Dick Parsons sat at the head of the sleek conference table, his fingers lightly drumming against the polished wood as he observed the young actor across from him. Troy looked tired—maybe from the charged performance he'd given, or maybe for some other reason.
One thing was certain: Dick was in awe of Troy's acting ability. The way he shed his boy-next-door image and transformed into a psychotic villain within minutes was nothing short of commendable. Not that Dick would say it to his face—he had no intention of inflating the already steep contract price he suspected was coming.
"Let's get down to it, Dick," Troy's new manager, Bobby, cut straight to business.
Dick raised a brow at the abrupt takeover but made no comment. He'd expected to negotiate with Troy himself or perhaps Steve Kloves, as Barry Meyer had done in the past. New managers were always the worst—eager to prove their worth to their employers.
As soon as Barry hinted that he wanted to talk to Troy, the young man had called his manager over, as if he was expecting the meeting all along. And now, here they were, discussing the same.
"I'll be honest with you, Troy," Dick addressed the teenager directly. "I liked you in the role. While I can't say for sure, I highly suspect that the other producers would feel the same. Given your excellent marketing strategy, this could work in our favor. But here's the thing—I think we can make the film work even without you."
Bobby didn't miss a beat.
"You probably could," he conceded. "But you're forgetting one important thing—Troy isn't just any actor. He's not just an A-lister. He's beyond that. Name a single film in his career where he hasn't given a phenomenal performance or where the film didn't become a blockbuster. Go on, I'll wait."
Dick acknowledged the point with a slow nod. "That's true, but we already have a well-established IP here. People love Batman. Jack Nicholson played the same character brilliantly. People will come out to see their favorite comic book characters, not Troy."
Bobby didn't back down. If anything, he straightened his posture, doubling down.
"Every film Troy has been a part of has grossed hundreds of millions. The moment people hear he's attached to a project, the film's revenue skyrockets. Even non-comic fans would want to see the movie. You know that. I know that. Every studio head knows that. We already have offers from Disney and Universal—both putting up $25 million upfront for him to lead their next film. And that's not even counting the revenue-linked back-end bonuses. We want to work with Warner, but we need parity with the industry."
Dick listened carefully, tapping his fingers against the table as he considered the proposal. Troy Armitage was undoubtedly a powerhouse, but this was a very expensive project.
After a pause, he exhaled. "We can offer you a similar deal. $25 million and a percentage of profits—but not for this film. Choose any other project from the list I gave you, and I'd be happy to oblige. But with this budget, I can't justify giving away a big chunk to you."
He watched Bobby's expression closely, waiting to see if the manager would push back again. This negotiation wasn't over yet.
Suddenly, Troy stood up.
"I'm sorry, guys. I'm feeling a little out of it." His voice was lethargic as if he just wanted to lie down somewhere.
"Are you okay?" Dick asked, concerned. "Don't worry, we can continue this later."
"No, you two go ahead," Troy insisted. "I didn't get much sleep last night, and my audition took a lot out of me. I need to rest. I trust Bobby to handle this."
Bobby nodded confidently.
"Sure, go ahead," Dick agreed, and soon enough, Troy left the room.
Once they were alone, Bobby spoke, his tone casual. "Troy is very passionate about his roles. I don't know what happened in that audition, but for him to leave so abruptly, it must've been intense."
Or it was a tactic—one Dick had seen before. Agents and managers pulled tricks like this all the time to throw executives off balance.
"Let's cut to the chase, Dick," Bobby said suddenly. "You think $25 million is too much. What's your counteroffer?"
"Fifteen million upfront, with a $15 million bonus if the film grosses $500 million internationally. We both know it will, which means a fixed $30 million payout for Troy. That's more than generous."
Bobby considered it for a moment before shaking his head. "Not good enough. With Troy in it, this film is guaranteed to hit at least a billion."
Dick didn't buy that for a second. And it all came down to history. Joel Schumacher's [Batman & Robin] had been a critical and commercial disaster, turning Batman into an industry joke. It had taken guts for Barry Meyer to greenlight [Batman Begins] when he did. Even with rave reviews, the film failed to break even at the box office, earning only $373 million when it needed at least $450 million.
The only reason a sequel had been approved was the film's home video success and peripheral sales. Even now, the team's primary goal wasn't theatrical profit—it was to break even in theaters and make real money through home video and merchandise. Troy's involvement could be a huge advantage to achieve this, but a billion-dollar box office? No chance.
"How about this," Dick countered. "We keep it 15 plus 15, but if the film hits a billion, we give Troy a 5% cut of the box office instead of the $15 million bonus."
"Ten percent," Bobby fired back. "Plus 10% of merchandise and home video revenue."
Dick shook his head. "There's a reason Jack Nicholson's Joker was killed off and never called back for a second [Batman] movie. Don't make the same mistake his agent did."
The gleam in Bobby's eyes told Dick one thing—this negotiation had only just begun, and it wasn't going to be easy.
(Break)
"$15 million upfront, with a bonus of 2.5% of the box office if the film grosses more than $500 million, 5% for $750 million or more, and 7.5% if it crosses $1 billion," Bobby announced proudly.
He had every right to be proud—it was an excellent deal. If the film made a billion dollars, as it had in the original timeline, I'd be guaranteed $90 million from it.
"And that's not all," Bobby continued. "You'll also get a 5% share of home revenue, satellite rights, and Joker merchandise. Plus, a 20% share of streaming rights and digital sales, just as you insisted. That last one didn't make much sense to me, but Dick barely resisted it. It's a two-film contract, but it won't extend beyond the Batman series if a third movie is never made. Your pay structure stays the same for both movies. Oh, and there's a clause ensuring you remain the top-billed actor in both films. If Christian Bale gets a pay bump, his final salary—including bonuses—can't exceed yours."
It was a solid contract. A very good contract. Nolan, Bale, and other key players were also getting bonuses, and 7.5% of gross was already a massive number. But I had a feeling that wasn't all.
"What's the catch?" I asked bluntly. "There has to be one."
Bobby smiled knowingly. "Of course there is. Dick wants your next three non-franchise films under Warner Bros. A contract similar to your old one—Warner keeps 12.5% of the gross and gives you the rest. If you act in one of their productions, that will also count toward the deal. I think it's fair."
He wasn't wrong. The industry standard was 15%, and after [Little Miss Sunshine]'s success, even Paramount was reconsidering my deal. I had gotten the biggest share of profits out of anyone involved. Once my three-picture deal with Paramount ended after [Superbad] and [Disturbia], they wouldn't offer me the same terms again.
And then there was the simple fact that I needed to play the Joker in [The Dark Knight]. It was one of my all-time favorite films, right up there with [Pulp Fiction].
Lately, I'd noticed something odd about my déjà vu. Ever since my 18th birthday—maybe even earlier—it had changed. Before, I would get flashes of an alternate future, triggered by specific events. Now, the information came to me unprompted, as if I had always known it all.
For instance, while thinking about other superhero projects I could do, [The Boys] suddenly came to mind. But in this timeline, I hadn't read the comics or met anyone involved in the show. Yet, I remembered it.
Just like I remembered watching [The Dark Knight] dozens of times. I could even recall telling someone it was the best movie I'd ever seen. I just couldn't remember who I'd said it to.
A touch on my shoulder snapped me out of my thoughts.
"You okay, Troy?" Bobby asked, his voice tinged with concern. "You seemed tense back in the meeting as well."
I shook my head. "I'm fine. Mostly. Just have a lot to do. I'm flying to Vancouver tomorrow with my brother to check on the shooting of [Twilight] and [Juno]. Wanna come along?"
"Nah," Bobby said with a mischievous grin. "Just like you, I've got a ton on my plate—mostly thanks to all the work you've dumped on me with your different businesses." Then, his expression turned serious. "I think you should take a break. Maybe go on vacation for a few weeks. You seem tense. Is it because of…"
He trailed off, but I knew exactly what he meant. My ex. The one whose mere mention I was avoiding. The one I was trying to forget by drowning myself in work. If I asked a therapist, they'd probably tell me it wasn't healthy. But it was just a matter of time. A few more months, and I wouldn't think about her anymore.
Whoever said overworking isn't therapeutic clearly didn't love their job as much as I do.
"I'm fine, Bobby," I insisted, brushing it off. "By the way, when do they plan to start shooting [The Dark Knight]?"
"May or June," he replied. "They'll let you know as soon as the date is finalized. Filming should last until the end of the year."
"Perfect." I smiled. "I'll take a break after I finish shooting my TV show. Should be wrapped up in two months."
(Break)
"I'm pregnant," Jennifer Lawrence said softly, looking between Allison Janney and J.K. Simmons, who played her parents.
"Oh God," Janney whispered.
"But I'm gonna give it up for adoption," Jennifer continued, raising her hands in defense. "And I already found the perfect couple. They're gonna pay for the medical expenses and everything, and in 30-odd weeks, we can just pretend this never happened."
"You're pregnant?" Simmons echoed, still processing her words.
"I'm sorry," Jennifer said, her voice genuinely apologetic. "If it's any consolation, I have heartburn radiating down to my kneecaps, and I haven't taken a dump since Wednesday. Morning."
"Who's the kid?" Simmons asked heatedly.
"The baby?" Jennifer touched her stomach. "I don't know much about it, other than that it has fingernails."
"No, I mean who's the father, Juno!?"
"It's… Paulie Bleeker."
The hesitance in Jennifer's voice, the nervous way she chewed her lip—it was a stroke of brilliance.
"Cut!" Jason Reitman called out excitedly. "That was perfect, Jen. Keep doing it just like that." Then he turned to J.K. Simmons. "You need to tone it down a little. You're coming off a bit too aggressive. We need your character to stay likable—someone who understands his daughter isn't to blame."
As the actors reset for another take, I turned to Tobias, who stood beside me with a huge grin.
"What do you think?" he asked. "Do we have the best cast or what?"
"We do," I agreed, matching his grin. "I like what I'm seeing, Mr. Producer."
Tobias had been a little disappointed after [The Perks of Being a Wallflower] won Best Picture at the Oscars and he didn't get the credit he felt he deserved. He'd worked harder than me on it, but that's just how Hollywood works.
So, I promised him we'd share the producer credit on both [Juno] and [Twilight]. He hadn't hesitated for even a second before agreeing.
"How're you liking Vancouver so far?" I asked conversationally.
"Much better than I thought I would," Tobias admitted. "Girlfriend wasn't too happy about the move, but she understood. Actually, I'm planning to propose to her."
"That's great, Tob!" I beamed.
"Thanks." He smiled before switching topics. "Where's Evan? Thought he was coming along."
"He's on the [Twilight] set," I replied. "Wants to be more involved in its production."
Tobias shook his head in disbelief. "He's prioritizing that chick flick over this masterpiece? I'll never understand that choice."
I chuckled because, yeah, I got it. But I also understood Evan's reasoning.
"You'll wrap this up in a month," I pointed out. "Twilight will take more than half a year—they're shooting two parts together. Not to mention all the CGI and action sequences involved. From a technical standpoint, it makes sense for him to focus on that one first."
"True," Tobias conceded after a moment.
"Troy!"
A familiar female voice called out, and I instinctively turned to see Jennifer Lawrence approaching. I had worked with her briefly on [Superbad]—just a couple of scenes—but we got along well since I was producing.
She wasn't alone. Standing beside her was Michael Cera—the guy whose role I had taken in [Superbad].
"Hi, Jennifer!" I greeted her with a brief hug. "How's everything going?"
"It's great!" she said excitedly before gesturing to Cera. "I wanted you to meet my friend Mike. He plays Paulie Bleeker."
Usually, not all actors were needed on set every day, but Juno had such a tight schedule that major cast members were asked to be present in case scenes had to be shuffled or shot early. That's why Cera was here.
I extended a hand, and he shook it with both of his. "Thanks for choosing me for this role, Troy. I'm a huge fan of your work."
"Thank your director, not me." I motioned toward Jason Reitman, who was busy setting up the next shot. "I just recommended you after watching [Arrested Development]. Same as I did for Jen here."
I turned fully to Jennifer. "By the way, you're incredible in this role. Keep this up, and you'll land your first Oscar nomination next year."
She gasped. "You can't be serious."
"I am," I assured her. "Just do what you're doing, and it'll happen."
Jennifer's face lit up, but before she could respond, the director called everyone back to set.
"Go," I told them, and the duo hurried off.
I turned to Tobias. "Let's go check in on [Twilight]."
As we walked to my car, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. Soon, I'd be back in London, diving into [The Night Of]. A role so different from anything I'd done before—I couldn't wait.
Nothing could dampen my spirits now. Not even the upcoming Oscar nominations.
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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