Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

Jerome hesitated about going to Troy Armitage's place. There didn't seem to be any point. The clip had already been leaked to the media—why would Troy even pay him now? That thought circled Jerome's mind over and over. Still, he couldn't ignore the potential benefits. Troy was right: he was insanely rich. Jerome knew plenty of paparazzi who had gotten wealthy by cozying up to celebrities.

With that in mind, Jerome drove to Troy's family mansion in LA. It was a stunning property nestled in the Hollywood Hills, part of a gated community that began a mile before the mansion itself.

"Hi!" Jerome greeted the gatekeeper with exaggerated cheer. "I'm here to see Troy Armitage."

The security guard chuckled. "Seriously? Aren't we all? Get lost before I have to pull out my gun."

"No, seriously," Jerome insisted. "Call and ask. He'll agree. Tell him I'm the paparazzo from last night—the one who took his video."

The guard raised an eyebrow, skeptical but curious. He'd heard stranger things before. And paparazzi sometimes carried serious leverage over celebrities. Turning Jerome away now could cause trouble later if his claim turned out to be true. Reluctantly, the guard made the call.

"Alright, you're clear," the guard said, nodding toward the mansion looming in the distance.

Jerome flashed a polite, thankful smile and drove through the gates. The sheer luxury of the place was overwhelming. Walking into the mansion felt like stepping into a set from a movie about billionaire protagonists. Troy wasn't even a billionaire—yet—but it was obvious he lived in style.

Jerome barely had time to soak it all in. His attention was drawn to two figures in the room: Troy Armitage and his father, Steve Kloves.

"Hey," Troy greeted casually, walking over to Jerome and handing him an envelope. "Here's the cash, as promised."

Jerome hesitated, staring at the envelope before voicing the question that had been nagging at him. "Why? The video leaked anyway. Why are you still honoring the deal?"

"Why don't you take a seat?" Troy gestured toward a plush couch.

Jerome saw no harm in complying. The moment he sat down, he was struck by how unbelievably soft the couch was. It was like sitting on a cloud.

Steve Kloves sat opposite him, his expression all business. "We need to know who the fourth paparazzo was—the one who took the video."

Jerome shook his head. "I don't know."

"Don't play coy," Troy said. "We'll pay you even more if you give us his name."

"I really don't know," Jerome repeated, his voice firm. "All I got was a call from an unknown number telling me you'd be at Arashi's with Rihanna. When I got there, three other guys were already set up. Two you already met, but the fourth guy was wearing a balaclava. He didn't say a word and stayed hidden the whole time."

Troy closed his eyes, clearly frustrated. "That doesn't give us anything."

"It does," Steve interrupted, turning to Jerome. "Give me the phone number that called you. I'll pay you five thousand more, right now."

Jerome didn't hesitate. He pulled out his cell phone and recited the number to Steve, who jotted it down. Then, Steve retrieved another envelope from his pocket and handed it over to Jerome.

"If you remember anything else that might help us," Troy added, "you can get even more."

Unfortunately, Jerome couldn't think of anything else at the moment, so he shook his head.

"Can I have your phone number?" Troy asked unexpectedly. "I might need your services in the future."

Jerome didn't need to think twice. He flipped out his business card and handed it to the superstar. People had often called him pretentious for having a business card as a paparazzo, but Jerome called it preparation—for exactly this kind of moment.

(Break)

"That was a bust," I noted after Jerome had left. "I don't think that phone number will lead anywhere. It's probably from a payphone or a burner."

"We can try," Dad replied, his tone pragmatic. "I'll send it to a private investigator I know. Let's see if anything comes of it. But let's focus on the bigger issue for now. What are you going to do about the video? It's bad for your image—and then there are the legal issues if he decides to sue you. Not that he'll win, but it will cause problems."

The situation could spiral out of control if not handled properly. The entertainment channel that aired the story had only shown an edited version of the footage, one that conveniently omitted the moment the paparazzo grabbed Rihanna's arm. If Rihanna sued him first, it might shift the narrative. Even so, I could still face legal trouble for attacking the man, even if it was self-defense. Normally, cases like this were settled quietly with money before they escalated, but I had no intention of doing that.

"I wouldn't pay that man a single penny if I can avoid it," I said firmly. "Damn the consequences."

Dad studied me for a moment before speaking. "Then we leave for London. Before the police get involved. If you're out of the country, there's nothing they can do."

"Now?" I asked, surprised. We were already scheduled to leave tonight. I preferred night flights; I could rest more easily on them.

"Yes," Dad said with a decisive nod. "Now. The police might see that clip and come knocking. If we leave before they arrive, our lawyers can handle the fallout. Go pack. You have half an hour. I'll call and get the plane ready."

I didn't like the idea of running from this, but it was better than paying that man anything. So I followed Dad's advice and packed in record time. All the while, one thought burned in my mind: if I ever find out who's targeting me, they'll regret it.

(Break)

As soon as I stepped onto the set of [Harry Potter], I could tell something was off. It had been a week since the incident, yet everyone seemed to be watching me out of the corner of their eye, as if I were some unhinged lunatic who might explode at the slightest provocation.

Totally unfair on their part. It wasn't like they'd only known me for more than half a decade.

"Troy! You're here!" Josh, our second unit director, said with enthusiasm. "We can start shooting whenever you're ready."

I gave him a curt nod. Josh beamed and began explaining the scene to me. It wasn't much of a scene—mostly green screen work with minimal dialogue and a heavy focus on action. Strange for me, given that most of my roles as a lead required the main director's oversight. But for this film, they needed me to shoot some sequences with Josh.

Second unit direction focuses on secondary scenes or action shots without dialogue, allowing the primary unit to concentrate on advancing the main story. For big-budget films like [Harry Potter], this division of labor is essential to keep production timelines on track. A few directors, like Quentin Tarantino and Christopher Nolan, famously refuse to use second units, even if it means significantly extending their production schedules.

Rian Johnson might have done the same if he'd been more established, but with only [Brick] on his résumé, he didn't have the clout to negotiate out of using a second unit.

That day of shooting turned out to be one of the most tedious I'd had in a while. Days when I'm the only actor on set are rarely enjoyable, but the crew's thinly veiled apprehension toward me made it all the more grating. Still, I knew better than to give them any reason to believe I was the rage monster they clearly feared.

No one was happier than me when the day finally ended and I could retreat home, far from the stares and hushed gossip.

Or so I thought.

As soon as I walked through the door, I could sense something was wrong. My parents' tense expressions confirmed it. For a moment, worry flickered in me—until I saw Evan. He was barely holding back laughter, his shoulders shaking with the effort.

"What is it now?" I asked, already exhausted.

Dad decided to deliver the news. "Do you remember that episode of [South Park] you loved so much?"

"The one with Russell Crowe?" I asked with a grin. "How could I not?"

Trey Parker and Matt Stone were comedic geniuses. That Russell Crowe episode had been pure gold, exposing the absurdity of the man to the world. He deserved it.

Lately, Crowe had hit a rough patch, too. His recent films hadn't done well, especially when they went head-to-head with mine. [Master and Commander] was a flop, and [Cinderella Man] didn't fare much better. The funniest part? Both [Brick] and [Cinderella Man] made exactly $106 million worldwide. The difference? [Brick] had a shoestring budget of $1 million, while [Cinderella Man] cost $88 million to make.

Entertainment Weekly had run a full article about how I was far more profitable than the "angry Aussie man."

"Don't look so smug," Mum cut into my tangent of self-congratulation. "You're not going to like [South Park]'s latest episode."

"Why?" I asked with a grin. "Is it about me?"

When neither of my parents responded immediately, the answer became clear.

"Hahahaha!" Evan burst into laughter, no longer able to hold it in any further. "You deserve this. Someone had to knock you down a peg or two."

"You've already seen it?" I asked my parents.

"Of course we did!" Evan said between fits of laughter. "It's so bloody funny!"

"Shut up, Evan," I muttered, shooting him an irritated look. Despite my annoyance, a part of me was curious about what [South Park] had cooked up.

"I can take a joke," I said confidently, turning to my parents. "Come on. Let me see it."

They exchanged wary glances before Dad shrugged. "Just don't say I didn't warn you—it's...a bit insensitive."

He grabbed the remote and pressed play. We all settled on the couch as the episode began. Its title appeared on the screen: The-Boy-Who-Judo'd.

The opening scene showed Stan, Kyle, Eric, and Kenny wandering through town, noticing enormous posters being plastered everywhere. The posters announced the release of a new movie called Larry Hooter, about a young wizard. The lead actor, Troy Armitage, was scheduled to visit their town to promote the film.

"They're not being subtle," I remarked dryly, noting the blatant parody of [Harry Potter] and myself.

"As if the title didn't give it away," Evan quipped, but I ignored him, more interested in what the show had in store.

As the episode unfolded, my parody character, "Troy," was portrayed as excessively charming. Wherever he went, people adored him. He exuded calmness, kindness, and an almost supernatural peace-loving nature—until he made an appearance on The Ellen DeGeneres Show.

On the talk show, everything went smoothly at first. But then, a stagehand dressed as a troll suddenly leaped out, attempting to spook Troy.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The screen dramatically rotated around Troy as his easygoing smile morphed into a competitive grin, as though he'd just powered up in a video game.

In a flash, Troy sprang to his feet and Judo-flipped the troll through Ellen's coffee table. The host, the audience, and even Stan and Kyle, who were watching from home, gasped in shock. Troy nonchalantly returned to his seat, casually brushing off the incident and quipping, "The spell for self-defense is called Judoicus Flipicus!"

I burst into laughter. It was a solid joke. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just a warm-up for something even more over the top.

The next scene didn't disappoint. My parody character was soaking in a bathtub when an obsessive female fan suddenly burst through the bathroom door. Clutching a foam wand, she screamed, "Marry me or die, Troy!"

Without missing a beat, Troy Judo-flipped her straight out of the room. She went crashing through the door and several walls beyond. Outside, townsfolk peered through the human-shaped hole left in the debris, trying to figure out what had just happened.

From inside the bathroom, Troy shouted, "The spell of restraint: Expelli-armitage!"

"Okay, that wasn't funny," I said unhappily. "No one should make jokes about assault."

"Keep watching," Mum said grimly. "It gets worse."

As Troy's story continued, he was shown on a date with a woman who looked remarkably like Rihanna. The two were sitting at an outdoor café when a paparazzo approached them.

"I'm a big fan, Troy, Ri," the paparazzo said politely. "Can I please get a photo of you two together?"

"Hey!" Troy shouted, standing abruptly. "No one talks to my lady without my permission!"

What followed was a ridiculous WWE-style move that included a series of unnecessary backflips, Matrix-like slow-motion effects, and an over-the-top takedown of the paparazzo.

In the background, a crowd of bystanders chanted, "Larry Hooter! Larry Hooter!" egging him on.

Troy basked in the adulation, flashing a charming smile as he said, "I was just defending my lady's honor."

Cut to Stan's living room, where his parents were watching the scene unfold on TV.

"Such a good guy, standing up for his girlfriend," Randy Marsh said approvingly.

"Yes, so chivalrous," Sharon added, practically swooning.

Meanwhile, Stan folded his arms and frowned. "This Troy guy is an asshole," he declared.

"Maybe he's not?" Kyle countered thoughtfully. "Maybe he's just misunderstood?"

Finally came the climactic moment: Troy arrived in South Park to promote Larry Hooter. The town was sharply divided—half the adults admired him for "defending his girlfriend," while most of the kids despised him, branding him an egomaniac.

Standing before a group of children, Troy addressed them with a polished smile. "Hey, kids! Watch my film!"

"No," Stan shot back defiantly. "You're too full of yourself."

Troy sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm just misunderstood," he said solemnly. "Fame has its burdens. I need something to vent it out. Watch this new move I've learned to cope."

Without warning, he executed a wildly elaborate maneuver and Judo-kicked Kenny, who stumbled backward into the street—right in front of an oncoming truck.

"Oh my God, he killed Kenny!" Stan shouted in horror. "You bastard!"

Unfazed, Troy turned to a cameraman standing nearby and said with a smile, "Let's just cut that part out and start from the beginning. After all, I have to maintain my image as a normal teenager who just happens to kick ass."

The screen froze on his dazzling smile before fading to black, the credits rolling immediately.

I stared silently at the screen as the credits ended, turning slowly to face my parents. "When did this air?"

Dad hesitated, clearly gauging my mood before replying. "Two days ago in the US. Yesterday here in the UK."

"Ugh!" I groaned, sinking back into the couch. "Is that why the crew's been treating me like I'm a ticking time bomb?"

Mum shrugged. "Probably. Are you okay, Troy?"

"I didn't like the second part, you know," I said, grimacing. There was no need to spell it out; everyone knew what I was referring to. "But other than that... it was kinda funny."

Both my parents sighed in relief.

"So, you don't mind it?" Dad asked cautiously. "If you want, we can sue them. Given your age, we'll likely win as well."

I shook my head. "No. If I sued someone for making a joke, everyone will label me as entitled and a bad sport. Nonetheless, this can't go unanswered."

Dad looked intrigued, "What exactly do you have in mind?"

I grinned, "Did you forget that I just happen to have bought a video streaming company recently?"

_________________________________

Visit my Pat reon to read ahead, or participate in free polls about the story.

Link: www(dot)pat reon(dot)com/fableweaver