Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

"Hey, gang, what're we doing?" I asked cheerfully as I sat opposite Ricky Gervais and his co-star Ashley Jensen. The latter, a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties, played the female lead in the show—the woman my character was currently lusting after.

"Just eating," Ashley replied.

"Sweet." I nodded confidently before leaning forward. "Look, thanks for covering my arse earlier. The offer still stands."

"What offer?" she asked, bewildered.

"You know." I gave her a meaningful look. When she still didn't get it, I made an 'O' with the index finger and thumb of my left hand and repeatedly pushed my right index finger through it, wagging my eyebrows at her suggestively.

Ashley looked a little uncomfortable and quickly changed the subject. "I want to get a drink. Do you guys need anything?"

"I'll have a cup of tea," Ricky said.

"Get me a bourbon, will you, babe?" I said, leaning back in my seat.

"I think it's just teas and coffees here," she pointed out.

"Then get me a cup of Joe, and make it strong. I don't like that weak shit—" I stopped mid-sentence as Ashley got up and walked away. I turned to Ricky. "Oops. I'm not supposed to curse, y'know, to maintain my kid-friendly image." That line wasn't in the script, but it felt natural. Lowering my voice, I leaned in. "Listen, when she comes back, make some excuse and leave us alone, will you?"

Ricky looked taken aback but nodded slightly. "What have you got planned?"

Confidently, I pulled a fully unrolled condom from my pocket.

"You've unraveled it," Ricky pointed out.

I nodded. "Ready for action." I stretched it back like a rubber band. "I just hope it's big enough for—"

Before I could finish, the condom escaped my fingers and flew behind me. I turned around just in time to see it land squarely on the face of an elderly woman who had, until now, been quietly enjoying her soup.

The woman was none other than Dame Diana Rigg. She had starred in the iconic '60s TV show [The Avengers], though younger audiences would later recognize her as Olenna Tyrell in [Game of Thrones]. Hopefully, in this timeline, she still would do the role.

"Can I have my Johnny back?" I asked, using the British slang for a condom.

"May I have my Johnny back?" she corrected imperiously.

"May I have my Johnny back?" I repeated.

"Please," she added.

"Yes," I said.

"Not called a Johnny though, is it?" she asked.

"Durex?" I tried.

"No, that's a brand name," she said. "Say, 'May I have back my prophylactic or sheath.'"

All this time, the condom had been dangling from her hair. Honestly, it almost looked like she enjoyed the absurdity of the situation.

"May I have my prophylac—"

"Tic."

"—tic back? Can I have it, please?" I asked, once again forgetting my manners and reverting to 'can.'

"Yes." She made a disgusted face before plucking the rubber from her hair and handing it back to me.

I put it back in my pocket.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Dame Diana asked, making me turn back.

"Yes. Thank you, Dame Diana."

I turned back to Ricky Gervais, who asked, "Still gonna use it?"

"Yeah, it'll be fine," I said nonchalantly as if it wasn't a big deal.

"Lucky girl," Ricky noted just before Stephen Merchant's voice rang across the set.

"Cut."

As soon as he called it, I turned to Ricky. "Thank God you didn't slip in a joke about Trojan condoms."

"Believe me, I wanted to," he quipped. "But it didn't fit with the rest of the scene, so I dropped the idea."

Made sense. Ricky's brain worked ten steps ahead of mine when it came to comedy. By now, the condom army joke was old, so he must have heard it before—something he just confirmed.

"With that, we're done with your scenes," Ricky said.

I had requested that all my scenes be shot together, and production had gone one step further, scheduling everything for a single day. I really appreciated the effort. Normally, a half-hour sitcom like this one was filmed over three to four days, but since I wasn't in every scene, they adjusted the schedule so I could wrap up in one.

"Thanks for letting me be part of the show," I said gratefully. "When's it airing?"

"September 28th," Ricky replied.

"Don't they shoot it more than two months before airing?" I asked curiously. "Were you just waiting for me to say yes?"

"Yes," Ricky nodded with an exaggerated smile. "What else would I have done if you'd said no? I'd be forced to sell my house."

I laughed at his antics before standing up and shaking his hand. "Seriously though, if you ever want me for another episode, a film, anything—just say the word."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a smile of his own.

(Break)

I sat opposite Mum and a man who had just been introduced to me as Peter Moffat—Mum's writing partner, with whom she had developed the upcoming miniseries. The way the two of them barely looked at each other, sitting stiffly across from me, I could tell something was wrong.

To be honest, I had suspected it for a while. Whenever I asked Mum about the script, a narration, or even just the premise, she always found a way to change the topic. And now, here I was, with no idea what exactly lay ahead.

"So?" I prompted gently. "You can begin whenever you want."

"I'm not so sure you should do this show, Troy," Mum said, surprising me. "I'm sure you'll find better opportunities. It's not like you're short on offers."

Before I could even ask why, Peter shot up from his seat. "Is that why you called me here, Kathy? Just to say Troy won't be involved? I expected more professionalism from you."

"I never said he wouldn't participate," Mum shot back. "I won't tell him what to do with his career, but as his mother, I have the right to advise him. And I don't think this is the best move going forward."

"Calm down, Peter," I said, noting how he was gearing up for a full-blown argument. "Let's act like civilized people. I haven't said no to the role yet." Once he sat back down, I turned to my mother. "Why did you even suggest I be part of it if you didn't like it?"

"I never said I don't like it," Mum corrected. "I love this project. When we started writing it, it was a good idea—great, even. But it was mystery thriller with legal elements thrown in. And now that it's finished, it's become something even greater. But the focus has shifted from the mystery aspect to a prison story.

"As writers, we wanted to show realism. We visited prisons, talked to ex-convicts, and got a firsthand look at the reality of incarceration. After taking it all in, I don't think this role suits you—or the image you've cultivated among your fans."

Now I was intrigued. Every actor worth their salt wants a challenging role. A prison drama is a dream come true for anyone wanting to prove their range. Until now, I'd been a minor (heck, I technically still was), so taking on a role like this wasn't possible. But I'd be eighteen in less than half a year—I could easily play an 18- or 19-year-old convict.

"We've already secured funding from HBO and the BBC with your name attached, Troy," Peter interrupted my thoughts. "If you back out now, there's a good chance one—or both—will pull out. You and your mum won't face any major repercussions, but I will. I need this show. My future depends on it."

"Okay," I said before Peter could launch into another plea. "Tell me the story first. Then I'll decide."

He hesitated for a moment, as if caught off guard mid-argument—probably because he had already prepared a list of reasons why I shouldn't say no. But after a brief pause, he cleared his throat and began.

"Your character is named Ben Coulter. He's an 18-year-old, wet-behind-the-ears, shy kid who just started uni. His father drives a cab, and one night, Ben borrows it to go to a party. At a stoplight, a girl jumps in, thinking he's the driver. They start talking, one thing leads to another, and they have a one-night stand. Ben wakes up later, downstairs. When he goes back up to her room, he finds something horrific—the girl he slept with has been murdered…"

The moment I heard that part of the plot, I knew exactly which miniseries he was talking about. I had seen it twice—once as [Criminal Justice], the original BBC version starring Ben Whishaw, and again as [The Night Of], the HBO adaptation with Riz Ahmed.

The latter was the superior version by far—an eight-part series that had the luxury of time to explore the trauma of imprisonment and the toll it took on the protagonist's family. Not to mention HBO's bigger budget, which meant experienced actors, top-tier cinematography, and a more polished final product.

Peter took about an hour to narrate the full story, and despite already knowing it, I wasn't bored for a second. His storytelling skills were undeniable, and the passion in his voice made his vision feel fresh and compelling.

"That's how the show ends," he concluded. "So? What do you think?"

"It's good," I admitted. "Really good. I can see why Mum was raving about it." Then, turning to her, I said, "I'm doing this show."

My tone left no room for argument.

"But, son—"

I raised a hand, stopping her. This wasn't a conversation I wanted to have in front of someone else. Instead, I turned back to Peter.

"I love your script, Peter, and I want to do it. But even if, for some reason, I can't play the lead, rest assured—I'll personally produce it if HBO and the BBC back out."

That was all the reassurance he needed. I could see the tension drain from his body, as if I had just lifted a massive weight off his shoulders.

"Thank you, Troy," he said, his voice full of relief. "So, when do you want to start shooting?"

"I can't say for sure right now," I admitted. "Let me check with my assistant, and I'll get back to you with a date."

"Sounds good," Peter stood up and shook my hand before nodding to Mum and leaving the place. 

When I was sure he was out of earshot, I turned to my mother and raised an eyebrow, silently asking the question that I knew she was hesitant to answer truthfully in front of Peter. 

"Your Dad read the script of the show," Mum confessed. "He suggested I drop the idea of you doing it." 

"Why?" I asked calmly. 

"He didn't want me to go through the same things we did when [Sex Education] was released." 

I immediately understood what the problem was. The script that Peter had just narrated to me was very much an R-rated one. Or TV-MA, to be more precise. The character of Ben has sex with a girl and is naked a lot during the runtime of the show, which is expected for a realistic prison drama. He is also tortured by his prison mates and takes hard drugs. And not the generic kind like in [Echoes of You], where my drug usage is shown indirectly to avoid an R-rating. No, this drug usage is the nasty kind, which shows how people actually get addicted to the stuff. 

I had not done any of these things onscreen before. In the UK, the age of consent is 16, so it is technically legal for me to shoot a nude scene or a sex scene. There would be outrage for sure, but it would be legal. Then there was also the fact that I had a long-running contract with Warner Bros that prohibited me from doing a film or TV show that presented me in a negative light. It also barred me from doing nudity or shaving my head bald until after the last [Harry Potter] film was released. 

The only saving grace was that I had the ear of Time Warner's CEO, and if the show was released on HBO, I was sure I could convince him to let me do this. 

So, in the end, it all boiled down to public perception. If I were a normal 17-year-old who shot such scenes right now, no one would really care, especially not in the UK. But given that I had an international following, I had to keep that in mind as well. 

"I don't mind you doing such a show personally," Mum continued. "I know you're almost a grown-up now, and in a few months, I won't have any control over your life whatsoever. But please think twice before doing this show right now because it could affect us all." 

That was kind of true, but not exactly. Shooting a risqué film at 9 and at 17 are two entirely different things. It helped that I was very tall, and recently, even my facial hair had shown tremendous growth, so I didn't look that young anymore. 

After a lot of thinking, the only conclusion I could come to was…

"Okay." Seeing the surprised look on my mother's face, I elaborated, "I'll do the show only after turning 18. In the meantime, I'll take up some other role."

Mum was clearly not happy with my answer, so I continued, "I'll have to do such a role sooner or later, Mum. It's better to get it out of the way sooner. There's no better way to leave behind the image of [Harry Potter] than by showing the world the true range of my acting."

"You have already left that image behind, son," Mum argued. "Don't use that excuse. No one now calls you Harry when you go out. Your three movies last year made sure of that."

I couldn't deny that. I had been so used to wanting to leave my Harry Potter image behind that I used it as an excuse for every role I do. So I changed my argument.

"You're right," I agreed. "But as you said earlier, this is a great story. I would be a fool as an actor to let it go to someone else. I know it goes against my image, but I really, really want to do it, if only as a personal challenge to help me grow as an actor. Please let me do this Mum."

Mum looked me over silently for a moment before saying, "The whole world will see you naked. And those photos will remain on the internet for eternity."

"Open any search engine and type 'naked' in the image search," I countered. "Millions of naked people will come up. What's one more photo? I'm also a human after all."

Then there was the fact that my time on my island had opened my eyes to the absurdity behind the perception of nudity. I had gotten so used to being free with friends that the idea of doing a scene naked didn't bother me as much as it would have a few months ago. We all came into this world naked, so why did it matter if someone else saw us in the same state?

If I wanted, I could ask Peter to make some changes to the scenes and cut that part out of the script, but I didn't mind it. Moreover, I strongly believed that it was a great part of the story, necessary to bring out the depth of my character.

"Fine," Mum said after a few moments. "Do it all you want, but don't say I didn't warn you when your decision comes biting you back in the arse."

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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