Bobby walked beside me nervously as we entered the party hall. "I went through a lot of trouble to arrange this meeting for you. James Cameron isn't an easy man to get a hold of. Do you know how many other A-listers have been trying to get in with him?"
"Yeah, but there's a difference between other A-listers and me—that's something the industry is well aware of by now," I shot back. "I don't mind taking a lower pay if I like the role."
Bobby nodded in agreement. "And that's the only reason this meeting was arranged. It's the last night of the year, and most people want to avoid business talk today, so don't linger too much on the topic."
"Don't worry," I assured him. "Just introduce me, then go find your girlfriend. I've got two more parties to attend after this."
Right now, we were at the Fox party. After this, I had to swing by Paramount for an hour—just to show my face—and then wrap up the night at Warner. I didn't see much point in going to Paramount, but Brad Grey had insisted. Apparently, my presence, even if only for an hour, would be a flex that would satisfy the major investors attending.
The only reason this whole schedule was even doable was that all three venues were nearby. Otherwise, I'd have skipped Paramount entirely.
"Are you sure you don't mind me tagging along?" Anna Kendrick asked from beside me.
"I wouldn't have asked you out if that was the issue," I assured her. "It's a great opportunity for you to mingle with the Hollywood crowd."
I hated coming to these elitist parties alone. It wouldn't be wrong to say that L.A. is the most materialistic town in the world. Everyone wants a piece of you as long as you're useful to them. The second that usefulness ends, so does their interest. Everything here revolves around money, connections, and who knows who. And since I'm the richest actor in the world—and now also a producer—that pursuit has only intensified.
Since I'm 'single' and about to become legal in less than a week, opportunistic girls have been eyeing me like a piece of meat everywhere I go. That's why I'd asked Anna to be my date for the night, making it clear to her that this was purely platonic. She had agreed readily—this was a win-win for her.
As we moved through the crowd, I spotted A to B-list celebrities everywhere. Ben Stiller, Sacha Baron Cohen, Salma Hayek, Anne Hathaway, Hugh Jackman, and Meryl Streep were all mingling.
"Oh my God!" Anna squeaked in amazement. "Is that Russell Crowe? I'm his biggest fan! Can you introduce me, Troy? Please?"
I turned to her and gave her a flat look. "Really? Russell Crowe?"
She nodded, not getting the hint. "Of course! He was amazing in [A Beautiful Mind], [Gladiator], [Cinderella Man], and so many others. It's a shame he always loses at the Oscars."
"I'm sorry, but I don't know him," I said flatly. "I can introduce you to someone else if you want. Meryl Streep, maybe?"
Truth be told, I hadn't met Meryl Streep in person either, but I'd much rather introduce Anna to her than to that asshole.
"I've actually met Meryl Streep before," Anna chimed in. "Come on, Russell would know you at least. It won't look as awkward as if I just waltzed up to him like some crazy stalker."
"Anna," I said in a stern voice. "No. Let me finish my business first, and then we can go meet people."
She pouted but nodded nonetheless.
"Remember, don't leave your drink unattended, and don't take any drink from anyone who isn't a waiter or bartender."
"Yes, Dad," Anna said dutifully.
Leaving her behind, Bobby and I made our way through the party in search of Jim Cameron. I'd seen him from afar at a few similar events over the years, but I'd never gathered the courage to approach him—something I regretted now. Part of it was because of my preconceived notions. I'd heard from multiple sources, both in this life and from my meta-knowledge, that Cameron was rude and notoriously difficult to work with.
As we searched the crowd, I was stopped repeatedly—handshakes, hugs, photos. The downside of fame at any party.
"I don't think he's here," Bobby said after half an hour of fruitless searching. "Maybe we can relax a little while we wait?"
"Troy Armitage!"
An older gentleman strode toward me with an air of confidence. "What a pleasant surprise! I didn't expect to see you here."
"Jim," I said, shaking hands with the man I only knew by name.
"This is Robert Caron, my manager," I introduced Bobby with his official name. "Bobby, this is Jim Gianopulos, the CEO of 20th Century Fox Studios."
The two exchanged polite greetings before Jim turned back to me.
"Is your father here too, by any chance?" He asked. "I'd be very interested to know what you two are working on next. You produce such amazing films together."
I chuckled at his not-so-subtle phrasing. "Other than Harry Potter, all my projects are currently with Paramount. But maybe in the future, we can work together."
"Definitely," Jim nodded. "Congratulations on your dual Golden Globes nominations for [Little Miss Sunshine] and [Order of the Phoenix]."
"Thank you," I nodded gratefully. "Wasn't expecting the second one at all."
"I was," Jim grinned before smoothly changing the topic. "So, are you here to meet anyone special or just to mingle with the big names?"
I cast a quick glance at Bobby, who looked more bewildered than anything by the sudden turn of events.
"No," I shook my head. "A friend of mine wanted to meet Meryl Streep, so I brought her along. She didn't have an open invite like I did."
I gestured behind Jim with a slight nod. As luck would have it, Anna and Meryl were deep in conversation, chatting animatedly as if they had known each other for years.
"Oh, right," Jim said, his tone tinged with slight disappointment. "Enjoy the party, then—and do tell your father I'd love to meet him sometime."
"Actually, Jim," I said before he could walk away, "I wanted to ask you something."
He turned back with a knowing grin.
With each passing moment, it became more obvious—this was a setup. Still, I had to ask.
"I've heard rumors that, after all these years, James Cameron is finally making his next film with Fox. Is that true?"
Jim's expression barely flickered, but his voice lowered. "Who told you that? We've kept the news tightly under wraps."
Lying asshole.
"Word gets around," I said with a shrug. "My dad is much more active in Hollywood than I am."
"Ah," he nodded as if that explained everything. "It's true. Cameron has been working on something incredible for years. We're planning to start filming in 2007."
"Is he here by any chance?" I asked. "I'd love to meet him. I've been a huge fan ever since I saw T2 all those years ago."
"He doesn't come to parties," Jim replied. "Unless he has a film releasing that year."
Then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Are you interested in starring in his next project? Just say the word, and I'll put in a call."
"Does the film even have a role for someone my age?" I asked, already knowing full well that the lead character was supposed to be older.
"Age is just a number," Jim reassured me. "We can always make the protagonist younger. Of course, the final decision is Cameron's—he's very particular about his actors."
Small-time directors didn't have that kind of power in Hollywood. But someone like James Cameron? The studios would give him whatever he wanted because if he walked away, it would be a nightmare for them.
"I'd be honored to be considered," I said honestly. "But if he doesn't agree, I'd still love to invest in the project as an executive producer."
Jim rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know the exact financing details, so I can't promise anything there, but I'll talk to Cameron about considering you for the lead."
"Thank you," I said, my gratitude genuine.
We chatted for a few more minutes before he excused himself.
As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to Bobby—still keeping a grin on my face, fully aware that someone was probably watching my every move.
"It was a setup," Bobby said before I could. "I'm so sorry, Troy. I had no idea this would happen. The person who arranged this meeting was a Fox employee. I didn't realize…" He trailed off.
"That the meeting would be with Jim Gianopulos instead of Jim Cameron," I finished for him. "It's disappointing, but it is what it is. That's why I fucking hate Hollywood. If Gianopulos had just asked for a meeting directly, I would have given it to him." I shook my head. "Anyway, I'm off to Paramount now. Enjoy your night, yeah?"
"Of course," Bobby nodded. "Thanks, and Happy New Year."
"You too," I said before heading back to find Anna Kendrick.
But the moment I saw who she was talking to, I stopped in my tracks.
She was done chatting with Meryl Streep and was now deep in conversation with Russell Crowe.
What the fuck is Anna on? Did someone drug her or something?
"Troy!" Anna waved me over. "Come here for a sec. Russell wants to talk to you."
I had half a mind to turn around and walk the other way, but I knew better. One wrong move and this would be plastered across tabloids for days.
"Hey!" I greeted Anna, who looked about one step away from throwing herself into Russell Crowe's arms. "What's up?"
"Russell is so funny!" she gushed. "I was just telling him how you gave me a film when no one else did, and he wanted to meet you."
"Hey, mate," Russell Crowe said, extending a hand.
I didn't take it.
A beat of awkward silence passed before he withdrew it.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Do you have a problem with me?"
"Why would I have a problem with someone I don't even know?" I shot back with an easy grin.
Anna, meanwhile, had finally clued in that something wasn't right. Her face had gone several shades paler.
"Of course you do," Crowe said, his frown deepening. "Why else would you release a movie every time mine hits theaters? My last three films all got rave reviews, especially for my performances, but they bombed because you conveniently decided to drop one of your blockbusters at the same time. And now, this childish behavior of yours just confirms it."
I tilted my head. "Childish behavior?" I echoed. "No, childish would have been if I'd hired private investigators to dig into your life, turned it upside down, and then leaked all the damning information for the world to laugh at you, just because I wanted to win an Oscar, and the only real competitor were you."
Crowe went dead silent.
I didn't need to be a genius to know that he had connected the dots.
Turning to Anna, I said, "Come on, love. We've got another party to get to."
As I walked away, I heard him mutter under his breath, "I didn't know they were going to do that."
I almost kept going, but curiosity got the better of me. I turned back. "Who?"
"The PR firm I hired back then," he admitted. "I was new to Hollywood, and everyone told me they were the best. Only later—after I lost the Oscar—did I find out what they'd done. I fired them immediately after."
"I don't buy that," I retorted. "Maybe the way they targeted me was on them, but I'm damn sure you must have at least told them to go after me."
The silence was everything I needed to know.
"It also doesn't change what the media did to me and my family," I said, my voice heated. "I hated myself because of you. You made me hate this city and this profession. I wanted to quit acting altogether. I was eleven, for fuck's sake! Did it ever occur to you to talk to me or my parents? To apologize?"
"I'm sorry," he said, and for the first time, he actually sounded like he meant it.
I scoffed. "Too late, buddy. Too late. You messed with the wrong person, and I don't forgive easily. Until you publicly take responsibility for what happened, I'll make sure none of your films are successful again. Ever."
He clenched his jaw. "You know I can't do that. That would ruin my career."
"You should've thought of that before trying to ruin mine," I shot back. "Fine. If you won't own up, then there's something else you can do."
"Anything," he promised, almost desperately.
I turned to Anna beside me, who was looking more and more uncomfortable by each passing moment. "Have you seen [A Clockwork Orange], Anna?"
Startled by getting asked the question, she flushed before clearing her throat. "Ahem, yes, I have."
"And what did Malcolm McDowell's character do to prove that he had changed?"
A look of realization crossed Anna's face before she said slowly, "He licked the sole of the minister's shoe."
"Bingo!" I said jovially before turning to Crowe. "That's what you have to do. Get down, and lick the sole of my shoes. Right here, right now. In front of everyone. If you do that, I'll forgive you and put this whole mess behind us."
His face reddened—not just with anger, but something else.
Obviously, I knew he wouldn't do that. No sane person with even a bit of self-respect would, but I had to show him that there was only one way if he wanted to repent: apologize publicly.
After a full ten seconds of him not making a move, I turned around and grabbed a stunned Anna Kendrick's arm before leading her toward the exit.
"Holy shit!" she whispered as soon as we slid into my car. "Did you deliberately clash your films with his?"
I chuckled before shaking my head, "No. A big coincidence. I leave the release dates to the distributors. They know the logistics better than me."
We rode in silence for a few moments before Anna said, "Hollywood's a fucked up place. I had so much respect for Russell Crowe, and now?" She shook her head in disappointment. "Is this what they mean when they say never meet your heroes?"
I let out a snort but didn't say anything as the car pulled away toward our next destination—Paramount.
(Break)
"That last party was so boring," Anna complained as we stepped into the final event of the night.
"How was it any different from Fox?" I asked. "You just mean you didn't find anyone interesting to talk to."
"Probably," she admitted with a sigh. "But still, I was hoping for… I don't know, something better."
"Most Hollywood parties are like that," I said as we approached the grand entrance. "It's less about fun and more about making connections."
"Then why don't you throw a fun party?" Anna asked curiously. "You're producing a ton of films. You could pull it off."
"One day, maybe," I said with a smirk as we stepped inside.
The Warner Bros. party was even more elite than the last two. A sea of designer outfits, practiced smiles, and hushed business dealings filled the massive hall.
"Troy!" My dad's voice cut through the crowd. I spotted him standing with my mum at his side.
"Dad, Mum," I greeted them with a nod. "Have you met my friend Anna?"
"Hi!" Anna squeaked. "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Kloves."
They exchanged polite greetings, but Dad barely took his eyes off me. His expression was unreadable—but then he gave me a very pointed look. Does Rihanna know about this?
I gave him a single nod, and that seemed to satisfy him.
"Did you find out what Dick Parsons wants to talk to me about?" I asked, getting straight to the point.
Dad shook his head. "No. I spoke to him earlier, but he was very tight-lipped."
"It's—"
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
A voice boomed over the speakers, cutting me off.
Everyone turned towards the center of the hall where an African-American man was speaking in a mic. The man was none other than Dick Parsons himself.
"Thank you for being a part of celebrating the last day of the year with us."
Happy cheers rang out in the crowd as people raised their glasses.
"Before we go back to the festivities, I have an important announcement to make about the future of our company."
"Why do I have a feeling that we are about to know why we were called here," Dad muttered.
______________________________________________
AN: Visit my Pat reon to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)pat reon(dot)com/fableweaver