Dreams of Stardom (Hollywood SI)

November 2007, New York, NY, USA

"Because of you."

"What… exactly do you mean by that?" I asked slowly.

She sighed before looking away, her shoulders sinking a little. "Not directly, of course, but…"

When she didn't say anything else, I stepped forward and gently took her hand in mine. We stood in the quiet dressing room, the hum of backstage activity muffled behind the closed door.

"Hey, what is it?" I asked in a soft voice. "I can kick his ass for you, just say the word. He won't dare mistreat a girl again."

Emma looked into my eyes again, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Her fingers trembled slightly in mine. Then she did something I was not expecting. She stepped forward and kissed me.

I would have avoided it had I known her intentions, but I was completely taken aback by her sudden move.

Her soft lips brushed against mine, and for a heartbeat, I forgot everything that had happened between us. For that fleeting second, I was back on the set of [The Perks of Being a Wallflower], a young boy madly in love with her all over again, when things between us had felt simple and right.

As much as I wanted to go back to that time, I couldn't. With great reluctance, I gently pulled away and reached up to smooth her hair away from her face.

"What happened, Emma?" I asked, this time in a more serious tone.

"He wanted to do stuff I was not ready for," she finally relented, her voice quiet. "He didn't force me or anything, but he was clearly disappointed. I just wanted him to be patient. I told him how patient we were, without taking your name, of course, and he flipped out. He said I should go back to you, and we had this huge argument about it. In the end, I just couldn't take it anymore, so I told him to leave. I don't want him to come back."

She took a breath, her expression softening. "Now I realize that it was all about you. It has always been about you. You were the reason I broke up with my last boyfriend as well. I try to measure them all against you."

I sighed, tiredly rubbing the back of my neck. "But Em…"

She didn't let me finish. She stepped toward me again and moved in for another kiss, but this time I was ready. I gently stopped her, placing my hands firmly on her shoulders.

"No," I said, holding her still. "I can't."

"What's the matter?" she asked, worried. "I thought you were single."

"That is secondary," I said, more firmly now. "I can't do this, Emma. We're better off as friends."

"But why? Give me one good reason."

"I'll give you three," I replied. "First of all, I don't think you and I click on an intellectual level."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you calling me stupid?"

"No. I'm saying our thought processes are very different. Our priorities are different. You want your top-tier education and your elite Oxford circle. I want this." I gestured around the dressing room, cluttered with costumes, equipment, and the remnants of a chaotic talk show appearance. "This is my world and always will be."

She didn't interrupt me this time, so I continued. "Second reason: I don't think I want to date anybody right now. I'm happy being alone, just the way I am."

She looked away, clearly frustrated. "That can't be true. Surely someday you would want to settle down with somebody."

"Someday," I emphasized the word. "Sure, but that day is not today. It's my decision when I want to date someone. You can't decide that for me. I want to focus on my career, not on my love life. I will be shooting a film in New Zealand in a few months. I don't want a long-distance relationship where I am half a world away from my girlfriend. I think that if we can't be together more often, we may as well not be in a relationship at all."

She had no counter to that argument. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her gaze dropped to the floor between us.

"Even if we were to ignore my lack of desire for a committed relationship at the moment," I continued, "there's the third and most important reason of all: I don't think I can trust you again to not go running the moment something bad happens."

The moment I said it, Emma's mouth opened and closed a few times. Her expression tightened with a mix of disbelief and pain before she finally said, "That's not fair. That's not fair at all. I was... immature, and I clearly panicked, and I have apologized so many times. Why are you bringing it up now?"

"I have forgiven you," I insisted, my tone calm but unwavering. "Really, I have. But I have not forgotten about it. I can't, not really. I spent nearly a year cursing myself for asking you to star in [The Perks of Being a Wallflower]. You can't expect me to forget it all with an apology."

A small, petty part of me wanted to quote the lyrics of 'That's Hilarious' to her, but I knew better. That would be too much.

Emma looked away again, not able to meet my eyes. Her posture slumped as if the weight of the conversation had finally settled on her shoulders.

"I don't want you to keep pining for me," I said in a gentler voice, trying to soften the impact. "Hoping that one day we'll forget all about the past and be together again. I want you to live your life to the fullest and enjoy it, not keep me as your eternal backup. I know it hurts right now, but you need to hear it from me before you start having some unrealistic expectations."

A tear slid down her cheek with a quiet grace, like something out of a movie. I resisted the growing urge to step forward and pull her into a hug. I hate crying women, but I had to be strong this time. For her sake.

Emma finally sat down on her dressing chair, her body language clearly showing exhaustion, whether from the emotional fallout, the long day, or both. She wiped her cheek quickly, eyes focused on some invisible point in the mirror.

Deciding to let her be, I turned toward the door and said quietly, "I'll give you some space for now, but please don't think that this has changed anything between us from an hour ago. You can still call me anytime about anything. As a friend."

She nodded without looking up, a silent agreement, and I stepped out of her room.

A few people were loitering in the hallway, giving me curious or uncomfortable looks, probably drawing different conclusions and conspiracies about what I was doing with Emma in her dressing room. I ignored them and walked back to my own changing room with deliberate calm.

It was only when I was fully alone, away from the noise and the weight of expectation, that I let myself think about the conversation.

I had kept the talk as civil as I could, given our history. I had been wanting to say this—and so much more to her—ever since [Perks], but age does give you perspective. The one thing I hadn't told her, for obvious reasons, was that I could never date her again because of my changed perceptions after awakening my memories.

She felt like a little girl to me. I know I had no moral right to say that when I was in the porn business, and had slept with countless girls of all age groups, despite being in my thirties, but I didn't have a choice there. At the end of the day, it was just a job for me.

But now I have a choice, and I'll do exactly what I desire. What's the point of being in the position I am, only to live a shackled life?

(Break)

Sleep was difficult to come that night. The press tour for [Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince] had been relentless. I had traveled to multiple countries in a short span of time, ending with our appearance on Conan in New York. And what an end it was.

Immediately afterward, I flew to Los Angeles to stay at my parents' house. Partly because I wanted to be as far away from Emma as possible, and partly because [Avatar]'s production was scheduled to begin in LA before moving to Wellington.

Benji had stayed behind in New York, to spend a few days with his family, so it was just me in the house at the moment. The room was dark except for a sliver of light from the hallway seeping under the door. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, but sleep refused to come.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the table across the room. Normally, I had a strict no-phone policy once I got into bed. I kept my phone far from arm's reach for that very reason—to avoid temptation. But when sleep was this elusive, I figured I might as well check it.

With a sigh, I got up and padded across the carpeted floor to retrieve it.

Scarlett: Congrats on the movie. Honestly, now I'm not even sure if I should congratulate you for an HP movie, given that they are guaranteed to make money.

A smile crept across my face as I flopped back onto the bed and began typing.

Me: Money is not everything. The best part is that most people liked the movie. IMO, what's the point of making an average movie that earned a billion dollars? That's just a waste.

Scarlett: Like Disturbia? 😁

Me: LMFAO. Ofc not! Had I not done it, how would I have met you?

Scarlett: You had already met me before.

Me: Let me amend that thought. Had I not done it, how would I get to kiss you…and more?

Scarlett: So that's all it comes down to, huh? You just want me for my body? 😠

Me: And your gorgeous brain that is capable of having a thoughtful conversation after I'm done with your body. 🤔🤤

Scarlett: You naughty boy. If you were here right now, I would bend you over my knee and make sure you think twice before saying something like that.

Me: Ooh, naughty. I like that… just say the word and I can be there any moment with my ass ready for you to punish or fondle. Your decision.

There was a long pause. I stared at the screen, watching the typing indicator vanish and reappear more than once.

Had I gone too far?

This wasn't the first time we had this kind of chat, but I had noticed that lately, she was a little less inclined to engage in it the way she used to. When we first slept together months ago, I had made my stance clear about what I wanted. Still, we had met several times since then over the past year. Sure, there had been a gap while I went dark during the [The Dark Knight] shoot, but once I resurfaced, hers was one of the first numbers not belonging to my family that I texted.

Just as I was starting to overthink it, my phone buzzed again.

Scarlett: Have you eaten already? My chef's made ravioli, and I could use some company.

That was a little unexpected. While we had been together a few times, we never really shared a meal just for the sake of it. Sure, we dined together on my island, but that had felt like an exception rather than a habit.

Me: It's 10 already! You haven't eaten?

Scarlett: I'm on my way home from the set. Things got a little late today.

For a few moments, neither of us typed anything. The implication was clear. At our level of fame, many people preferred to have their first real dates at home, away from the eyes of paparazzi, at least until they were ready to go public. And while it may not have been explicitly said, this was exactly that—a date.

I had just turned Emma down earlier today with the excuse that I didn't want to date anybody. And now… Ah, screw it. I didn't owe her anything. Not an explanation, most of all.

Me: I just flew in from New York and hadn't had time to eat anything. I would love to come over.

Scarlett: Great! I'll keep a seat open for you.

Seeing as I had given my personal security the night off, I decided to drive there myself. I had been looking for a reason to take my Lambo for a joyride anyway.

(Break)

After what felt like forever, Scarlett was finally home. The interior of the car was quiet as the driver pulled into her gated property. She leaned her head back against the seat, feeling the exhaustion settle deep into her bones. It had been a long, chaotic day.

Bradley Cooper, her co-star in her upcoming movie, had taken a terrible fall during shooting and had most likely fractured his leg. Since the film revolved around multiple interconnected storylines, the director had decided to postpone her scenes with Bradley and save them for the end of production.

That decision frustrated her more than she expected. She had been counting on finishing early so she could enjoy some free time, but now she was stuck in limbo. And because of the terms in her contract, she couldn't even take on another project until this one wrapped.

She stared out the tinted window as the gates closed behind them. Her mind drifted back to her conversation with Troy—the one person who seemed to have it all.

When she had agreed to do [Disturbia], she hadn't expected much from it. In fact, she had hated the script. The only reason she said yes was because her agent had assured her it was a guaranteed hit, mostly due to Troy's involvement and the film's small budget.

And sure enough, the film became a success. But the real surprise had been Troy himself.

They had felt an instant connection while filming their more intimate scenes. If he hadn't been dating Rihanna at the time, she was almost certain he would've asked her out long ago.

But as people say, some things are just meant to be.

They met again on Oscar night. One thing led to another, and before she knew it, she was completely addicted to him. They had shared several nights together after that first one—in Los Angeles, in London, even on his private island. The only real interruption had been those few months where he'd gone completely off the grid.

When he came back, he said he was seeking inspiration for his music, and she respected his space. Now, though, she found herself wondering whether that silence had meant something more.

When he invited her to the island, she had been certain he would ask them to become exclusive. He didn't. And it stung her pride. Her best friend had told her it was foolish to expect too much from a literal teenager, and that she should focus instead on someone older, a more mature man.

Ideally, that's what she should have done. But there was just something about Troy that was impossible to resist. He wasn't immature like most boys his age. There was a depth to him, a surprising insightfulness that came through whenever they actually talked. Granted, talking hadn't been the priority for either of them whenever they met, but even after, he never shut her out.

That was why she had sent the text inviting him over for dinner—the one she regretted immediately after hitting send. If only there were a way to delete messages from someone else's phone and memory.

But before she could spiral too far down that path, his response came. He had agreed to come over. That surprised her.

The car pulled to a stop in front of her home at last.

"Thank you," she said, nodding at John, her driver and bodyguard.

She was about to head inside when she paused, turning back toward him. "A friend of mine is coming over. Let him in."

"Do I know him, ma'am?"

"You do," she said simply.

That was enough. He gave her a firm nod and turned back to the gate.

As she stepped inside, she felt the familiar hush of the house settle around her. She had purchased the place a while back, but if she was being honest, it felt like a waste. The home was far too big for her needs. Her family visited occasionally and made use of the guest rooms, but they mostly still lived in New York.

Still, appearances had to be maintained, and real estate remained a relatively safe investment. There had been a slump in the market recently, but she trusted it would bounce back eventually.

The first thing she did once she was inside was kick off her heels, flexing her toes in relief. She walked to the kitchen, where Mario, her personal chef, had already finished preparing the meal just as she'd requested and left a note on the kitchen top with instructions to reheat it. She didn't know what she would do without him—he was easily the best decision she had made after her big break in Hollywood.

Everything looked perfect. Now all she had to do was plate it. That, at least, was something she could handle in a kitchen.

She selected two bowls—one for her and one for Troy—and served generous portions of the ravioli into each. Most actresses in Hollywood starved themselves to maintain their perpetually lean frames, but Scarlett had found her own balance. She preferred eating just one meal a day, which let her enjoy real food while still keeping her figure through prolonged fasting.

The pasta was set up beautifully: a delicate garnishing of parmesan and parsley, with a trio of sauces arranged on the side. It smelled divine. Scarlett stepped back and gave a small nod of satisfaction. Troy would definitely appreciate this.

Just as she reached to pick up the bowls and carry them to the dining table, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth.

Her entire body stiffened in shock.

"Don't you dare move, beautiful," a slick, male voice whispered behind her, the sound low and oily against her ear as he pressed himself against her back.

Panic surged in her chest.

________________________

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