Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

(Flashback)

"There are two films in particular that I loved more than the others. The first one is called [Superbad]," Benji announced. "It's a hard R-rated teen comedy, even worse than [American Pie] when it comes to vulgar jokes. Reading it, I felt like a schoolboy had written it—it's that accurate to what actually happens in American high schools. And the humor? Out of this world. I nearly died laughing just from reading it."

I was speechless. I absolutely loved [Superbad]. I had to do it at all costs. Benji was right—the movie wasn't just funny, it had become a phenomenon over the years. Seth, Evan, and McLovin were iconic characters, each hilarious in their own right.

McLovin was obviously the standout, but I knew that role wouldn't suit me at all. I don't like to toot my own horn, but I look nothing like the nerdy McLovin. At all. Playing Jonah Hill's character was out of the question, too—his entire arc revolved around his insecurities about being ugly, overweight and awkward, and that just wasn't me.

That left Evan—the role Michael Cera played. If I took on that part, I'd need to tweak the script to make Evan funnier. Otherwise, Jonah Hill and McLovin would completely steal the show.

"So, what do you think? Want to read the script? I promise you won't regret it," Benji said confidently, snapping me out of my thoughts.

It was stupid to get ahead of myself when I didn't even know if the script was still available or if Judd Apatow had already picked it up, like in the original timeline.

"I've already read it," I lied smoothly. "I got it once before, but I was too busy with [Harry Potter] at the time." I paused. "You're right, though. It's a great script. What's the other one you liked?"

Benji hesitated. "I liked it," he said slowly, "but I don't think you'd do it."

I raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"Because it's a female-centric film," Benji said matter-of-factly. "The male role is basically like a Bond girl—just there to move the plot forward. It's not very memorable, either. All the best lines go to the female lead. But if you ignore that little flaw, it's an excellent script. It's called [Juno]. It's about a 16-year-old girl who gets pregnant after sleeping with her male friend once…"

The more he spoke, the more I remembered the film. [Juno] was great—no one could deny that. But Benji had grasped the situation perfectly.

At this stage in my career, every project I chose mattered. I needed to maintain the perception that I was the lead actor. The Hero.

It didn't mean I would never take on supporting roles. I would—but only if the role was so great that people were left in awe of my performance, like my part in [Little Miss Sunshine]. Playing a not-so-great role in a good movie, like [Disturbia], was fine as long as I was the lead. That distinction mattered.

That's why I wanted to enhance my potential role in [Superbad]. As it stood, all the best lines went to the other two characters, and I couldn't have that—not at this stage of my career.

"You're surprisingly good at figuring these things out," I said to Benji, giving him a considering look. For an 18-year-old high school graduate to instinctively grasp the intricacies of the movie industry—especially when he had just stepped into it—was impressive. Even I had taken a few years to fully understand these things.

"Tobias taught me," he said, as if that explained everything. And honestly, it did. "I asked him what kind of roles you'd want to do, and he gave me a full lecture." He shuddered, clearly reliving the trauma.

I chuckled at his reaction before giving him his next task. "Alright, here's what you'll do now—call Tobias immediately—as in right now, without even unpacking. Tell him he has to secure the production rights for [Superbad] and [Juno] at all costs. I want to act in [Superbad], but for [Juno], I'll just be a producer. Tell him Dad will write him a check as soon as he negotiates both deals."

Benji looked stunned for a moment, then nodded vigorously and hurried off to follow my instructions.

(Flashback End)

I smiled at Brad Grey. "It's called [Superbad]. I just bought the rights to produce it yesterday from Judd Apatow. It's a teen sex comedy about two best friends trying to get laid before graduation."

"So basically [American Pie]," Brad noted.

"Not really," I shook my head. "It's different—they don't actually lose their virginities in it. By the end, they realize sex is superficial and what they really need is a meaningful relationship."

Brad studied me for a moment before saying, "You'll need to change your look for this role."

I raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know which role I'm playing."

"A teenager desperate to get laid," Brad said dryly. "He can't be too handsome, or people will wonder why he hasn't hooked up already. Right now, you're too well-built and tanned—like a surfer who lives at the beach. If you want to sell this character, you'll have to slim down a bit and look more like a loser. Flatten your hair with some extra gel, maybe get braces for the movie. Slouch a little to seem less confident. Wear baggy clothes. These little changes could go a long way in shifting your public perception."

It wasn't a bad idea. I needed to lose weight for [The Night Of] anyway, and everything else was doable. Everything except one thing.

"No braces," I said firmly. "Anything else, fine. But not the braces."

I hated the look of braces with a passion. I could do anything else. Just not that.

"The decision is totally yours," Brad said jovially. "Remember our agreement—we'll distribute your films, but we won't interfere in production. I'm just making suggestions here. Now, when it comes to [Disturbia], that's different. We'll have some production control since we're financing it as well. You can still advise on the creative side of things."

I nodded in acquiescence. "Makes sense. So when do we start filming? And where?"

"For that, you'll need to sign the contract with DreamWorks first, since they're the official producers. We might be sister companies, but our management operates separately."

"But this film still falls under our contract, right?"

Brad nodded. "Of course. As long as you're in it and we're distributing it, it's covered. With [Little Miss Sunshine], [Disturbia], and [Superbad], you'll complete your three-picture deal with us. Quite early, if I'm being honest. I was hoping for a longer collaboration."

"Who said we're done?" I asked rhetorically. "We're just getting started. Market these three films well, stick to our agreement, and I have no reason to go anywhere."

Brad's smile widened—if that was even possible. "Glad to hear it." He extended his hand, and I shook it.

(Break)

Rihanna dreaded this meeting. She walked with small, measured steps, heading toward the man who had personally called her here.

"There you are, Rihanna!" A Black man in his mid-to-late thirties greeted her warmly. "I've been waiting for you to come back for months. I get it, love is great, but don't let romance distract you from work." His tone was teasing.

"Sorry, Jay," Rihanna apologized. "But Troy can be very persistent. It's hard to say no to him."

Jay-Z nodded knowingly. "A man after my own heart. Women can't say no to me either. Just yesterday, I was at Diddy's party, and girls younger than you were throwing themselves at me." He shook his head in mock nostalgia as if the incident had happened ages ago instead of just last night.

Rihanna forced a smile, but something about the comment unsettled her. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became—why was a man twice her age bragging about younger girls throwing themselves at him? Also, she was only eighteen. Just how young were these girls at the party?

Earlier, she might not have even questioned it. But then she remembered Troy's warning.

"Do what you have to for your career, but stay far away from guys like R. Kelly, P. Diddy, Jeffrey Epstein, and Harvey Weinstein," Troy had told her, his tone dead serious. "Even keep Jay-Z at arm's length if possible. And if anyone ever tries anything, you tell me immediately."

Rihanna had laughed at the time. "Oh, come on, Troy. You're being paranoid. Not everyone's out to get me. Jay-Z's a cool guy—he'd never do that."

"He probably is a great guy," Troy admitted. "But I've heard too many stories about so-called good guys." He shook his head, looking disappointed. "Let me tell you a few."

That night, they had talked for hours. And for the first time, Rihanna truly understood that not every man in Hollywood could be trusted. Even the most powerful ones had skeletons in their closets. Worse, the entire system was built to protect them and silence the victims.

"But you know me," Jay-Z continued, bringing Rihanna back to the present. "I'm loyal to my lady."

"Uh-huh," Rihanna responded noncommittally.

"So here's what we'll do for the next phase of your relationship," he went on in an imperious tone. "We need something to stir up controversy and keep you relevant in the media. I've given it some thought, and the best move going forward is for you to break up with Troy. Nothing generates headlines faster than a celebrity breakup."

"No," Rihanna said firmly. "I can't do that."

Jay-Z gave her a patronizing look. "Don't act like a child. I'm not asking you to actually break up with him if that's not what you want—just leak the news through unofficial sources and stop making public appearances with him. Then, after a few months, if you're still together, you can 'reconcile' publicly."

"I still won't do it," Rihanna reiterated. "Troy has asked me to move with him to London."

Jay-Z was silent for a few moments, his disappointment flashing across his face before his expression returned to its usual business-like demeanor.

"No," he said simply. "You're not going."

Rihanna bristled. "But—"

"No buts," Jay-Z cut her off. "I've invested too much time and effort into making you a superstar. You won't throw it all away for a boy. Boyfriends come and go, Rihanna, but a godfather like me? That's permanent for someone like you—with no other industry connections. Would you have even landed [Echoes of You] if I hadn't vouched for you?"

Rihanna couldn't argue with that.

"And don't think for a second that Troy can build your career," Jay-Z continued, pressing his point. "He's an actor first and foremost. You're not. He doesn't understand music the way I do. Tell me, how many concerts has he done to date?"

He hadn't. Everyone knew that. In fact, if you go online, that was the biggest complaint of Troy's fans on multiple forums. Nonetheless, Rihanna tried to be defensive, "That's because he was busy shooting his movie."

"And now the shooting is over," Jay-Z countered. "That's why he went on vacation with you, right? So what's he doing now? Planning concerts or lining up his next film?"

When Rihanna hesitated for a moment too long, Jay-Z's smile widened. "That's what I thought. He may be a good singer-songwriter, but unless he gives music the attention it deserves, he'll never get the recognition of the Grammys."

"But he got the Oscars," Rihanna argued.

"A movie award," Jay-Z shot back. "The Grammys don't respect actors who dabble in singing for the hell of it. You have to prove you're the real deal—something Troy isn't. And as long as you're with him, you won't win a Grammy either. Do you remember the promise I made to you the day I signed you?"

Rihanna nodded silently.

"I told you I'd get you a Grammy within five years," Jay-Z reiterated. "To make that happen, we need to climb the ladder—slowly but steadily. If you go to London now, you'll be setting yourself back ten steps."

Rihanna had no response to that—because with each passing moment, Jay-Z's words felt harder to refute.

Seeing her silence, Jay-Z leaned back lazily in his chair. "Of course, I can't stop you from leaving if you really wanted to. But keep in mind—my record label values artists who stick by me. And you still have four more albums to release under me. I won't give you up to anyone else. Forget about the Grammys—I'll make sure you're always remembered as Troy's girlfriend. Nothing more."

That was the worst thing Jay-Z could have said to Rihanna. Rage surged through her, only to be replaced by a crushing sense of helplessness. She knew she was trapped. Jay-Z had complete control over her career, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Without a word, she turned and walked toward the door.

"Think carefully," Jay-Z called out just as she reached it, making her pause. "I love you, Rihanna—like my own family. I want to see you succeed beside me."

Rihanna didn't wait another second. She kept walking. That last line infuriated her more than anything. Jay-Z liked to say it every once in a while, but today, she saw the truth—he didn't love her at all. If he did, he wouldn't be trying to own her. He would have let her go to London without a fight.

She drove back in a haze, barely paying attention to the road, only staying within the speed limit by sheer muscle memory. It wasn't until she pulled into the driveway that she realized she hadn't gone home—she had driven to Troy's place.

Even though Troy had been back in California for a week, they were still living separately. Not because they wanted to, but because they had to. The age of consent in California was 18—unlike the UK, where it was 16. If any paparazzi caught them living together, it could cause a legal scene.

Rihanna hadn't even been aware of where she was going, but her subconscious had known exactly what she needed: Troy. And she wasn't going to deny herself that comfort.

She pulled up to the gate, and the guard recognized her instantly, letting her through.

The moment she stepped inside, Troy—who had been reading on the couch—looked up.

"What a pleasant surprise, Ri!" he said, his face lighting up as he walked over and pulled her into a passionate kiss, spinning her around.

Rihanna reciprocated just as fervently.

"I can't tell you how good my week has been," Troy said excitedly, his infectious grin instantly brightening Rihanna's bad mood. "It's all because I wanted to come here—to be with you. I signed not one, but three films. In the first, I'm only acting. In the second, I'm only producing. And in the third—I'm doing both." His grin widened. "Believe me, next year will be just as good as 2005—if not better—and all thanks to my lucky charm." He looked at her with nothing but love.

Then, Troy's smile turned sheepish. "I hope you didn't start packing your bags—because my next film starts shooting in a week, right here in LA. And the second one? Also set in California. We won't be going back to London this year."

Rihanna let out a quiet sigh of relief. The conflict that had been brewing in her mind for the past hour had finally settled—all thanks to the coincidence of Troy filming two movies back-to-back in LA. Jay-Z was right. Troy is too much of a movie star to become a true pop star.

"I was just reading the script when you walked in," Troy said. "It's a horror/thriller. Do you want to do the female lead? I could ask them."

"No," Rihanna shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, but let's not act together anymore. I've heard audiences have a hard time accepting real-life couples on screen."

Troy considered that for a moment before nodding. "I've heard that too, but I don't believe it. The ultimate decision is yours—just say the word, and I'll make it happen."

"No," Rihanna repeated, this time with a small smile. "I have plenty of work to do while you shoot your films. But before we get into all that—tell me, when are you going on tour?"

"Huh?" Troy scratched his head in confusion. "What tour?"

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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