AN: I forgot to post chapter 281 on WN, so here are two chapters to compensate for it.
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"Thank you for agreeing to do a longer performance, Troy. I can't tell you how much everyone is waiting for that," the slimy man said, rubbing his hands together like a caricatured villain from a comic book. His wide grin never faltered as my hairstylist moved around me, carefully arranging each strand so I would look flawless on stage. "By the way, have you decided on your next album already? For next year's Grammys?"
I arched an eyebrow at him through the mirror. "Why do you wanna know?"
"No particular reason," the producer replied, his tone deliberately casual. "It's just that your performance at the Grammys has been the biggest highlight for the last two years, so I was curious about your plans for the next one."
He didn't have to say the rest out loud. I knew exactly why he brought it up. My performances had singlehandedly pushed the show's ratings through the roof. Ever since I started appearing, the Grammys had seen an 80% surge in viewership compared to the year before I first performed. It wasn't that other singers lacked fans, but my fan base was larger, louder, and fiercely devoted. To be honest, the Grammys should have been paying me to perform.
The only reason I hadn't asked was simple: I wasn't hurting for money. Besides, sharing revenue with me would set a precedent that the Academy wouldn't like to establish. And, to be fair, there was no concrete proof that I alone had caused the ratings spike. New artists had been nominated each year, and plenty of other performances drew attention too.
Still, in a way, the Grammys had already paid me back with their trophies. That was enough to keep the competitive side of me satisfied. The two gleaming awards resting on the table in front of me proved it. Earlier that evening, at the pre-telecast ceremony, I had won Best Dance Recording for Starboy and Best Solo Rock Vocal Performance for Demons, bringing my Grammy total to 22.
Six more nominations remained, all to be announced during the main broadcast less than an hour away:
Best Pop Vocal Album – [Troy 2.0] Best Pop Collaboration with Vocals – Die With a Smile (shared with Scarlett) Best Male Pop Vocal Performance – Beautiful Things Song of the Year – Shape of You Record of the Year – 24K Magic Album of the Year – [Troy 2.0]
I often said I didn't care about awards, but the truth was, the kid inside me still longed for them. Recognition never stopped feeling good, no matter how much I pretended otherwise.
"…would be great for everyone if you could plan another album for next year," the producer continued, his voice almost syrupy with persuasion. "I can promise you the opening slot of the Grammys again, just like the past two years and this one as well. Even if you don't get any nominations. Not that you won't."
By then, I had mostly tuned him out. It unsettled me, though, how he seemed to know I was planning to take a break. Not just from acting, but from music too. As much as I loved it, I needed a break from everything happening in my career. The only commitment I had accepted was the upcoming tour with MJ. That, I was determined to see through, if only because I knew how things had gone in the original timeline, where MJ was gone by 2009. I refused to risk missing the chance to share the stage with him, even if I had gotten him to go into a rehab. If I delayed or pulled out and something happened to him, the missed opportunity to go on a tour with him would kill me.
"Listen, man," Benji addressed the Grammy producer firmly, breaking me out of my reverie. "You want to book Troy, you talk to his manager. This is not the way to do things. If you don't go out right now to let him get ready in peace, Troy won't be performing tonight, let alone next year."
The man in question paled before taking a step back, then another. In less than three seconds, he was out of the door.
"Nicely handled," I gave Benji a fist bump, which he reciprocated.
"I had to," he replied. "Guys like that just sets me on edge."
I gave him a single nod before focusing back on my hair and makeup. I was happy with Benji's change in attitude over the years. He was no longer the meek boy who would let anyone walk all over him. While he may be good as my assistant, he needed to be more if he wanted to take duties beyond that. As a beloved public figure, I cannot be anything but likable when I'm out in public or even semi-public spaces like this one. So I needed some bad cops in my team to tell others 'no' on my behalf.
"I was thinking," Benji began suddenly, "Will you ever start using social media, or do we just sit on all the accounts that you had me create, from Facebook, to Twitter, and everything in between?"
"Sit on them for now," I said. Had the hair and makeup lady, Alina, not been in my permanent employ, and under strict NDAs, Benji and I wouldn't be having this conversation here. He knew that as well. "Nothing good comes out of it. Social Media was made so that people could boast about their happy lives, but in reality, most people only feel miserable seeing the costly homes and hotels stays, or their expensive cars. I don't need to prove anything to anyone. Maybe one day I will join it, but not today."
"Fair enough," Benji conceded before changing the topic. "Hey, do you know why they asked you to do a longer performance?"
I thought about it before shaking my head. The response they had given me was that there had been a mix-up and two artists can't perform anymore.
"Apparently," Benji whispered in a full gossip mode, "Rihanna canceled her performance for the Grammys tonight."
That thought gave me pause, "She did? I haven't talked to her since…the last Grammys. Why did she though?"
He shrugged, "I don't know for sure, but Chris Brown also had to cancel because he is in police custody for domestic violence. The news just broke this morning. I think you should talk to her."
Fuck. The timeline repeated itself. This was specifically what I had warned Rihanna against, and she didn't take my warning seriously. I guess it's true that unless something terrible happens to you personally, you don't think it will ever happen to you.
"And we're done here," Alina stepped away from me. "How do we look?"
I pushed all thoughts of Rihanna out of my head and checked the final product of Alina's hard work in the mirror and nodded in satisfaction, "Perfect."
(Break)
Scarlett Johansson sat among the crowd, nerves twisting in her stomach. This was her first nomination for a major American award, and as each minute ticked by, she felt her chances slipping away. Troy had already secured two Grammys earlier that evening, so it was entirely possible he would lose the one for Die With a Smile.
Winning or losing, however, was not her main concern. What mattered to her was seeing Troy perform from the front row and what is bound to follow afterward.
She was exhausted, drained from the grueling shoot of [Black Swan]. It was the most physically demanding role she had ever taken on, and she had already decided it would also be her last of that kind. Honestly, she had wanted to skip the Grammys altogether, but Troy had insisted she attend. She had agreed only on the condition that she would be allowed to skip the Oscars. As much as she wanted to see him lift his next golden statue, her time was consumed by preparing for the role of a lifetime.
Her thoughts scattered when Troy appeared on stage with a roar of applause. He made his entrance on a Harley Davidson, the bike's growl rumbling through the Staples Center and sending the audience into a frenzy. He wore a shining gold jacket and pants, the spotlight making him sparkle like a living firework. Then, with practiced timing, a stagehand whisked the jacket off his shoulders, revealing his bare torso beneath. The crowd's cheers swelled even louder at the sudden display of skin.
Scarlett could hardly believe her luck sometimes. Innumerable women would give anything, even kill, to be with Troy. Yet here she was, the one he had chosen.
The music turned off suddenly, the lights dimmed, and Troy began singing softly.
~When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold…~
Demons was one of his strongest songs, the centerpiece of his latest album. The moment his voice rang out, the arena quieted down, every pair of eyes drawn to him. His presence alone commanded the entire Staples Center.
After the intro, when the chorus ended, the beat suddenly shifted into something brighter, funkier.
~Put your pinky rings up to the moon
Girls, what y'all trying to do?
Twenty-four karat magic in the air…~
The crowd erupted again, clapping and dancing along. Then, just as quickly, the rhythm morphed into another familiar tune.
Before the audience could catch on, Troy leapt down from the stage, striding directly toward Scarlett. Her heart skipped. If this part of the performance wasn't planned, she would have killed him later.
Troy extended his hand. She took it, and he pulled her flush against him, their proximity making the crowd shriek even louder as Troy started belting out Shape of You. Scarlett placed hand on his bare torso, and that created a frenzy of sorts.
~Girl, you know I want your love
Your love was handmade for somebody like me
Come on now, follow my lead…~
Following his lead meant rising with him, moving toward the stage as the intro swelled around them.
~I'm in love with the shape of you
We push and pull like a magnet do
Although my heart is falling too
I'm in love with your body…~
Dancing with Troy always felt effortless. He carried the rhythm as naturally as breathing, his movements were fluid and commanding. Just like the lyrics suggested, she clung to his waist while he guided them across the stage, making every step look easy and graceful.
Scarlett couldn't stop smiling. She was lost in the moment, enjoying every second of it. For a brief time, she even forgot that this performance was being broadcast live to millions, perhaps even billions around the world.
The final transition began. Troy locked eyes with her, his gaze steady and unflinching. This time, he wasn't singing to the audience or the cameras, just to her.
~If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you
If the party was over and our time on Earth was through
I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile
If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you~
When he offered her the mic, she didn't hesitate for a second before taking her part.
~Ooh, lost, lost in the words that we scream
I don't even wanna do this anymore
'Cause you already know what you mean to me
And our love's the only war worth fighting for~
Troy leaned closer, holding the mic between them as their voices merged in a powerful, charged finale.
If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you~
When the last note faded, they stood face to face, breathing hard from the intensity of the performance. The audience erupted, a thunderous standing ovation filling the hall. Scarlett knew then that it didn't matter if she lost IN her category. She already had the greatest prize of all in her arms.
(Break)
"Holy shit!" Patty groaned, clutching a pillow. "That performance had to be illegal. How can two people have that much chemistry?"
Claire sat beside her, still staring at the screen in awe. "Yeah, I get you. Not to mention, he's such a great singer. Both of them are, but Troy is on another level."
"True," Patty agreed, before pointing at the television again. "Hey, look, they're giving the first award. Male Pop Vocal Solo. Troy's up for Beautiful Things."
Claire cleared her throat dramatically and sang, "Please! Stay! I want you, I need you, oh God! Don't! Take! these beautiful things that I got."
Patty winced. "Stop, for God's sake. You're not that good of a singer."
"I'm better than you," Claire shot back.
"I never claimed to be a good singer," Patty retorted.
"And the Grammy goes to… John Mayer."
The announcement cut their bickering short. Both turned to the screen at once.
"What the fuck?! John Mayer? Who even listens to him?" Claire complained.
Patty shrugged. "I do. But Troy is better."
Claire gave her a judgmental look before focusing back on the stage, where the next award was being announced.
Nearly an hour of trophies and performances passed before the next category they had been waiting for appeared: Best Pop Vocal Collaboration.
"And the Grammy goes to…"
"Oh please, oh please, oh please," Patty whispered.
"…'Die With a Smile' – Troy Armitage and Scarlett Johansson."
"YES!" Patty and Claire screamed, hugging each other in excitement.
The camera cut to Troy and Scarlett sharing a quick and intimate kiss. Their song, Die With a Smile, played softly as they rose from their seats and made their way to the stage. Ever the gentleman, Troy caught the hem of Scarlett's dress and lifted it just enough to help her up the steps with ease.
After receiving the trophy, Troy offered the mic to Scarlett first and took a step back.
"Believe me when I say this, I couldn't have done it without Troy," Scarlett began. Her voice carried steady across the hall. "He wrote the song, composed it, and handled everything in between. He's the sole reason this song deserves any recognition at all. I just lent it my voice, but it could have been anyone else as well. So thank you, love, for doing this with me."
"Awww, she called him love," Patty cooed from the couch.
"That's probably his British influence on her," Claire guessed. "They call even strangers 'love' over there."
"Oh hush, you," Patty chided. "Let me enjoy this moment. I am absolutely loving those two together, and I want them to stay that way forever. Don't ruin my fantasy."
Back on stage, Scarlett finished by thanking her management and family before stepping aside.
Troy took the mic, paused, and simply said, "Thank you."
And with that, the duo left the stage.
Troy was infamous for keeping his speeches short whenever he shared an award, preferring to let his collaborators have the spotlight.
As the night went on, Best Pop Vocal Album went to a newcomer neither Patty nor Claire had heard of, leaving only the "Big Three" categories where Troy was still nominated.
"Seriously though, I get what they're doing by promoting new singers," Claire complained, "but it's not fair when Troy's album was clearly the best in that category. If you don't want him to win, then why nominate him at all in that category?"
Patty sighed. "That's the sad truth of the Grammys. If it weren't for Troy, we wouldn't even be watching right now."
When the announcement for Song of the Year approached, Claire leaned forward. "Who do you think could win if not Troy?"
Patty considered. "Coldplay for Viva La Vida. Or maybe Adele for Chasing Pavements. But Shape of You is my favorite, no question. As for Record of the Year, I'd pick 24K Magic, though Viva La Vida would be my second choice."
Claire nodded in agreement.
It felt almost prophetic, because both awards went to Troy. His speeches were gracious, standard fare, except for one comment that left the girls baffled.
"You know what I love about the Grammys, and music awards in general?" Troy said on stage. "You don't have to act like you're in love with Harvey Weinstein after accepting an award. Seriously, film folks, stop doing that, or people will start believing he's forcing you to."
Patty blinked at the screen. "That wasn't random at all."
"That was very weird," Claire agreed. "Why single out this Harvey person? And who even is he?"
As the show cut to a commercial break, Claire grabbed her laptop and typed quickly.
"A producer," Patty read over her shoulder. "And an Oscar winner, apparently, for [Shakespeare in Love]. Who even watched that movie?"
"But it has to mean something," Claire said thoughtfully. "Troy doesn't waste words in award shows. He knows the weight his statements carry. This can't just be a coincidence."
As the commercial break ended, Green Day took the stage to present the final award of the night: Album of the Year.
The nominees were announced: Coldplay, Lil Wayne, Ne-Yo, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, and Troy Armitage.
"And the Grammy for Album of the Year goes to… Troy Armitage!"
"Yes!" Patty screamed, pumping her fist into the air. "Do you know what this means? Troy just won the award three years in a row. He now holds the record for the most Album of the Year wins ever."
"Yeah, you've only told me about fifty times," Claire teased, though she couldn't hide her smile. She leaned forward, savoring the moment as Troy emerged from backstage, walking with calm confidence toward the podium.
As he accepted the golden gramophone, his sixth of the night and the twenty-sixth of his career, the entire hall rose in a standing ovation. The roar of applause seemed endless, the camera panning across musicians and producers all clapping for the boy wonder.
"Please, sit down," Troy urged, motioning with both hands. "I'm truly honored that you think I'm worthy of this. Honestly, I would've preferred this award go to Coldplay, who happen to be my favorite band."
The camera cut to Chris Martin, who raised his arms and gave a playful bow in Troy's direction, drawing laughter and cheers from the audience.
"I would like to thank Doug Sanders for making this album with me. Benji, Bobby, and Tobias, I would be lost without you three, so thank you." He paused for a moment before saying, "I don't know what else to say, but someone told me say something inspirational, so here we go: to any aspiring musician out there, keep making music. Create what you love and what you want to hear. When you do that, it truly resonates with people, and sooner or later you'll get your shot at success."
Another round of applause filled the hall as Troy stepped back from the microphone. But just before he left, he paused, leaned back toward it, and added casually, "Oh, and also—no thanks to Harvey Weinstein."
The crowd erupted into laughter at the jab, the camera catching a few raised eyebrows in the audience before Troy disappeared backstage.
"There it is again," Patty murmured, her excitement fading into curiosity. "Weinstein. Troy keeps bringing him up. What is he implying?"
"God knows."
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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