be drawn back to the studio’s warped reflection by an old friend, and meet many within its walls, including Sammy himself. But tonight is all there is for them, at least in this moment.