Stephanie Meyer never thought the hottest new director in Hollywood—Joy Grant—would show up at her door asking about the film rights to the little book she'd barely managed to sell to a publisher.
A movie? Of her weird vampire dream?
Oh my God. Pinch me.
She tried to play it cool. "Yeah, the whole thing started with a dream. I was lying in a golden meadow with this gorgeous guy behind me, and boom—Twilight poured out."
Joy gave her the warmest smile. "You have no idea how epic that dream is about to become."
One random dream from this sweet housewife was about to birth a series that nearly outsold Harry Potter, a global phenomenon that would rake in almost $2.5 billion at the box office and sit comfortably at #4 on the all-time franchise list—above Lord of the Rings, Star Wars sequels, Batman, Spider-Man… the works.
All because Stephanie Meyer had a really good nap.
And now Joy owned the movie rights. Lock, stock, and sparkling barrel.
It hadn't even been hard. The book wasn't out until next month. Nobody in Hollywood had the faintest clue what was coming.
Joy needed a surefire, can't-miss, franchise-launching monster hit before the end of the year if she wanted MGM/UA to hand her equity on a silver platter. Writing an original script that good in two months? Impossible. She'd done the math.
So yeah—she went straight for the cheat code: Twilight.
Six movies, one series, $2.5 billion worldwide. It would literally rewrite the rules of blockbuster filmmaking and prove that teenage girls and women could carry a franchise harder than any superhero.
Perfect bargaining chip.
A few weeks later, Joy dropped the bombshell: new project greenlit, casting now open.
The entire town lost its mind.
It was a Joy Grant movie. Every actor with a pulse wanted in. Her mailbox exploded with headshots.
She dumped a three-foot stack of résumés on the table and glared at Hughes.
"Dude. Did you even listen to a word I said?"
Hughes lounged in his chair, cigar clamped between his teeth, pretending to be innocent. "Problem?"
"Naomi Watts? Angelina Jolie? Milla Jovovich? I said young, fresh, teenage ingenue vibes. When has Angelina ever looked seventeen?"
She flipped through more. "Julia Roberts. Nicole Kidman. Are you trolling me?"
Hughes shrugged. "These are A-list royalty. People beg for these names. And now you're whining?"
Joy rubbed her temples. "I was crystal clear: I want baby-faced newbies, not legends."
He stubbed out the cigar. "You should've just said 'jailbait' and saved us both the headache."
"Okay, fine. Jailbait! Baby-faced princess energy! Happy?"
Hughes rolled up his sleeves like a man about to get serious, then slid over a fresh stack. "Calm down. Here's your jailbait."
Joy flipped through: Anne Hathaway, Lindsay Lohan, Hilary Duff, Miley Cyrus, Scarlett Johansson, Natalie Portman…
She slammed the folder shut. "Nope. Still wrong. None of them are what I need."
Hughes came around behind her, hands gentle on her shoulders. "Breathe, Joy. We'll find her. Coffee first?"
She shot him a look. "I'm not that fragile."
He smirked. "Sure you're not. Girl who admitted to the whole world she joined the Mile-High Club is definitely chill about casting."
She pinched his arm hard. "Asshole."
He laughed, sat across from her, eyes glinting. "You still think about that day, huh?"
Joy rolled her eyes, but a tiny smile slipped out. "How could I forget the great Les Grossman meltdown?"
"Want to charter a jet and relive it?"
"Get out."
She disappeared for a coffee refill. When she came back, Hughes was chilling in the sunlight like a smug cat.
She spun his chair to face her. "Okay. I know exactly what I want now. Delicate, porcelain-doll, elegant flower-vase energy. Think high-end princess who's never heard the word 'no' in her life."
Hughes raised an eyebrow. "So… actual preschooler?"
Joy snatched his pen and twirled it. "I'll give you the perfect example. Go track down the British girl from Harry Potter—Emma Watson. That face. That's the blueprint."
Hughes let out a low whistle. "Yeah, that checks the 'ethereal doll' box."
"Exactly. I don't need acting powerhouses or brand names. This is a low-budget fairy tale. Pretty is the whole job description. I even thought about that girl I discovered on Broadway—Emma Stone—but she's got too much quirky-cute chaos. Perfect for La La Land, wrong for a vampire princess."
Every actor has their lane. Emma Watson can't play awkward nerd. Emma Stone can't play untouchable royalty. Meryl Streep can't play America's sweetheart. You break type that hard? Oscar's calling.
Hughes stood, hands in his pockets. "Fine. Watson it is. If she says yes, we're done looking. I know how you work—one name means that's the only name."
"Now the guys." Joy circled five headshots in red marker.
Andrew Garfield
Henry Cavill
Chris Evans
Jake Gyllenhaal
Chris Hemsworth
Hughes stared. "That's your shortlist? You're really going full rookie?"
Joy shrugged. "Yup."
You wouldn't believe the names that begged for Edward Cullen.
Johnny Depp. Brad Pitt (again with the vampires). George Clooney. A post-Iron Man 1 Robert Downey Jr. Keanu Reeves trying to youth-max. Will Smith joked he'd do it if the vampire could be Black.
Every 20-million-dollar-club legend slid into her DMs.
Joy barely blinked. She didn't need them. She'd seen the future—this movie didn't need star power. It needed pretty and unknown.
She laughed. "Never thought I'd be turning down half the A-list. Some of these people still get 20 mil plus 20%. I can't afford that—and I don't want to."
Hughes lit another cigar. "The 20-million club is ancient history anyway. Cruise invented it, Depp was the last one who actually got it. Now everybody works for scale plus backend—because the movies make the money, not the actors anymore."
"Exactly. And since my movie is gonna make dumb money, I'm not handing twenty percent to some movie star's yacht fund. Newbies it is."
Hughes tapped the photos. "So out of these five pretty boys, you've already picked your favorite, haven't you?"
Joy smiled like she was holding the best secret. "There's one who made a hell of a first impression. Couple years back, at some bar, everyone was trashing me behind my back after the whole plane scandal. This guy—one polite apology and a genuineapology smile—stood up for me when he didn't have to. Been rooting for him ever since."
Hughes gave a dark little chuckle. "Look at that. Kid's random act of decency just landed him the role of a lifetime."
Henry Cavill.
Even with every leading man in Hollywood waving their arms, Joy wanted the one with manners.
Years later, when people looked back at the insane careers that launched from Joy Grant movies, they'd all say the same thing:
Get on her radar, earn her nod, and you were set for life.
Joy Grant wasn't just a director.
She was a kingmaker.