DOS Ch-248

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“Congratulations on your wins tonight, Troy,” a female reporter called out as soon as I stepped into the press area for post-win interviews.

“Thank you,” I replied, offering a calm, gracious smile.

She wasted no time in making me regret coming here. “My question to you is this: Isn’t it hypocrisy when you perform so openly with Michael Jackson, who is infamous for sleeping with people the same age that your charity is trying to save? How is it fair that you accused Epstein of heinous crimes while you work closely with a man accused of the same?”

I had anticipated this question. It had been one of the biggest concerns of MJ and me ever since we hashed out the details of the collaboration, and I had prepared myself for it. I just didn’t expect it to be the very first question of the evening.

“It is not hypocrisy because MJ had a fair trial where he was acquitted of all charges against him,” I said slowly, deliberately, as if speaking to someone who needed the facts repeated with care. “Epstein hasn’t. That’s all you’ll get from me on this topic. Next question.”

I subtly gestured to one of the Grammy organizers nearby, signaling that I wanted the next reporter called. I wasn’t going to let one woman derail my entire night.

“But—” the woman began again, her tone rising with intensity. She clearly wanted to press the issue, but before she could continue, a staff member snatched the microphone from her hand while another security agent gently but firmly guided her away. She struggled briefly, protesting, but I didn’t watch. My focus had already moved on.

The other reporters had noticeably quieted. The next voice was more cautious, a male journalist holding his mic close.

“MJ has been very reclusive in recent years,” he said. “How did this performance come around?”

I chuckled softly, seizing the opportunity to steer the narrative. “MJ is my idol. I’ve watched him dance ever since I was a little kid. I learned all his moves growing up. So when the Grammy organizers floated the idea of a joint performance, I knew I had to make it happen. I arranged a meeting with him and spoke to him face-to-face. He was hesitant at first, but I managed to convince him.”

The reporter nodded as the mic moved to the next person, a woman dressed in an elegant navy blazer.

“Is there any chance we’ll see more of your collaboration with him?” she asked.

I hesitated, weighing the decision carefully. Finally, I said, “We are in very early talks to go on a tour next year. I can’t promise anything just yet because nothing has been finalized, but if MJ is on board, there won’t be any hesitation from me.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I could feel the shift in the room. The energy picked up. Reporters straightened in their seats, scribbling quickly. I knew I had just given them tomorrow’s headline. In fact, it might outshine both my Grammy wins and the performance itself. The idea of MJ returning to the stage was already a bombshell. If I were to join him, it would be historic. Every show would sell out before tickets even went public.

That is, if he lived long enough to go on the tour. Something I planned to correct very soon.

I left behind a buzzing cluster of reporters, still chattering excitedly about the possibility of a tour, and made my way backstage. I found MJ standing near a mirror, looking calm and pleased, the corner of his lips tugged up in a rare smile as soon as he saw me.

“Happy now?” I asked once we were alone in the green room, away from prying ears and cameras. “I announced our tour to the whole world, so I couldn’t back out. Now it’s your turn to fulfill your end of the deal.”

Michael’s smile faltered slightly. “I really don’t think I need help,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s just a few pills that help me feel better. Nothing extreme.”

I shook my head firmly. “If you want my support, you do as I say and get into rehab. I know it’s not easy to accept help, but all it takes is one step. Once you start, it won’t feel as overwhelming as it does right now.”

He exhaled slowly, clearly mulling over the weight of my words. After a long pause, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll do as you suggest. But I’m only doing it because I want to go on that tour. I know it won’t have any effect on me.”

“As long as you get better, I don’t care why you’re doing it,” I said seriously, looking him straight in the eye.

Before either of us could say more, I heard someone call my name.

“Troy!”

Taylor Swift came rushing toward me with unrestrained excitement, her golden gown swaying with each step. Scarlett was close behind her. Taylor didn’t hesitate for a second as she threw her arms around me in a tight hug.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she exclaimed, eyes sparkling. “I couldn’t have won this without you.” She lifted her first Grammy triumphantly, the gleaming trophy catching the light. It was for her duet with me on ‘Somebody That I Used to Know.’

I chuckled at her enthusiasm, amused by how energetic she was even after such a long night. Before I could say anything, she turned sharply toward Michael and let out a high-pitched squeal, loud enough to startle even him.

“I can’t tell you how big of a fan I am,” she gushed once the squeal faded. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement.

Michael, ever gracious, simply smiled and dipped his head politely. “I can say the same thing about you. I’ve heard almost all your music, and you’re definitely someone to watch. It’s a shame they didn’t give you the Best Newcomer award.”

Taylor beamed. The two of them launched into a lively conversation about songwriting, melodies, and inspirations. I stepped back and let them have the moment.

Meanwhile, Scarlett moved quietly next to me and slipped her arm around mine. Her voice was soft, only for my ears. “How soon can we leave? I’ve been here all day and I’m tired.”

“No afterparties?” I asked, a bit surprised.

“You know I don’t drink anymore, thanks to you,” she said with a knowing smile. “And if I’m not drinking, I don’t see the point of going to the party.”

I grinned. “What about networking?”

“Do you need networking at this stage of your career?” she replied, arching a brow. “Especially at a music-dominated party?”

She had a point. Warner would expect me to show up at their afterparty, but I didn’t want to go any more than she did.

“Would you have done the same at the Oscars?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow in playful challenge.

“Did I ask you to avoid the Golden Globe party?” she shot back without missing a beat, her tone rhetorical and smug.

She had a point. She hadn’t said anything then.

The Golden Globes earlier that month had been a spectacle. I was nominated in four different categories: one for producing [Juno], another for my acting in [Superbad], and two more for both producing and acting in [The Night Of]. That night, I walked away with two wins for [The Night Of]. What meant more than the win itself was standing on stage with Mum, who had been the lead producer on the show. Sharing that moment with her had made the night worth it.

The Oscars were just around the corner, and this time, I had a single nomination—as a producer for [Juno]. The little film that had shattered industry expectations. It earned nods for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Original Screenplay, and Best Actress for Jennifer Lawrence. She was overwhelmed by the attention, still reeling from the nomination. Much like Taylor Swift, she’d gone out of her way to thank me for the opportunity, even though the real credit belonged to her own performance.

“You and I are both actors first and foremost,” Scarlett said, bringing me back from my thoughts. “So it makes sense to attend film industry parties, not music ones. And I know how much you dislike the music crowd, which you’re more than welcome to skip.”

I exhaled and gave a small nod. I couldn’t argue with her logic.

“Fine, let’s go.”

That is, as soon as I could pry Michael Jackson away from the clutches of one very enthusiastic Taylor Swift, who would be riding back with us.

(Break)

“Action!”

I sprinted forward, Zoe Kravitz right beside me, both of us clad in skin-tight motion-capture suits dotted with reflective markers. We stopped in front of a group of actors dressed the same, standing against a backdrop of scaffolding and blue screens that would later become the lush world of Pandora.

“Eytukan, I have something to say,” I declared in the Na’vi language, the syllables foreign yet familiar on my tongue. The language, meticulously constructed by linguists for the film, had become second nature after weeks of repetition, especially during my recovery from a hairline fracture in my right clavicle.

“Listen,” Sigourney Weaver called out, standing nearby in full gear, her voice authoritative and steady.

“Speak, Jakesully,” said the actor playing the Na’vi patriarch, his voice deep and commanding. He nodded solemnly, granting me permission.

I took a breath, heavy and deliberate, as though preparing to deliver a death sentence—my own or theirs.

“A great evil is upon us,” I began, my tone steady, urgent. “The sky people are coming to destroy Hometree.”

I turned toward Zoe, shifting into English for the next line. “Tell them they’ll be here soon.”

She translated in character, her expression tightening with fear. I turned back to the group, pressing forward.

“You have to leave or you’re gonna die!” I said, my voice rising with desperation.

“Are you certain of this?” asked the Na’vi matriarch, her face solemn.

I hesitated. My eyes scanned the crowd of painted faces and prosthetic dots. There was no turning back now.

“They sent me here to learn your ways,” I admitted. “So one day I could bring this message and you’d believe it.”

The actors portraying Neytiri’s parents exchanged a look of disbelief. Zoe, as Neytiri, stepped forward and shoved me lightly.

“What are you saying, Jake? You knew this would happen?” she asked, her voice trembling with betrayal.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Look, at first it was just orders… but then everything changed. I fell in love… with the forest, with the Omaticaya people… with you.”

I reached out, gently gripping both her shoulders, but she pulled away.

“I trusted you,” she said, voice tight with pain, pushing me again, harder this time. “I TRUSTED YOU!”

“Trust me now,” I pleaded, desperate.

“Get away!” she screamed, her voice cracking as a single tear ran down her cheek. She shouted at me in rapid Na’vi, her fury raw and piercing. Then, with a sudden shove to my chest, she sent me stumbling backward.

I hadn’t expected that much force, but I stayed in character, gracefully regaining my step. Jim hadn’t yelled cut, so the scene continued.

“You will never be one of the people!” she shouted, her voice filled with scorn.

“Neytiri, please stop!” I begged, but she was already walking away, shoulders rigid with anger.

Michael B. Jordan and another actor stepped forward, gripping my arms roughly. They pushed me to my knees and began tying me up with rope as part of the scene.

“Cut!” Jim Cameron’s voice finally rang through the soundstage.

The tension evaporated in an instant. We all dropped character, letting the emotion bleed out of our bodies.

Michael extended a hand and helped me up. “Man, did you see Zoe?” he asked, shaking his head in amazement. “She was something else today.”

“She sure was,” I agreed, brushing myself off. “Hard to believe this is her first major role. Once this film releases, she’s going to be drowning in offers.”

“Of course she will,” Michael agreed, though his tone had shifted. “She’s the lead.”

There was something in his voice, a flicker of discontent. I could tell he wasn’t thrilled with his role in the film.

“Hey, Troy,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter now. “I needed some advice from you.”

“Sure, what’s up?” I replied casually, pretending not to sense where this conversation was headed.

“Should I keep going as an actor?” he asked bluntly, catching me off guard with the rawness of the question. “I’ve been trying for years to land a lead role in either film or TV, but nothing’s worked out so far. If I hadn’t landed this part, I’m not even sure I’d have enough money left to stay in L.A.”

“Mike,” I said firmly, meeting his eyes. “Mark my words, one day you’re going to be huge. Just keep working. You’re doing good work already.”

I meant it. I knew exactly what he was going through. In another life, I had been in his shoes: struggling actor scraping by, living off side gigs and rejection. I spent a full decade chasing something that never came, until I finally gave up and changed careers. Of course, I couldn’t suggest that route to Michael. Had it been anyone else, I might have been more blunt, but not him. I knew what was coming for him (if my presence didn't obliterate the future in it's entirety). Films like [Creed], [Black Panther], and [Sinners] would make him a household name, giving him the kind of career most actors only dreamed of.

Suddenly, an idea came to me. When I was not passive about my own career, why should I be passive about my friends'.

“Pick a script,” I said suddenly.

Michael turned to me in confusion. “What?”

“I said, pick a script. Any script from the thousands floating around Hollywood. If I like it, and the budget’s reasonable, I’ll back it. You’ll be the lead.”

“I don't want your pity,” he said firmly. “I just wanted some advice, not a role. I don't want people to say that I got big just because I knew you.”

I shook my head at his naivety, “Number one rule of Hollywood, don't be afraid to use any and all connections you have. I dare say that I am your biggest connection in showbiz right now. So use me. I don't mind. Why do you? The others won't. Sure, there'd be some whispers about how you got the role, but at the end of the day, it doesn't matter much. If you're not good at that one chance I gave you, there'll be no more from me, or anyone else, for that matter.”

He was silent for a few moments, mulling over my words. “But how would I even get access to a script? I don’t know where to start.”

I looked around the set and spotted a familiar figure near the monitors.

“Benji!” I called out.

My assistant looked up, then jogged over with practiced urgency, slightly out of breath.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Help Mike here find a script, with him as the lead actor.”

Benji turned to Michael, giving him a quick scan. “You’ll need to bulk up a little if you want to play the hero.”

“I will,” Michael promised, nodding with determination. Then he turned back to me, his eyes filled with something close to disbelief. “Thank you, Troy. But are you really sure about this?”

I waved it off with a small smile. “Of course I’m sure. Thank me when I like the script enough to invest in it.”

Before we could speak further, James Cameron’s voice rang out across the set.

“That was a perfect shot, ladies and gents. And with that, we are officially done with the motion capture portion of the film!”

A wave of cheers erupted across the soundstage. Crew members clapped, actors exchanged hugs, and the atmosphere shifted from focus to celebration. For Zoe, Michael, and a few others, the shoot ended here. Their characters would be entirely digital, which meant they didn’t need to be part of the live-action scenes scheduled to be shot in New Zealand two weeks from now.

I was looking forward to that next chapter of filming, but before that, I had one more event to attend: The premiere of [Twilight].

(Break)

“What do you mean you can’t direct the last [Harry Potter]?” Steve asked, his voice laced with surprise. “Did you not like the increased remuneration we’re offering you?”

Rian Johnson, seated across from him in a quiet office lined with film posters and studio memos, simply shook his head.

“It’s not that,” he replied calmly. “I’ve been working on this original script of mine for quite a while, and multiple producers have shown serious interest. Naturally, Troy will have the first opportunity to produce it, but if he passes, I’ve already got options. Just like Alfonso did with [Children of Men], I want to make something personal with [The Brothers Bloom].”

Steve exhaled through his nose, rubbing his forehead in slow circles. He had read the script Rian was talking about. In fact, he had even passed it along to Troy for a second opinion. Neither of them had been particularly impressed. From Steve’s point of view, the only reason other studios were chasing the project was because Rian was the man behind two of the most successful movies ever, conveniently forgetting that the credit for their success couldn’t be given to Rian alone.

“Is there really nothing I can do to persuade you to stay and finish [Harry Potter]?” he asked, trying once more. “If it’s about the money, I’m sure we can come to some alternate arrangement.”

“It’s not that,” Rian reiterated. “This isn’t about money. I’m just incredibly passionate about this project. That’s why I have to do it.”

Steve nodded slowly, shoulders relaxing with resignation. “Alright. Had a similar conversation with Chris Columbus and Alfonso Cuarón years ago. Maybe one of them would be willing to return for the finale.”

There wasn’t much more to say. For now, his attention had to shift elsewhere.

The premiere of [Twilight] was tonight, a Valentine’s Day release that Troy had suggested, given the theme of the movie. It was a unique idea for a genre film like [Twilight], but Paramount had supported the date without hesitation. Now it was time to see whether that gamble would pay off.