"What is it?" Emily looked between Benji and me curiously. "What happened?"
Benji opened his mouth to answer her, but I cut him off. "Nothing of importance. You will find out soon enough. For now, let's meet the cast quickly. I have to get my body spray-painted for today's scene, which will take some extra time."
Emily pouted, though she didn't argue, and led me toward a lounge area on the other side of the set. The space felt relaxed, with the cast members lounging on couches and chairs, chatting in small groups. I immediately recognized four of them.
The one who stood out most to me was Lisa Kudrow. I had watched [Friends] so many times in both my lives that her face was etched permanently into my memory. Beside her was Malcolm McDowell, whose performance in [A Clockwork Orange] I had always admired. The third familiar face was Thomas Haden Church, widely known as Sandman from [Spider-Man 3].
Lastly, there was Amanda Bynes. She was incredibly famous at this time, full of charm and comedic presence. However, I knew that within a few years, she would suffer a painful fall from grace involving addiction and mental health struggles. Even if I wanted to help her, I couldn't. This was my first time meeting her, and she was likely already using more than just prescription drugs. Phoenix had a strict policy regarding drug use. No matter how big a star someone was, if they were found using recreational drugs during production, they would be removed immediately.
With Amanda, I hesitated. As far as I remembered, [Easy A] was the last project she completed before everything started to crumble. So, perhaps it was better to simply let her have this moment.
"Oh my God!" Amanda exclaimed as soon as our eyes met. "I'm such a huge fan. You're, like, the coolest."
The next moment, she wrapped me in a hug so tight it felt like she feared I might disappear.
"I can say the same about you," I said, gently patting her back before we separated. "Your show was one of my favorites when I was younger. You are definitely one of the best comedians of our generation."
"Oh, please," she waved off my praise with dramatic flair. "I died laughing when I watched [Superbad]. Your comic timing is phenomenal."
"Thank you," I replied with a nod before turning to greet the others.
Amanda had already done the hardest part for me. Breaking the ice was usually difficult. People, even fellow celebrities, often hesitated around me unless they wanted something. But now, the group opened up without hesitation. Within moments, I was welcomed as though I had always been part of the cast. I ended up seated between Emily and Amanda, with Lisa sitting across from me.
"...and then Emily rose from the pile of cream, furious, and declared she would have her revenge for the prank," Lisa was saying with a playful grin. "But honestly? I don't think she has it in her."
"I absolutely do have it in me," Emily shot back, cheeks pink but eyes determined. "Just wait. You will never see it coming."
"You won't do anything," Amanda sing-songed from my other side.
I laughed at their antics and slipped an arm around Emily's shoulders. "No offence, Emily, but they are right. You are too good and noble to take revenge on anyone, especially over a prank."
She punched me in the shoulder lightly. "Aren't you supposed to be my friend?"
I grinned. "Being a friend means telling the truth, even when it is difficult to accept."
"You—"
Before we could continue our pointless banter, Benji stepped in. "Troy, you really need to get ready for the scene right now if you want to finish your shots on time."
I looked up at my ever-dutiful assistant, then down at the Rolex on my wrist. The minute hand told me everything.
"Fuck," I muttered, standing abruptly. I turned to the three women beside me. "I guess I lost track of time. I'll go get ready now." They nodded in understanding, and Benji and I started for my trailer.
"Why did no one tell me earlier?" I hissed as we speed-walked across the lot, dodging crew members and equipment.
Benji sighed. "I'm sorry. It's actually my fault. My mother called, so I told one of the assistant directors to remind you to change, but…"
"But?" I pressed.
He exhaled in defeat. "People are intimidated by the fact that you are producing this film. Everyone kept passing the responsibility to someone else. No one wanted to be the one to interrupt you when you were clearly having a good time. I only realized what happened when I got back."
That was exactly why I preferred working with a crew I had known for years. They understood that I valued the work above everything else. If a director pushed me to my limits to get a better performance, I wouldn't ever argue. Maybe I will for an insignificant role in a rom-com, but definitely not for a heavy drama where it mattered.
We reached my trailer soon enough. I stripped down to my boxers while the makeup artist entered, a young woman with practiced hands and an expression that kept flickering between focus and awe. She squeezed some gel into her palms and began spreading it over my chest and shoulders.
"Is this part really necessary?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
I had spent over ten years in the industry. While I had never needed my body spray-painted before, I had picked up enough about makeup to know what mattered. My torso needed to be painted blue for the role, but it didn't need to look perfect. In the film, it was supposed to be done by a teenager, so unevenness would only make it more realistic.
"It is important," she said firmly. "The gel will make sure the paint comes off easily when you wash it. Will told me specifically that the paint has to come off for tomorrow's scene because you go into the pool. If you want, I can skip this, but you will have to explain to Will why you are still blue tomorrow."
I exhaled slowly. "No. Just get it done quickly."
She nodded and continued, her hands moving in smooth, practiced motions along my arms and back. She was definitely enjoying her job a bit too much, but that didn't mean she wasn't following instructions properly. Two things can be true at once.
"There you go," she said eventually, standing up and reaching for the spray gun. "Let's start."
It was strange watching my skin slowly turn blue under the mist, but compared to everything I had pushed myself through for my craft over the years, this felt almost ordinary.
Pervert or not, I couldn't deny that the girl was good at her job. She carefully avoided my armpits and a few other areas to make the paint look naturally uneven, just as it needed to be. Once she finished, I was handed my costume for the scene: a cape, a pair of gym shorts, and a tear-away woodchuck suit that would go over everything. But it had to be worn after ten minutes when the paint had dried enough.
When I was finally ready, I took a deep breath and walked back toward the set.
For some reason, I felt nervous about acting again. It had been months since I had done it. Unlike most actors, I didn't have the luxury of rehearsing with others or easing myself back into performance. And this was my first small-budget shoot in more than two years. Working back-to-back on [The Dark Knight], [Avatar], and [Harry Potter], each with massive sets, CGI, and fantastical worlds, had almost made me forget what shooting a normal film felt like.
Still, I couldn't appear uncertain. I had a reputation to maintain. I had two fucking Oscars for acting, for crying out loud.
"Troy, you're here," Will Gluck, the director, said as I approached. He sounded uneasy. "We got a little sidetracked today, but I'm sure we can recover if we shoot quickly."
I gave him a flat look and resisted the urge to remind him exactly whose responsibility that was.
"Well," he cleared his throat, "let's begin. You know your marks?"
"No," I replied with a grin. "That's your job."
"Right," he nodded quickly. "Of course. Sorry. So you will enter from that side, behind the large poster, tearing through it as you come in. You will be dragging that wheelbarrow, where Emily will be hiding. Then…"
I listened carefully as he explained the sequence. It all made sense, except for one detail.
"Does everyone else know their choreography?" I asked once he finished.
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "We practiced it several times already. Both during the rehearsals and just now when you were getting ready."
I felt the urge to put my head in my hands.
"And when exactly were you going to tell me my moves?"
He blinked at me. "Oh. I assumed that since you are such an accomplished dancer, you would improvise something on the spot. You don't have any set moves."
Before I could respond, he stepped away and called, "Let's begin."
Reluctantly, I moved toward the wheelbarrow. I loved acting, but improvisation was not my strength. I preferred scenes, movements, and delivery to be fully planned. When I improvised as the Joker, it worked because I was fully submerged in his mindset. That character thought before I did.
This character of Todd was new and very basic. And since he wasn't supposed to be a skilled dancer, I couldn't rely on my usual, more elaborate movements either.
"You seem tense," Emily said, leaning against the wheelbarrow casually.
"Will essentially told me to improvise my moves in the scene," I replied.
She nodded once. "Alright. So what's the problem? You and I have danced together before in [Echoes of You], remember? You are the better dancer, so I trust you. Once I come back down the stairs, just do something simple, and I will follow your lead."
Her confidence in me was heartening, and I couldn't help the smile that rose to my lips.
"Alright then," I said with a nod. "Get in, so we can begin."
"Ugh," she groaned as she climbed into the wheelbarrow. "And you were complaining about not knowing your steps. I would gladly exchange places with you if I didn't have to do this."
I laughed quietly as she settled in, and we waited for the scene to start.
"Action!" Will's voice rang across the soundstage.
The cue was enough. I gripped the wheelbarrow handles, rushed forward, and burst through the bright yellow poster that read "Go On Woodchucks". Shreds of paper floated to the floor behind me as I stopped at the marked spot and knelt beside the wheelbarrow. Emily emerged from it with a playful, sultry grin as she began to sing. Or more accurately, lip-sync to the pre-recorded track. She moved with a perfectly rehearsed grace that I hadn't seen from her in a long while.
I was struck by her performance. I hadn't realized how much she had grown as a performer since we worked together on [Echoes of You]. We had done that SNL skit as well, but that was different. Here, her confidence was unmistakable. She moved with ease, commanded attention, and performed with the presence of someone who had truly earned her place.
I forced myself out of my thoughts before the footage became unusable. Right on cue, I stretched my arms outward. Emily moved in front of me and tore away the woodchuck suit, revealing my real costume. I now stood in blue shorts with a blue tail attached, a blue cape resting over my shoulders, and the blue paint covering most of my body. Whatever the makeup artist had applied earlier was working extremely well. The paint highlighted my muscles sharply, making everything from my abs to my chest to my biceps look sculpted.
Following Emily's earlier advice, I slid an arm around her waist and twirled her once. Her giggle was perfectly in character. As she moved up the stairs, I grabbed the devil trident prop, joined the other cheerleaders, and matched their rhythm as we stomped and tapped in time. It was far from perfect, but the camera was focused on Emily, not me, and the slightly clumsy execution worked for the character anyway.
When she returned to my side, I chose to add a touch of my own to the choreography. I pulled her closer as she continued lip-syncing. I stepped forward, stomped my foot and the trident into the ground a few times, and she followed without hesitation. After another twirl, I added a spin to my own movement before we faced each other again. I gripped her by the waist and lifted her slightly off the ground. She raised her arms as though embracing the moment fully.
I lowered her gently, and she rested her head and forearm against my chest, releasing a soft sigh that conveyed longing, affection, and performance all wrapped into one.
"This was just a free preview," she announced happily, still resting her head against my chest. "For the main event, log on to www(dot)freeolive(dot)com tonight at 6 PM. And I know it interferes with the basketball game, but come on, would you rather be here, cheering on the Woodchucks, or watch me do one?"
I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing and turned toward the bleachers, where the extras began cheering as soon as they understood the implication of Emily's line. Their excitement filled the soundstage, the energy lifting the entire scene.
"Cut!" Will's voice echoed across the set. "That was good, Troy, Emily. The improvised dancing was great. Keep doing that. We will need to redo it because it didn't look smooth and effortless enough."
Of course it didn't. There was a limit to how effortless a first run could be with no practice at all.
"Let's go again from the top," he called out, sounding far too enthusiastic for what would certainly be a long series of takes.
I had a feeling we were going to be here for a while.
(Break)
Alyssa stared at the screen in front of her. She knew what she was about to do was questionable, to say the least, and if she was caught, she could face actual legal consequences for spreading hateful content. But her employer had made sure to shield her. The NDA she signed stated that if anything came back to her, she would be compensated generously.
With that reassurance in mind, she posted the first comment.
AlyInWunderland:Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it the height of hypocrisy that Troy Armitage exposed predators like Jeffrey Epstein and Prince Andrew, and is now receiving knighthood from that same Prince's mother.
Then she opened a second account in Chrome's incognito window and posted again.
LifeIsAConspiracy:Oh, that is easy. The royals are trying to buy Troy. Since they cannot throw money at him, they are offering him a title. Something like this never just happens. I thought he was a good guy, but not anymore.
She switched to a different browser and opened a third account.
IWannaFudgeYou:Troy Armitage is just like everyone else. He sold out his principles for the title of 'Sir'. The worst part is that no one younger than 21 has ever been knighted unless they are part of the Royal family. This is clearly damage control on their part, and an open bribe on Troy's.
Within an hour, Alyssa had posted dozens of critical and hateful comments about Troy Armitage across multiple platforms. Her coworkers were probably doing the same thing, flooding every space they could access.
The money was good, without question. But as she continued typing, a faint heaviness settled in her chest. This could hurt Troy. It could stain his reputation permanently. He was one of the best actor-singers working today and was a real philanthropist who had donated literal billions to help homeless people, someone who had done genuine good in the world.
And she was helping tear him down.
_________________________________
Announcement: Happy New Year to all my readers! I hope 2025 was a good year for you. That said, I will be taking a break from writing for a few days, because I have been doing it non-stop for a while, and need to recharge to get those creative juices flowing again. My next post on either of my stories will be on January 10th, 2026.
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