May 2007, New York City, NY, USA
"Woah, this is crazy, Benji," Oliver called out, clearly impressed as he ran a hand along the gleaming side of a silver Aston Martin. "Who would've thought you'd own one before your 20th birthday? And all because you were obsessed with another boy all these years." He turned to Sophia with a smirk. "Talk about repressed homosexuality."
Sophia laughed, as if Oliver had just delivered a punchline. She leaned into his arm. "You're too funny, Oliver."
Benji gritted his teeth but kept his expression neutral. "Was it really funny?" he asked casually. "Sounded more like someone's jealous of the only one here with a real job."
"Ha!" Oliver scoffed. "Me? Jealous of you? I go to Princeton. Why would I be jealous of a nobody who didn't even go to college? Before you know it, I'll be hiring people like you left and right."
Benji wanted to punch him in the nose, but somehow managed to restrain himself. He hadn't even wanted to hang out with these so-called friends, but his mom had forced him to 'socialize' since he didn't have anything else planned.
"You're an asshole, Oliver," Ashley—Benji's ex-girlfriend—said bluntly. She looped her arm through Benji's. "Come on, Benji. These morons don't deserve to be your friends."
Benji had to suppress a laugh at the stunned looks on Oliver and Sophia's faces.
Soon, he and Ashley were in his Aston Martin, driving with no real destination in mind.
"Why do you even entertain them?" Ashley asked heatedly. "You know they're assholes, and yet you still invite them out every damn time."
Benji shrugged. He didn't have a solid answer. Maybe he was just being petty, wanting to show them he had a better life than either of them could afford now and probably even in the future.
"Are you enjoying your time in London?" Ashley asked.
"I am," Benji nodded. "The job's great. I get to read scripts for a living, and I'm learning so much about film production. The guy who had my job before me has become a producer now. In a few years, I could be on the same path."
"I'm happy for you, Benji," Ashley said warmly. "I was shocked when your parents moved out of our neighborhood after all these years, but to hear you moved them to the Upper East Side of all places?"
Benji nodded, careful not to brag. Troy was many things, but stingy wasn't one of them. While Benji's salary wasn't enough to buy property in the Upper East Side, it was enough to rent a place for his parents. They'd had to sell their old house to pay off business debt, and before Benji started making real money, they'd relocated to a rough neighborhood in New Jersey.
Just a few more years, and he'd be able to buy them a proper apartment, or maybe even a house. He hadn't thought about buying anything for himself yet—he didn't really have a home base. Sometimes he was in London, other times LA, and now he was back here in New York.
It helped that Troy had warned him about buying real estate for a few years.
"So why are you back now?" Ashley asked.
"Troy's gone on a long vacation," Benji lied easily. He'd said it so many times by now that even he half-believed it. "I went with him for a few weeks, but then he wanted me to come back and start working on some future scripts for him. So technically, I'm still working—just from home."
"Gotcha," Ashley said, turning to look out the window as the bland cityscape zipped by at the legal speed limit.
Benji missed these quiet moments with her. Sure, his life with Troy had been a whirlwind adventure, and he'd long since lost track of how many girls had slept with him just because they couldn't get Troy (especially on their Euro trip), but this was different. This felt real.
He opened his mouth to say something when his phone started ringing.
"Can you check who it is?" he asked instead.
Ashley picked it up, squinting at the screen. "It says Steve K."
"Fuck," Benji hissed, immediately pulling the car over to the side of the road. "I knew this call was coming sooner or later. Here we go."
He answered the call jovially. "Steve! How are you?"
"I'll be fine as soon as you tell me where my son is and why he's not talking to me or Kathy beyond texts and emails."
Benji let out a long sigh and stepped out of the car, putting some space between himself and Ashley. He couldn't exactly tell them that those texts and emails were from him, so he lied weakly, "He's on a world tour?"
"Nice try, kid," Steve said. "Listen, I just want to talk to him—to know that he's alright. It's not like him to lie to us. Saying he's going on a world tour and then going completely radio silent? Evan hasn't heard from him either. I called his security team and the answer I got was… unsatisfying. They said he's okay but refused to share his location 'for security reasons.' As if I'd ever harm my own son!"
Of course they'd say that. Troy had made it crystal clear: if his whereabouts were leaked, he'd fire the entire team and blacklist them from working with anyone again.
Benji silently checked the date and raised a small fist in celebration. It had only been three weeks. He'd won the bet with Troy. As much as he loved the Aston Martin, he wouldn't mind a McLaren—or maybe even a Rolls-Royce this time.
"We figured you'd start worrying eventually," Benji admitted. "Troy recorded a message for you. I… just sent it now." He switched his phone to speaker and quickly sent the pre-saved video draft over to Steve.
"I'm contractually bound not to say anything else," Benji added. "Just watch the video."
He didn't need to end the call—Steve had already hung up, likely eager to hear what Troy had to say.
"What was that about?" Ashley asked as soon as Benji slid back into the driver's seat.
"Just the dramatic lives of superstars," Benji said, shaking his head as he pulled back into traffic. "Forget about it."
(Break)
"So, do you understand the scene, Frank?" Chris Nolan asked Troy again, using the fake name everyone had been instructed to use for him.
Without a word, the man in the clown getup nodded and walked forward, taking his mark.
Chris stepped out of the frame and moved beside the director of photography, Wally Pfister.
"This Frank guy," Wally said casually, "he's not very talkative, is he?"
"You know how these method actors are," Chris replied, waving it off. But internally, he was getting tired of deflecting questions about Troy's identity. That was what everyone really wanted to know: Who's playing the Joker? But after the revised employment contracts—with strict confidentiality clauses—and a stern warning from both Warner Bros. and Chris himself, the questions had mostly stopped.
"Don't worry about him. Are you ready?" Chris asked. "With the IMAX camera, I mean."
Wally nodded. "I shot some test footage to get a feel for it, but yeah, I'm ready."
Chris was still a bit skeptical about his decision to use high-res IMAX cameras for the opening sequence. If it went well, they'd shoot more scenes with them. But the entire film wouldn't be shot this way—IMAX cameras were large and cumbersome, making handheld shooting nearly impossible. Not to mention how much time a full-IMAX shoot would add to production.
Still, Chris had always wanted to push the boundaries of filmmaking, and IMAX seemed like the next logical step.
"Action!"
As soon as he called it out, everything else faded—the cameras, the film, even the pressure. All Chris could see was the Joker, fully in his element. Jokers, technically—but anyone with an eye for detail could spot the real one. Though he was meant to blend into the background, he stood out instantly with his commanding body language.
The camera focused on Troy's Joker as he moved through the scene, hunched over and scanning the surroundings. He wore a plastic clown mask over his already-painted face, like the others, keeping him unrecognizable to the audience—at least for now. But the crew knew who he was, and the focus would shift to him soon enough.
Troy moved erratically—his eyes darting, his steps unpredictable. Chris hadn't given that direction, but Troy had added it on his own, and the result was mesmerizing. Every movement sparked curiosity.
"All right, everybody! Hands up, heads down!" one of the thugs shouted, firing a few blanks into the air. The extras playing bank employees dropped to the floor—everyone except the manager.
The scene unfolded with practiced precision. It was action-heavy and required smooth coordination between the actors and crew, but to Chris's relief, everything clicked.
The bank employees and customers stayed down. The manager, rebelling from behind a glass cabinet, managed to shoot one of the thugs—before being taken down himself by the Joker.
"That's a lot of money," the last thug beside Troy said, sounding pleased. Both of them still wore their plastic Joker masks. "If this Joker guy was so smart, he'd have us bring a bigger car."
Troy placed the final bag of money by the entrance, then turned around. The thug immediately loaded his gun and aimed it at Troy.
"I'm betting the Joker told you to kill me as soon as we loaded the cash," the man said nervously, his gun unwavering.
Troy sighed theatrically and glanced at his wristwatch, as if he weren't staring down the barrel of a gun.
"No, no, no. I kill the bus driver," he said, like he was explaining something to a child. Then he took a step to the right, which the thug mirrored, keeping himself directly opposite the Joker. Then another step was taken by both until the Joker was convinced of the thug's exact location.
"Bus driver? What bus driver?"
"Cut!" Christopher called out so the actors could step out of the scene.
Now came the tricky part. Everything had been meticulously planned to ensure no one got hurt. Because of the nature of the stunt, the scene could only be shot once—everything had to go perfectly.
The actor playing the thug was also a stuntman, and since his face was covered, any minor injury wouldn't affect the shoot. Still, Troy had to step out of the scene for safety.
Once everything was ready again, Chris called, "Action!"
At his command, a real school bus crashed through the bank's front entrance, stopping just one feet away from the thug. Rigged with wires, the thug was yanked out of frame on cue just as the bus's back door swung open.
"School's out. Time to go," the bus driver said as he stepped out, glancing at the thug lying on the floor. "Heh. This guy's not getting up, is he?"
Troy remained silent, wordlessly passing oversized bags of cash to the driver, who loaded them into the bus through the back.
"That's a lot of money," the driver repeated, hoisting bag after bag. Then he looked around, noticing only one other accomplice left. "What happened to the rest of the guys?"
Without turning, Troy pulled up his automatic weapon and shot him, all while focusing on a single bag of money he had left in the center of the bank. He moved toward it—but a weak, pained voice stopped him.
"You think you're smart, huh?" William, the actor playing the manager, called out, still lying on the ground. "The guy that hired you? He'll do the same to you. Criminals in this town used to believe in things. Honor. Respect. What do you believe in? What do you believe in, huh!?"
Troy moved forward with purpose and shoved a grenade into the manager's mouth, a purple thread tied to the pin.
"I believe that," Troy began slowly, using that nasally voice of his, "what doesn't kill you makes you…"
He pulled off his mask.
The bank manager gasped with the grenade still lodged in his mouth. That same gasp echoed through a few crew members too. This was the first time most of the people on set had seen Troy's painted face. He'd done an excellent job on his makeup—adding kohl to the rims of his eyes, giving the look a more sinister, unhinged edge.
Seeing the live reaction to Troy's face reveal, Chris felt a bolt of certainty. Maybe Troy was right—maybe this will work out in the end.
"...stranger," Troy finished after a beat, then flashed a wicked grin at the manager before skipping off toward the bus like a child on a playground.
The manager's eyes remained wide as the bus supposedly drove away and the grenade pin was yanked. Of course, the bus didn't actually move—that part would be shot separately.
"Cut!" Chris announced, pleased. "Good job, everyone. William, you can get up now. We're done with this scene."
But despite the call, no one on set moved. Every pair of eyes remained fixed on the lone figure who had stepped back out of the bus once the scene ended.
Noticing all the attention, Troy let out a maniacal cackle and, still in character, said, "Stop, you'll make me blush."
That broke the spell. People chuckled or looked away, and Troy laughed again before skipping off set, still in character. Probably heading back to his apartment. Normally, Chris would've been annoyed that Troy didn't stop to discuss the next day's shoot. But Troy had already explained: he'd only talk about the scenes in his trailer, to maintain the mystique with the rest of the crew.
"He's…" Wally Pfister said when Troy was out of earshot, "...strange. He is very strange."
Chris laughed. "That's putting it mildly. As long as he's not wasting anyone's time with his antics, I don't mind. And even if he did—tell me that performance wasn't fabulous."
Wally shook his head. "That's the thing. His dialogue with William barely lasted half a minute, but it was probably better than any performance I've ever shot. I have a feeling if he maintains that level of performance throughout, we could have a masterpiece in our hands."
Chris could only nod in agreement.
(Break)
"Mum, Dad," Troy said from the screen of Steve's laptop, "I know you're probably wondering about my whereabouts. And yes, you've guessed correctly—I'm not on a world tour. I mean, I had planned to go for a while, but then I got offered a movie. A role I love so much that I had to do it, no matter what. It requires heavy dedication during the prep phase, which means I'll need to cut off all communication for at least half a year. I've also signed an NDA, so I can't tell anyone what the role is."
"And he couldn't have said that beforehand?" Kathy muttered heatedly. "Would I have eaten him alive?"
"You kinda would have," Steve said, pausing the video. "If I didn't tell you everything, he probably would've told me instead."
Kathy huffed but said nothing more as Steve hit play.
"I know you're mad at me," Troy continued, "but I didn't tell you in advance because I knew you'd try to talk me out of going full method. I figured it'd be easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Also, please don't bother Benji, Bobby, Tobias, Paolo, or anyone else on my team. Most of them don't even know where I am—and I don't have my phone right now, either."
"We've raised an idiot," Kathy declared.
Steve only nodded, silently conceding the point, as Troy wrapped up his message.
"Rest assured, I'll take care of myself. My security team will make sure of that. If all goes well, we'll see each other in about six months. Until then—see you."
Kathy turned to Steve. "Am I really that bad that he felt he had to lie to me?"
"We both are," Steve shrugged. "He's our little kid. He'll always be, even when we're ninety. But maybe it's time we show him he can share things with us."
Kathy sighed, then nodded. "Still doesn't make me feel better about not seeing him for half a year."
Steve smiled. "I think he miscalculated. He'll have to come out before then to promote [Superbad]."
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AN: Visit my Pat reon to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)pat reon(dot)com/fableweaver