Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

Coming back to London after so long felt like waking up from a dream and stepping back into reality. Unfortunately, I had to return without Rihanna—she needed to wrap things up in L.A. before moving here. Evan and Nadia were traveling separately from me since she was heading to her place, and Evan, ever the gentleman, had offered to drop her off. That left just me and Benji, who had flown straight to London since he already had all his stuff with him.

"Troy," Benji called out nervously. "You never told me what my duties were."

That was an excellent question—one I didn't have an answer to. I liked Benji and wanted him to be part of my fledgling team, but I hadn't figured out what role to assign him. I studied him, considering his strengths. I really needed a manager, but he was too young and inexperienced for that.

"What are you good at?" I asked as we rode in my Range Rover back to my parents' place.

He stared at me for a few moments before saying, "You don't actually have a job for me, do you? Are you just doing this out of pity or something?"

"Of course, I have a job for you," I lied smoothly. "In fact, I have a few positions open. I just don't know your skill set, which is why I asked."

He still didn't look fully convinced but answered, "I love watching movies. It might sound corny, but I got into it because of you. I saw your films as a kid, and that inspired me to watch more. I watch hundreds of movies in a year. I even thought about becoming a professional film critic."

"It's a terrible profession," I said, shaking my head. "One of the worst movie-related jobs out there. The pay is meager for most reviewers, and it's a thankless gig. Either you write the same generic review as everyone else, or people hate you. If you give a negative review to a good film, you're accused of jealousy and trying to bring down a good film. If you praise a bad film, people assume you were paid off.

"Not to mention, you'll need a degree in journalism or literature just to get your foot in the door at a reputable media house."

Benji sighed in defeat. "Then what can I do?"

I wracked my brain for possibilities—then something clicked.

"Since you love movies, you can start by reading scripts for me," I said. "I get at least 200 to 300 offers a month."

His eyes widened.

"Yeah," I chuckled. "It's a lot. Till now, my assistant Tobias has been handling it, but he's already overworked. You don't have to pick scripts for me right away—just summarize the story and my role in it. I'll make the final decision."

I would never let anyone else make the final call on my future films—no one in the world knew better than me which scripts would succeed and which wouldn't. But with the pile of offers growing by the day, I needed someone to help manage them.

"But that's only when I'm not filming. When I am, you'll come along, and I'll find something for you. You can probably take on some of Tobias's duties when he's away on production."

"He's a film producer?" Benji asked, confused.

"An associate producer," I nodded. "I'm producing a few films where I'm not the lead and won't be heavily involved, so if any issues come up, Tobias may need to step in and smooth things out. But don't worry about that now—it's still months away."

As we continued discussing his role, Benji grew more and more excited.

"I can't believe it!" he said, practically buzzing. "I'll be reading movie scripts for a living."

I chuckled at his enthusiasm—just as we pulled up to home sweet home.

The moment I stepped out of the car, two beings rushed toward me: Loki and Mum. Loki, my excitable ball of sunshine, nearly tackled me. I barely managed to catch him before he started licking my face with wild abandon.

"I missed you too, boy," I said, snuggling him. As much as I'd wanted to bring him on vacation, huskies weren't meant for tropical weather. Besides, Mum had practically begged me to leave him with her—so at least one of her "kids" would still be at home.

"Just Loki?" Mum quipped. "I hope you didn't forget your old mother."

I chuckled and let Loki go, watching as he turned his attention to sniffing out a nervous-looking Benji. Without needing to be told, I pulled Mum into a hug.

She rubbed my back lovingly before sighing. "God, I missed you so much, love. I don't know how I'll manage when you leave the house."

"I'll get a place nearby," I promised as we pulled apart.

"So you are planning to move out soon," Mum noted, reading between the lines with ease.

I suppressed a wince and smiled in deflection. "I haven't thought about it seriously. Let's not get into that now. Mum, meet my good friend and new employee, Benji Cooper. Benji, meet my Mum, Kathy."

I turned back to Benji—only to find him looking absolutely terrified as Loki growled at him.

"Troy, can you please keep your dog on a leash?"

"That's odd. Loki gets along with everyone." I tilted my head in confusion before a grin spread across my face. "Is this foreshadowing that you're a dodgy character, Benji?"

By now, Loki had taken a few steps forward, looking ready to pounce. Benji quickly lifted his suitcase as a makeshift shield and shouted, "No time for your jokes! Help me, man!"

I chuckled before turning to the growling beast and saying firmly, "Loki! Come here." I pointed at the ground beside me.

As soon as I gave the command, he halted his aggressive stance and bounded over, sitting as calmly as he could manage. His gaze, however, remained locked on Benji, who still didn't look entirely reassured.

"I hate dogs," he whispered. "I absolutely hate them."

"They can smell your fear," I noted. "Or so I've heard. Don't worry, though—Loki will warm up to you in no time."

Benji took a deep breath before muttering, "Suddenly, I don't feel so good about this job."

"You'll be fine," I said dismissively, waving off his concerns. "Come on, let me show you your room."

(Break)

Ricky Gervais was getting restless. He had an episode to shoot in less than three days, and he still didn't have the celebrity guest he wanted. Finding any B-list or lower actor willing to do the show wasn't a problem—it was the A-listers who were difficult to lock down.

He and his writing partner, Stephen Merchant, had prepared multiple scripts adaptable to any A-list celebrity, regardless of gender or age. But his first choice was a teenager—a teenager who had inconveniently been vacationing on a private island with no cell reception.

Ricky had first called Troy Armitage's father nearly a month ago, then again ten days ago, only to get the same response. This time, however, Steve Kloves had finally given him Troy's assistant's number, asking him to call back in two weeks. That deadline was only a few days away.

Unfortunately, Ricky didn't have a few days. He picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello?" A young American male voice answered.

"Hi!" Ricky greeted. "Am I speaking to…" He glanced at the name scribbled in his notepad. "Tobias?"

"No," the boy replied.

Ricky had already guessed as much—the voice was far too young. For a moment, he was excited by the possibility that it might be Troy himself.

"It's Benji. Tobias is on sick leave and left his work phone with me. Who's calling?"

"Ah, forgive my manners," Ricky said. "I'm Ricky Gervais. I spoke with Troy's father earlier about a potential guest role in my TV show. If Troy's available, could I come by and discuss the script with—"

"Wait," Benji interrupted. "Ricky Gervais, as in the creator and lead actor of [The Office] and [Extras]?"

"Yes," Ricky grinned, pleased at the recognition—even if the boy couldn't see him. "The role I have in mind is for [Extras]. So, when can I come over to meet him?"

Ricky needed Troy on the show at all costs—postponing the episode wasn't an option. If it took going to his house personally to convince him, so be it.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gervais," Benji apologized. "I'm very new here, so I'm not sure how things work. Let me talk to Troy and get back to you. That okay?"

"Definitely," Ricky nodded.

As soon as the call ended, he sat back and waited. If they didn't call him within an hour, he'd be dialing again.

(Break)

"Come on," I said with a chuckle, casually flipping through TV channels. "It's your first week. Don't be so hasty to pick a project for me—especially one on TV."

"But you didn't even hear what the project is," Benji complained. "Ricky Gervais is the creator and lead actor. It's for that TV show [Extras]."

Ricky Gervais. One of—if not the—best British comedians of the 21st century. As soon as I heard his name, I immediately thought of the legendary TV show he created—[The Office]. I also recalled watching him host The Golden Globes in the future, where he'd stir up a riot with his sharp, no-holds-barred commentary on Hollywood's celebrity culture.

But for the life of me, I couldn't remember a show called [Extras]. Maybe it didn't do too well, or perhaps it never became as renowned since it didn't have an American version. Whatever the case, I had no idea what to expect from this show—or this particular episode.

"I think you should do it," Mum chimed in, setting aside the fashion magazine she'd been browsing.

"Without even reading the script?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Ricky is a brilliant writer," Mum said. "I haven't met him personally, but his writing is sharp and witty. At the very least, meet him before deciding whether to take the role. It would also be good training for you to do a TV show."

"It's a comedy, Mum," I pointed out. "Not a drama. That reminds me—you never gave me the script."

"I'll do you one better and give you a full narration later," she smiled. "For now, why don't you go meet Ricky? Let him tell you about the role. You've had a long enough break—you could ease back into work if that's what you want."

That wasn't a bad idea. Jumping headfirst into a major film felt like too much, but a guest appearance on a comedy TV show? That was the perfect way to start things up again.

(Break)

"I can't believe they roped you into this as well, Warwick," I said to my Harry Potter co-star.

Warwick Davis, who played Professor Flitwick, was currently dressed in a bizarre costume that was supposed to be a "wood elf"—though it looked nothing like one. Meanwhile, I was outfitted in a full Boy Scout uniform, complete with a neckerchief. The worst part? The shorts. They made me look absolutely ridiculous—but I didn't complain. That was the whole point of comedy.

"Ricky is amazing," Warwick said conversationally. "So is Stephen."

"And you don't mind that they're making fun of dwarfism?"

"But they're not, are they?" Warwick countered. "They're making fun of people who are uncomfortable with the idea of us dwarfs living normal lives. It's a thin line, but I think they walk it perfectly."

I had to give it to him—the episode could have easily turned insensitive if they'd gone even slightly overboard, but Ricky and Stephen knew exactly when to throw the punches and when to pull back. Not to mention, the script was so damn funny I'd laughed for ten minutes straight just reading it once.

"Fellas," Ricky Gervais stepped up beside me and Warwick, placing a hand on my shoulder. I practically towered over him, making the conversation a little awkward. "Thanks for doing this on such short notice."

"Not at all," I said. "This is one of the funniest scripts I've ever read. I had to do this. Plus, I've been wanting to try a full-on comedy role—this is perfect."

"Totally," Warwick agreed.

Ricky smiled before asking, "You know your lines?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" I saluted him, playing up my Boy Scout uniform.

He smirked, then deadpanned, "That was terrible. Don't do it again."

I burst out laughing. The best part? I knew he was completely serious.

Soon enough, Stephen Merchant took his place behind the cameras as the three of us moved into position. He and Ricky had a seamless working relationship—whenever Ricky was acting, Stephen took control as director, and vice versa. When both were in a scene, they split the directing duties, with one calling the shots.

Since Ricky was in this scene with Warwick and me, Stephen stepped behind the cameras.

"Action!"

As soon as I heard the command, I stepped forward to see Warwick mock-crying like a little kid, his hands covering his face. He was perched on a giant mushroom—one that looked like it had been ripped straight out of a Super Mario game.

"Wood elf!" I tapped his shoulder. "Why do you cry?"

He gasped dramatically before responding in a high-pitched, childish voice, "Blow as hard as I might, my flute makes no sound… Fuck, this sounds gay as hell." His voice had dropped back to normal by the end of the sentence.

I lost it. The scene was already absurd enough, but Warwick's deadpan delivery and self-aware commentary sent me over the edge.

"Hahahaha!"

Warwick and I doubled over with laughter, and we weren't alone—everyone on set was cracking up, including Ricky and Stephen.

The situation was hilarious on its own: Warwick played an elf whose flute wasn't working. But when he handed it to me, I cleaned it, and suddenly, it worked again. Now, if you just replaced the word elf with gay, the entire meaning of the scene took on a completely different, unintentionally suggestive angle.

"That's the whole innuendo," Ricky said, grinning once the laughter finally died down. "Now, come on, guys, let's finish this."

___________________________________

For anyone wondering, this is Extras (S02E03) where Daniel Radcliffe was cast originally.

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