"Congratulations on your win tonight, Troy."
"Thank you," I said blandly, already losing count of how many times I'd heard that line over the last few hours.
As much as I wanted to go home, collapse on my bed, and sleep for an entire day, appearances had to be maintained, or so I'd been told repeatedly by my publicist. Though I barely listen to him in most matters, this time I did.
"What are your plans for the future? Can I interest you with a script I have ready? You seem perfect for it."
God, someone kill me right now.
The crowded ballroom was filled with fake laughter and the faint clinking of champagne glasses. My face ached from the forced smiles. Then, mercifully, divine intervention arrived.
"Troy! I've been looking for you everywhere! Come, we have to get a photo of us four acting winners."
Kate Winslet appeared like an angel wrapped in elegance who gracefully slipped her arm through mine and pulled me away from the man whose name I hadn't even bothered to learn. He didn't look particularly thrilled by her timing, which only made it better.
Once we were out of his earshot, I muttered, "But we already got our photos taken."
And what an awkward ordeal that had been. Penélope Cruz had looked as if I'd run over her dog. It made sense, though, considering she'd thanked Weinstein before anyone else in her victory speech.
Sean Penn and Kate had both been cool and professional, though even they'd noticed Cruz's chilly behavior. Honestly, I didn't care what her deal with Weinstein was, and I wouldn't hold her accountable for what was likely a complicated situation. Still, it was foolish of her to alienate me and my family in such a public way. If I were to take offense, the so-called Oscar curse could very easily find her.
"I know," Kate replied with a conspiratorial smile. "But you looked like you needed rescuing. I couldn't leave you at the mercy of that man. I know him. He once tried to pressure me into doing a film with him. He's even worse than Harvey Weinstein. And guess what? Just like you said at the Grammys, I didn't take Harvey's name in my speech, even though he was an executive producer on [The Reader]."
I laughed. "Good to know. That man needs to understand he's not God."
"Finally, someone said it," Kate huffed. "That asshole actually tried to dictate how I should do a sex scene. He wasn't present a single day during filming, but the moment we were set to shoot the intimate scenes, which were supposed to be on a closed set, he showed up first thing in the morning. He stood there, leering, giving me personal instructions, as if he owned me. I refused to shoot until he left. Eventually, he did, but that was it for me. I decided right then that [The Reader] would be the last project I ever worked on with him. No way was I thanking him in my speech."
"Good for you," I said sincerely. "If he gives you trouble in the future and you need work, Phoenix will always have something for you. TV or film, whatever you want. Never hesitate to contact me."
Kate smiled warmly and inclined her head. "I'll keep that in mind."
"By the way," I asked, glancing around the crowded room of expensive gowns and tuxedos, "have you seen the oaf? I wanted a word with him, just to make sure he doesn't try something like that again."
She snorted. "Oaf? Can't say I have. But if I were you, I'd be careful about approaching him. He's not very happy with you right now, and there is no way you're going to change his ways. He's had far too much power for far too long."
"Hmm, is that so? There's only one way to find out," I said mischievously.
Kate's brow furrowed with concern as I stepped away. "Don't do anything rash," she warned, her voice low but firm.
"No promises," I shot back over my shoulder.
The ballroom was the textbook definition of everything I hated about Hollywood. Fake laughter, super-expensive dresses (some of which were not even pleasant to look at), and a lot of ass-kissing.
Cameras flashed at intervals as celebrities posed for photos against the backdrop of a towering gold Oscar statue. I moved through the crowd, scanning faces, when the next person I ran into was someone I had met before, if only very briefly. Anne Hathaway.
"Hey, Annie," I greeted her politely, kissing the back of her knuckles like a gentleman. "Your intro with Hugh tonight was amazing. You're a great singer. I would love to see you in a musical."
"Thank you," she replied, blushing faintly. Then she leaned closer, lowering her voice. "I wanted to apologize for the Golden Globes. I didn't mean to… insinuate anything about you. It's just that…"
She trailed off, unable to find the words, but I already understood. In Hollywood, young men and women are conditioned from the start to be subservient to people in power. Those who refuse often end up angering the wrong person, who, in turn, can quietly end their career.
I remembered watching [Tár] in my first life, a film starring Cate Blanchett. A brief part of that film depicted how these power dynamics play out behind closed doors, and how careers are ruined over bruised egos. Anne Hathaway was undoubtedly a talented actress, but she wasn't the only one chasing the dream. Many others were just as capable. What separated her from the crowd was her ability to navigate the unspoken rules, keeping those above her appeased enough not to blacklist her outright. I respected her for that. Had I not been in my current position, I might even have asked her to teach me the finer points of that game.
"What did I miss?" I asked lightly, feigning cluelessness. "As far as I remember, we met, talked a bit, and then went our separate ways. There's nothing for you to apologize for."
She smiled, giving me a grateful nod. "Thank you."
"I would definitely like to work with you sometime on a project," I added seriously.
Her smile widened at that, and she leaned in with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. "I have a feeling it may happen sooner than you might think."
Her words were directed at me, but her gaze drifted past my shoulder. Following her line of sight, I saw Christopher Nolan standing on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with a group of people.
It didn't take me long to connect the dots. Hathaway had played Catwoman in [The Dark Knight Rises] in the original timeline. It hadn't even crossed my mind that she might already be in talks with Nolan about the role.
That didn't matter much to me, but what did was the implication that she assumed I would also be involved in the film. I realized then that I'd never directly told Nolan I was leaving the franchise. I'd wanted to wait until the award season was over. If he was planning the third film in the trilogy with the Joker in mind, it would be terrible for him to find out at the last minute that I wouldn't be returning.
Since Harvey Weinstein was nowhere in sight, I figured I'd better get this over with now.
"Excuse me, Annie," I said gently. "I have a few more people to meet. Hope you have a lovely night."
"You too," she replied, smiling politely.
I gave a nod and pulled away from her, making a beeline for the man I wanted to meet right now. He stood near the center of the room, animatedly recounting a story to a small circle of fascinated listeners.
"I can't tell you how much I thought it was a bad idea to cast him," Nolan was saying, his voice rich with amusement. "But all he asked for was one screen test. I thought he might throw his weight around or try to charm his way in, but no. I couldn't deny him that, because I already knew he was a good actor. But what I saw in that room blew away all my expectations. He did the scene where he says, 'Why so serious?' and the poor guy beside him, who was standing in for a goon, almost wet his pants in sheer fright. It was that terrifying. In that instant, I knew I had to cast him. No one else could have played that character better."
His audience was clearly enthralled by the anecdote. Watching him, so full of pride and warmth, I almost didn't want to ruin his night by saying what I had come here to say. Almost. But I knew I was heading to New York soon, and it would be unfair to delay it any longer.
"And there he is!" Nolan exclaimed, spotting me in the crowd. He strode over and threw an arm around my shoulders. His grin was wide, his steps a little unsteady; he seemed a little drunk, which was wildly out of character for him. I had never seen him anything but meticulously composed.
"I was just telling these fine folks why I think your Joker was perhaps the best casting decision in movie history," he said proudly. "So many times, great actors are passed over because of their age, but you proved everyone wrong."
"Why, thank you, Chris," I replied humbly. "If you don't mind, could we take a short walk? I had an idea I wanted to run by you."
"I would love to walk with you!" he said jovially, again sounding nothing like his usual reserved self.
I wasn't entirely sure he'd remember this conversation in the morning, but I kept going. If nothing else, I'll at least know how he'll react to the news. Together, we stepped away from the lively ballroom. A cool breeze greeted us as we reached a balcony that overlooked the Los Angeles skyline. It was quiet enough for what I needed to say.
"Have you started working on [The Dark Knight]'s sequel?" I asked, keeping my tone casual. "The screenplay, I mean."
Nolan paused, his expression thoughtful, as if rummaging through his mind. "I have the story in my head, and it's going to be great," he said finally. "It starts with the Joker's escape from Arkham Asylum. Big, cinematic opening, shot entirely on IMAX, like the bank heist. I have ideas to make it even better than the second film. I'll be introducing Catwoman in the third part, maybe Harley Quinn too, though I'm still undecided on that. But definitely Catwoman."
Then he blinked, realizing who he was talking to, and gave me a curious look. "Why do you ask? Do you have a great idea to share with me?"
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words before I spoke them. "I asked," I said quietly, "because I don't plan to play the Joker again."
All traces of drunkenness vanished from Chris's face the moment I said that. His posture straightened, his smile fading into disbelief.
"But why not!? I thought you said that you and I work great together, and you'd do any film with me."
"That was before you and Warner Bros decided to abandon me when I needed my allies the most."
His brow furrowed. "When did I—wait, is this about [Inception]? That wasn't because of you, I swear. I genuinely felt the story would work better with an older protagonist. And I've been wanting to work with Leonardo DiCaprio for a while, but I never found the right project. [Inception] just seemed perfect for an actor like him."
I couldn't help but laugh softly. "And yet, you just said inside that age doesn't matter for a role."
He snapped his mouth shut immediately, caught in his own hypocrisy.
"Whatever the case may be," I continued evenly, "we'll never truly know what was going through your mind. I'll still give you the benefit of the doubt, but Warner Bros, whom I've worked with since before I hit puberty, abandoned me in a heartbeat. They postponed my movie for an entire year and didn't publicly stand by me, even when some lunatics tried to kill me. I don't want to work with a company like that again."
I took a slow breath before adding, "Not to mention, the role took too much of a toll on my mental health. I can't live through that again. And if I can't go full method, I'd only end up giving a half-hearted performance. That's not who I am."
Chris fell silent, digesting my words. The party noise from inside drifted faintly through the open balcony doors, filling the tense pause between us.
Finally, he said quietly, "You'll be breaching your contract."
I snorted. "You think I can't afford to pay for the damages?"
"That's not it, it's just…" He stumbled over his words before exhaling a long, defeated sigh. "But you own your own studio, so of course you don't care about Warner Bros' retribution either."
Then, to my shock, Nolan did something I never imagined seeing from him. He sank to his knees, clasping his hands together in a pleading gesture. His eyes were glassy with desperation.
"Please don't do this, Troy. I'm begging you to reconsider. I really want to finish Batman and Joker's story with the third film."
"Get up, Chris," I said softly, leaning forward to help him to his feet before he embarrassed himself further. "You've had one too many drinks. Call me tomorrow when you're sober, and then we can talk about it."
"So you'll actually consider doing it?" he asked, his voice hopeful as he leaned heavily against my shoulder.
"We'll talk tomorrow," I repeated, steady but noncommittal.
Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to bring this up now, when he was clearly in no state to reason. I guided him back inside, found a lone chair in a corner, and helped him sit down.
I scanned the room for someone who could take him home, and soon spotted Jonathan Nolan talking near the back. Perfect. He could handle his brother better than anyone.
But as I approached, my steps slowed. Standing with Jonathan was none other than Harvey Weinstein.
The moment our eyes met, Harvey's expression hardened into a glare so venomous it could have burned through steel. He didn't speak right away, but the hatred in his stare was enough to fill the silence.
"Jonathan," I said casually, as if the other man didn't exist, "Chris seems to have had too many drinks. Do you think you could take him home, or at least call him a cab?"
"He did?" Jonathan asked with an amused grin. "Oh boy, I don't recall the last time he overdid it."
"I won't hold it against him," I replied. "It is his first Oscar. Let him enjoy it."
"That's not possible," Jonathan said with mock severity. "It is my duty as his brother."
I laughed as Jonathan turned back to Weinstein. "Maybe we can continue this later, Harvey. My brother needs me."
The ugly bastard could only offer a single, constrained nod. Jonathan took his leave, and the two of us were left in an awkward, tense silence. The party noise seemed distant and brittle, like glass about to shatter. I decided to break it.
"I hope you learned your lesson," I said, keeping my voice calm.
"Lesson? What the fuck are you talking about?" he snapped.
"Oh come on, Harvey, you know exactly what you did," I said, my tone polite but cold. "I was locked in for the lead performance, and you manipulated voters to move me to supporting. This is the first and last time you interfere in my business. Do it again, and you will not be able to interfere in anyone's business ever again. I will make sure of that."
"How dare you?" He hissed, taking an aggressive step toward me, his hand rising as if ready to smack some sense into me. "I will teach you a lesson. This is my town."
I laughed out loud. The irony was delicious. The man thought he owned the town, as if the whole world wouldn't turn on him the moment his crimes were finally revealed. He looked outraged by my mirth, but thankfully, he did not take another step forward.
"That tactic won't work on me," I said, amusement clear in my voice. "Go, bully some kindergartener. Maybe they will be more terrified of the big bad wolf."
I feigned a shiver to drive the point home. Harvey ground his teeth in frustration and then said something he should never have said.
"You think it's an empty threat? Nothing happens here without my knowledge. If you want to live here tomorrow, you will go back to the media and sing my praises for the world to hear. If you refuse, stories about you scamming people to become a billionaire will be the least of your worries. I know every reporter in town. I will bury you in hateful articles. So many people owe me favors that they will side with me against you. I will make sure none of your friends or family ever works in this industry again. And I will start with that ungrateful bitch you call your girlfriend."
I narrowed my eyes. A cold, fierce fury flared inside me. Not many people have pushed that button in this life. Targeting me is one thing, but going after my people, even if it were an empty threat, was unacceptable.
"You shouldn't have said that."
He had been slowly inching closer with each breath when he was threatening me, and then, almost instinctively, he took a step back.
I did not want to channel my inner Joker, but his words unlocked something that doesn't usually get out. I stepped in, fist closed, and lunged as if to strike. At the last second, I pulled back. He had not anticipated the motion and tumbled backward, landing hard on his ass. Terror widened his eyes at my sudden move.
He was an older man who probably hadn't worked out a single day in his life. I was still in my prime at 20. Had that punch landed, he surely would be in a hospital, and I in a cell.
Thankfully, we were far enough from the worst of the crowd that no one had clearly seen the motion, but they certainly noticed when Harvey fell.
"It's okay, Harvey just had one too many," I called to the small group that had begun to approach, forcing a smile I did not feel.
I bent and helped him to his feet, keeping my expression neutral as if I was the concerned party. No one commented on the tension between us.
Once the onlookers drifted away, I spoke quietly. "You just made sure your days are numbered. You are fucked, and not in the way you like."
He must have seen something in my eyes, because he straightened quickly and tried to recover his composure. "We will see about that. When I am done with you, people will be hesitant to even associate with you."
I snorted and turned away. "Enjoy your days of dominance while you still can."
My task for the night done, I hunted down my family. Mum and Dad were together, Evan a little further off, talking to a few producers. It did not take much persuading for them to agree to leave.
From the outside, I looked calm. Inside, my mind raced a thousand miles a minute. I needed to begin my next move before Harvey acted. I had hoped he would back down when he realized what I was capable of, but he had instead threatened my people. That was unacceptable. He needed to go down quickly, before he could do any real damage.
He had left me no choice.
________________________
AN: Visit my personal website to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com