February 2009, Stratford, Ontario, Canada
Justin walked forward with light steps, already dreading what was waiting for him. He had a strong feeling that he was about to get the reprimand of a lifetime, thanks to the asshole who had become his new French teacher. So what if he had skipped a class or two? It wasn't like he was the only one who did that. Still, he was ninety percent sure Mr. Raphael had already called his mother, and once she got a call from school, she never failed to make his life a living hell.
As he slipped in quietly through the back door, Justin could hear his mom's voice carrying from the living room. She was talking to someone, a man, though he couldn't make out who. He was just about to make a beeline for the stairs when the old wooden step betrayed him with a loud creak.
"Justin! Is that you?"
Shit.
"Yeah, Mom," he called reluctantly, not bothering to walk over. "Just got back from school. I have a test tomorrow, so I'm heading over to Micah's to study, okay?"
"Come here," his mother ordered. "Right now."
With a defeated sigh, Justin angrily tossed his backpack onto the stairs before trudging toward what felt like his own funeral march. On the way, he caught sight of the chipped paint peeling along the walls and the second-hand furniture that looked ready to collapse. It was a stark reminder of everything they didn't have. Micah's home was the opposite: modern, comfortable, and filled with things Justin could only dream about.
One day, Justin promised himself, things would be different. The moment his music career took off, he would buy his mom the best home in the world.
His idol, Troy's words, echoed in his head. If he kept working hard at his music, success would come sooner or later.
When Justin finally stepped into the living room, he froze. Something was definitely off. For one, his mom looked happy instead of furious. That alone was unusual. Then there was the stranger sitting opposite her. The man wore a well-tailored suit and carried himself with the sharpness of a lawyer. His piercing gaze immediately fixed on Justin, scrutinizing him from head to toe.
Self-conscious, Justin shifted uneasily. He tugged at his t-shirt, praying the small hole near the hem wasn't visible under the man's unwavering stare.
"Justin!" his mother said, almost bursting with excitement. "You won't believe what happened. You remember the video you uploaded a few days ago on YouTube?"
"Which one?" Justin asked, brow furrowed. "I upload a video every few days."
"The one on the day of the Grammys," the suited man answered smoothly. "Lonely."
Of course, Justin remembered. Lonely was one of his favorite songs by Troy, even if it wasn't one of the superstar's biggest hits. He had held off covering it for a long time, focusing instead on Troy's more popular tracks to maximize visibility. Even as a rookie YouTuber, Justin had researched how the algorithm worked, and more popular songs like Grenade or All of Me with great vocal range were the ones with the most covers.
Besides, Troy's songs were the easiest to cover. Most artists demanded a fifty percent commission for legal monetized covers, but Troy was different. He allowed independent musicians to cover his songs for free, with zero commission paid to him personally. That meant one hundred percent of the ad revenue that YouTube paid for the videos went directly to the creators, as long as they were independent and not working under a corporation.
It was exactly why Troy's music dominated YouTube and Spotify. Everyone wanted to cover his songs. There were no copyright strikes, no takedowns, and best of all, full monetization was allowed.
"Yeah, what of it?" Justin asked the lawyer, his tone defensive. Then his eyes widened as realization hit him. "Wait, you're suing me? But I thought I was allowed to cover Troy's songs for free. I can take down the video if you want, just please don't—"
He stopped mid-sentence, glancing helplessly at his mother. To his surprise, she looked amused. She and the suited man exchanged a quick glance before bursting out laughing.
"Wait till I tell Troy about this. He'll find it hilarious," she said between chuckles.
Troy? Justin's stomach flipped. What the hell was going on here? If this man was really here to sue him, why would his mom be smiling like that?
The stranger stood smoothly as he extended a hand toward Justin. "I'm Bobby Caron, and I work for Troy Armitage. Troy found your cover of Lonely on YouTube, and he absolutely loved it. Since then, he has listened to many of your covers. Now, he wants to sign you under his label, just like he did with Taylor Swift."
Justin just stared. It took him nearly a full minute to process the words. His mind scrambled to make sense of them. He even closed his eyes, trying to remember the date. It wasn't April 1, was it? Because this had to be a prank. There was no way in hell Troy Armitage had actually heard his songs, let alone liked them.
"Who sent you here?" Justin asked at last, his voice sharp with suspicion. "Was it Dan? Because I swear to God I'll—"
He never finished. Bobby calmly pulled a phone from his pocket and tapped the screen, revealing a paused video. The frame clearly showed Troy Armitage himself, sitting casually in front of a camera. Without a word, Bobby handed the phone over.
"Play it," he said.
Justin hesitated, then pressed the button.
"Hey Justin!" Troy's voice rang out, warm and sincere. "I have to say that I absolutely loved your voice, especially that cover of Lonely. It would be such a big shame if the world didn't hear it as well. That's why I'm sending Bobby there to personally fly you over to LA. If you agree, that is. I'd love to guide you to become a better singer than even me."
The video ended. Silence filled the room.
Justin looked up slowly, clutching the phone like it might shatter. "This is fake," he said flatly, though his voice shook.
Bobby sighed, rubbing his temple before turning to the woman across the room. "You have a deeply distrusting son, Pattie."
His mom raised an eyebrow. "Can you blame him? You flew all the way to another country just to offer him a job? You showed me the papers, sure, but even I'm a little skeptical. What's the catch?"
"The only catch I can think of," Bobby replied evenly, "is that Justin would have to leave his life here in Canada behind."
"And you expect me to just let him go thousands of miles away with a stranger all alone?"
Bobby shook his head. "Of course not. You think we're some kind of monsters? While the offer is for Justin alone, if you want, we can provide you with housing for a year, along with a job. It's always better for young artists to have their parents nearby to keep an eye on things."
She narrowed her eyes, suspicion etched into every line of her face. "You'll give me a job, just like that?"
"Troy Armitage owns multiple multi-billion dollar companies," Bobby said matter-of-factly. "It isn't difficult for him to provide employment to a single mother who has raised such a talented boy." His voice softened as he leaned forward slightly. "I've done my research, Pattie. I know how difficult things have been for you. Say yes, and you won't have to worry about money again. Troy has taken a personal interest in your son, and he's willing to mentor him, just like he did with Taylor Swift. Today, she's one of the biggest young names in the music industry, with her latest album being a massive success."
Then Bobby looked directly at Justin, his eyes steady. "We can make it happen for you as well. This isn't a promise, and things like these are never certain, but we won't know for sure until you give it a try."
Hope blossomed in Justin's chest. This was amazing. No, this was beyond amazing. It seems like his dream to give his mother a better home was gonna get fulfilled much sooner than he had accepted. And the best part was the chance to meet and learn music from Troy freaking Armitage!
"But I've heard that Troy isn't religious," Pattie argued. "I've heard his latest album, thanks to Justin, and I don't want my son to walk the same godless path I did in my youth."
And just like that, all hopes were dashed again.
"I want to go, Mom," Justin finally spoke up, his voice firm before Bobby could respond. "I really want to go. This is my one chance to achieve my dream. Please don't take it away from me."
Bobby, understanding the tenseness of the situation, stood before motioning toward the table in front of him. "I'm leaving our offer here. Read it, consult a lawyer if you like, and talk it over. I'll be in town for a few more days, and you can call me anytime if you have any doubts about anything. I know it is a major lifestyle change, but it could be so good for Justin's future."
With that, Bobby walked out. The moment he did, Justin knew he was about to have a very heated discussion with his mother. He wasn't going to lose what might be his only chance, no matter what, even if it meant fighting his mother for it.
(Break)
I walked down the red carpet, cameras clicking at every step. Flashbulbs popped, reflecting off the glossy black shoes and the perfectly tailored suit I wore. Reporters shouted my name, their voices swallowed by the roar of the crowd lining the barricades.
"I still don't understand how you do it so effortlessly," Mum commented once we'd moved out of the direct crush of the vultures. She looked elegant but slightly overwhelmed, holding on to her clutch bag tighter. "I'm not even a celebrity, but the limited limelight I get, thanks to you, is already exhausting enough."
I shrugged, smiling slightly. "I don't know. I guess I've gotten used to it. Now it would feel strange to attend a premiere or an award show and not have the media go crazy. Also, you should start preparing yourself for this kind of attention. After all, you'll soon be heading the TV division of Phoenix."
"True," Mum admitted with a faint smile. "That's a drawback I hadn't considered until now."
We had only taken a few more steps into the venue when we were accosted by none other than Taylor Swift, looking radiant in a shimmering backless gown. She didn't waste a moment before wrapping her arms around me in a warm, tight hug.
"Thank you so much for inviting me here, Troy," she whispered excitedly into my ear. "I thought I had no chance to get an invite this year."
I patted her bare back gently, smiling. "Of course. I had to invite my best female friend."
"Aww, you're my best male friend as well," she replied happily, her eyes sparkling with glee.
The real reason I invited Taylor was that Scarlett wasn't here tonight because of her work. Like every nominee, I was allowed four guests. Mine were my parents, Evan, and Taylor. The last spot was a difficult decision to make, but I chose her because she needed the publicity to gain more momentum for her album if she were to win big next year.
I never liked the seating arrangements at the Oscars, or most award shows, for that matter. Only the most famous faces were given front-row or prominent seats. Even nominees in the non-acting categories were often placed at the back or along the sides. They allowed only one guest to sit directly with the nominee.
From a producer's point of view, it made sense. When the camera panned over the audience, filling the screen with recognizable stars, it increased the chances viewers would stay tuned, if only to see the live reactions of people they admired to the night's wins and losses.
If I wanted to, I had enough sway now to get extra seats for Taylor, even if Scarlett had been with me tonight. Things like that became easy once you owned one of the big six studios. Each major studio received a small block of reserved seats they could assign to stars with upcoming projects, or resell if they didn't care to fill them.
Soon enough, Dad and Evan joined us, and we did what was expected at an event like this: mingling. Or more accurately, people came to mingle with us. Renowned directors, powerful producers, and superstars like Sean Penn, Robert Downey Jr., and Meryl Streep stopped by to greet me personally.
Most conversations flowed easily, but one was more awkward than the rest: Hugh Jackman, who happened to be tonight's host as well.
"I can't say I'm not bummed about the news," Hugh said, his easy charm dimmed by clear disappointment. "I had just hoped that whoever made the decision would reach out to me personally. I talked to Kevin Feige, and he told me the call came from you?"
"It did," I admitted with a nod. "I watched a semi-final cut of the film they'd produced, and I have to say, I haven't seen a worse X-Men movie. You were fantastic, as always, but one performance can't save a whole production. I knew you might feel cheated out of the bonuses you were promised, which is why I asked Kevin to offer you an additional five million as a goodwill gesture."
That last part was because I didn't want him to sue me for breach of contract, which he could, just like Scarlett did with Disney in another lifetime.
He shook his head, his expression pained. "It's not about the money. It never was. I just love playing this character. And now Kevin tells me you're looking for an entirely new cast for the X-Men. I'd love to reprise my role, even if this is a new universe."
His passion was undeniable, but I knew it wouldn't work. If I cast Hugh again, he, and more likely, his agents, would never agree to the conditions that Robert Downey Jr. and the other lesser-known actors in the series had accepted.
"I'll be honest with you, Hugh," I said with an apologetic smile. "You're simply too expensive to hire as Wolverine. We have huge ambitions for the project we're creating, but we can't afford established actors who are already household names. The CGI and production costs for movies like this have shot through the roof. And the last X-Men movie, [The Last Stand], couldn't even recover its costs in the theatrical run. Honestly? I don't know what the executives at Fox were smoking when they greenlit your character's origin story after that. Not to mention the god-awful script that sealed Deadpool's mouth. I mean, seriously?"
Hugh hesitated before replying, his expression tightening. "That last part was actually my suggestion, but only as a joke. The writers took it seriously. I thought they probably knew better."
"They didn't," I confirmed dryly. "Anyway, I'd still like to work with you in some other capacity, but another Wolverine is unlikely, unless you're willing to take a major pay cut."
He didn't answer that last part. Instead, he made up some excuse about his hosting duties, gave me a polite nod, and left soon after, disappearing into the crowd. Of course he won't talk about his salary directly with me. No star does. They are coached by their agents to never enter negotiations without their presence.
Evan walked up to me soon with a big grin on his face. "I love events like these," he said cheerfully.
"I'm glad someone does," I replied with a small smile before turning serious. "Are you okay, though? Everything alright after 'Take Me to Church'?"
He shrugged. "Of course. I directed the video, and I couldn't have done a better job. Sure, I didn't want to star in it as well, but Jonathan asked me to, and I thought, what the heck. Let's just get it out in the world once and for all."
It had been quite the bold move on Evan's part to come out through one of my music videos. It was totally his idea, though I supported him. Anyone else might be worried about lack of a project if news like this breaks out, but when I own one of the studios, it didn't matter. Call it nepotism or whatever, but I bet anyone in my position would have done the same thing. It helped that Evan was actually good at his job.
"So about the project we wanted to work on together," I said slowly, "did you find anything good?"
"Not really," he admitted.
"Good. Then I have an idea." I leaned in a little, lowering my voice. "A war movie. Something epic, on the scale of [Saving Private Ryan]. Would you be comfortable directing that?"
He gave me a skeptical look. "And you thought of me? Not some great visionary like Spielberg?"
"I've seen your work in [Eclipse]. It was amazing to see how much the quality improved from [New Moon], especially the action scenes. That's all thanks to you. Of course I want you. So, do you want to do it or not?"
"Of course I would love to!" he said quickly. "I just thought—"
"You thought wrong," I said firmly. "I've even done some research on the script and would like your input."
He raised an impressed eyebrow. "As soon as we're free from all this, let's sit together."
"Yes, let's," I agreed.
Soon we were all back inside the hall, seated in our allotted places, and the Oscars were about to begin. I found myself in the very front row, right in the middle, which was considered one of the best seats in the house. I didn't like it, though. From here, everyone could see me clearly, and the cameras would linger on me far more than necessary. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it.
"Did you notice something strange?" Mum whispered, leaning slightly toward me. "Some people are actively avoiding our family. I went up to greet Penélope Cruz, and just as I opened my mouth, she gave me a quick smile, muttered some flimsy excuse about needing the powder room, and then scampered off."
"Maybe she really needed the loo," I suggested, playing devil's advocate.
"The same thing happened with several others," she said firmly. "Even with your father. And do you know what they all have in common? They've done films with The Weinstein Company recently."
I closed my eyes, irritation surging. Not him again.
"I didn't want to deal with this tonight," I muttered, "but I suppose I'll need to have a heart-to-heart with dear old Harvey at the Governor's Ball later tonight."
Mum's expression turned worried. "What are you planning, son?"
"Nothing you'd disapprove of, I promise. Now smile."
That was the last thing I could say before the ceremony began. Hugh Jackman opened the night with a musical number, showing off his theater background. He even invited Anne Hathaway to join him onstage for part of the set. While Hugh was a talented performer and actor, I had never cared much for his singing voice. With some autotune, it might have sounded better, but live performances offered no such luxury.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice rang out, "to present our first award of the evening, please welcome Christopher Walken, Alan Arkin, Kevin Kline, Cuba Gooding Jr., and Joel Grey."
The past winners of Best Supporting Actor had gathered on stage to present the next recipient.
I hadn't expected my category to be announced first tonight.
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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