"Hey, Olive!" I called out, stepping out of the pool, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a pair of short swimming trunks that barely hid my modesty. The costume department had given me two options: long board shorts that hung past my knees, or something on the shorter side. I'd gone with the latter. If I were going to do fan service, I might as well commit to it properly.
"You left your glass slipper at the party the other night," I said, toweling myself off slowly.
"Yeah, and I got pumpkin all over my dress too." She pulled a ridiculous face, crossing her eyes before shaking her head. "C'est la vie."
"La vie," I said with a grin, slicking my wet hair back.
She smiled. "Nice. Solid joke, just like your body."
I laughed at the improvised line but stayed in character. "It sucks because we could have revisited Melody's bedroom last night."
She gasped theatrically. "Oh my God, that was Melody Bostic's house!"
"Yeah." I nodded, still drying my thighs with the towel.
"I can't believe you remember that," she said.
"Who doesn't remember their first almost-kiss?" I teased, giving her shoulder a playful push before walking away from the pool.
I'd barely taken a few steps when she called out, "You're doing a disservice to everyone by wearing that woodchuck costume!"
I just laughed, not turning back, and kept walking until I was out of frame.
"And cut!" Will's voice echoed across the set. "That was good, everyone. Love the improvisations, but we can definitely do better. Let's reset."
The crew began to move around us, adjusting lights and camera angles. One thing I'd learned about Will was that, while he was a capable director, he didn't always know when to let a scene breathe. This was as good as it was going to get from Emily or me, and asking for another take felt unnecessary. It was little things like that which separated an average director from a great one.
Still, I didn't complain, just went back to my starting position as the crew reset the set pieces.
"When were you going to tell me about getting knighted?" Emily asked as we waited for the next take.
I shrugged. "It didn't seem big enough to make a fuss about."
"Are you out of your mind?" she hissed. "It's huge! You're the youngest actor to be knighted, and that's such an honor. I would've loved to get knighted, but I'm not British."
I smiled faintly. "Haven't you read what they're saying online? Apparently, it's a bribe I took to stay quiet about Prince Andrew."
That silenced her for a few seconds. Then, in a quieter voice, she asked, "Is it?"
"They offered to make me an Officer last year," I said, shaking my head. "I declined. Told them I'd only accept if it was a knighthood. There's no quid pro quo. No hidden deal. But it doesn't matter what I say. People have already made up their minds."
"Of course it matters," she said firmly. "If no one else, your fans will believe you. I believe you."
I knew she did. But the real truth wasn't something that could ever come out. If it did, the consequences would be catastrophic.
"I'll release a statement soon," I promised. "Once we're done with this film."
She nodded, expression softening just as the first AD signaled for me to get back in the water and redo the scene.
(Break)
Christopher Lee regarded the nondescript man sitting across from him with a cool, unreadable expression.
"Are you out of your mind?" he asked calmly once the man had finished speaking. "Why the hell would I reject my knighthood now? Every British citizen grows up wanting one. I'm in my final years, and this would be my legacy when I'm gone."
The man smiled faintly, his voice quiet but steady. "You're right. Everyone covets the honor. I do too. But what most people don't understand is how hollow it has become. The royals have long used these titles as bargaining chips, sometimes even as outright bribes to get what they want."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning sharper. "Take that kid, Troy Armitage. He's being knighted at 20, while a great actor like you only receives the honor at 87. How is that fair? Do you think his body of work surpasses yours?"
Christopher couldn't deny the sting of those words. It had bothered him more than he cared to admit. To be recognized so late in life, while a young actor not yet 21 was receiving the same honor, felt like an insult to his decades of work. It was bloody unfair.
"While I agree with your sentiment," Christopher replied diplomatically, "that doesn't mean I should openly antagonize the Crown."
The man's smile deepened. "Don't lie to me, Mr. Lee. You and I both know you don't care what others think. Not at your age. Think this through. If you reject the knighthood, that act alone will define your legacy far more than accepting it ever could. Sure, you won't be called 'Sir,' but you'll be remembered as a man of principle. How many people have turned down such honors out of conviction?"
Christopher hesitated. The thought tempted him. Refusing the knighthood would indeed make a statement, a grand one, even. But before he could give in to that notion, one question lingered in his mind.
"What if I reject your offer?" he asked slowly.
The man's expression didn't falter. He reached into his briefcase, retrieved a manila folder, and placed it on the table. "This contains a list of your mistresses," he said softly, "and the children you've allegedly fathered with them. If you accept that award, this entire dossier will find its way into the press and the internet. Your knighthood won't be your legacy, your scandals will."
Christopher's pulse quickened. He tore open the folder, scanning the names written inside. Faces and memories flashed in his mind, women he had been with during various stages of his long career. His wife, Birgit, had known about his affairs. They had an understanding, of sorts. But the public wouldn't see it that way.
"These children aren't mine," he said quickly. "I was always careful."
The man tilted his head. "Maybe so. But tell me, which version do you think the world will find more compelling to believe?"
He stood and adjusted his jacket, preparing to leave. As he reached the door, he turned back, his voice calm and deliberate.
"Oh, and if it helps your decision," he said, "my colleagues are meeting with the other knights and dames scheduled to be honored next month. You won't be the only one facing this choice. Until the Crown acknowledges Andrew's crimes for what they are, every future knight will be encouraged to rescind their titles. You have two days to decide. We'll contact you about your response. And if you mention this meeting to anyone, that folder goes public."
With that, the man walked out, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Christopher sat frozen, staring at the folder lying before him. The room suddenly felt smaller, the silence heavier. At his age, he didn't fear retribution from the Crown, but he dreaded the thought of leaving behind a tainted legacy.
(Break)
"Hey, Olive," I called out softly as I walked toward Emily, dressed in a crisp white shirt and fitted black trousers.
"Todd, hi." She quickly wiped at her eyes and forced a smile, but anyone who knew her could tell it was a performance. Her mascara was slightly smudged, and the brightness in her expression didn't reach her eyes.
I glanced over my shoulder at the car pulling out of the parking lot before turning back to her. "Are you alright?"
"I just have something in my eye," she muttered, brushing away another tear. "Like a twig, or a branch, or a contact, or something."
"I didn't know you wore contacts," I said lightly.
"I don't," she replied, exhaling sharply. "Which is why I was tearing up."
We stood there in silence for a few moments. The light from the nearby street lamp caught the dampness on her cheeks, and I could tell she was holding herself together with effort. She looked fragile in a way that made her feel real and vulnerable.
"Hey," I said gently, stepping closer but stopping short so she wouldn't feel crowded. "Let me drive you home."
She hesitated, then nodded, her composure finally breaking as quiet sobs escaped her. The subtlety of it was what struck me most, how she transitioned from calm to heartbreak in a single breath. Watching her, I was reminded just how good an actress Emily really was. Then again, I was younger than her physically and was considered in the same league. But I was an exception, not the norm.
As soon as we got into the car, her restraint crumbled completely. She pressed a hand to her face and began crying in earnest.
I drove slowly through the near-empty streets, glancing at her every few moments. "Do you… maybe wanna talk about it?"
"What's to say?" she whispered bitterly. "Everybody thinks I'm a whore. And for the first time, I'm starting to believe it."
"What?" I turned to her in surprise.
She looked away, voice cracking. "Don't act like you don't know what people are saying about me."
"Oh, I know what they're saying," I said softly, "but that doesn't mean I believe them."
"Who told you?" she asked sharply.
"No one," I said, shaking my head. "No one had to. Once upon a time, there was a scared little kid at a party, in a dark room, who wasn't ready for his first kiss, and there was this amazing girl who lied for him so he wouldn't be embarrassed. So yeah, I know what kind of person you are."
That made her smile faintly through her tears. I raised a clenched fist in a silent, exaggerated victory pose, and she actually giggled.
"You know," I said, grinning, "sometimes I like to pretend you were my first real kiss."
"Yeah? Who was?" she asked, teasingly defensive now.
"It was Rhiannon," I admitted, oblivious to the situation. "She must've told you. It was so bad and sloppy. Ugh."
"That bitch! She knew how I felt about you?"
"Wait," I said, eyes widening, "how do you feel about me?"
"Felt," she corrected quickly. "I said felt."
"No, you didn't," I retorted. "Come on! Tell me how you feel. I won't tell anyone."
She scoffed at the sudden improvisation on my end. "I'm not telling you how I felt. In the past. Let it go."
I slowed the car and pulled over to the curb. "We're here."
Her brows knitted. "How do you know where I live?"
"We used to carpool," I reminded her.
"Yeah," she said slowly. "In second grade. What, are you some kind of savant for people's addresses?"
"Just for people I think are cool," I said, meeting her gaze.
"You think I'm cool?"
"I do," I said sincerely. "And I think you're pretty. And smart." I leaned a little closer, lowering my voice. "If I promise not to tell anyone… could I kiss you right now?"
For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us seemed charged with electricity. Her breathing slowed, and I could see the desire burning in her eyes. I didn't know if she'd go off-script, but I knew one thing: if Emily kissed me right now, I wouldn't pull away, because my character wanted this.
"No," Emily said, shaking her head.
"Oh." The word escaped me in disappointment as I pulled back slightly. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to presume…"
"No," she groaned, rubbing her temple. "No, I mean not like this. Not with my mascara running down my face, or after some horndog tried to stick his tongue down my throat. Right now, my life is a mess. I need to get it back in order first."
"I could help you. Maybe," I offered quietly.
She smiled at that, a tired but genuine smile, then undid her seatbelt and leaned over to hug me. I wrapped my arms around her, rubbing her back gently. Her hair smelled heavenly as I breathed her in. For a moment, the world outside the car ceased to exist.
When she pulled away, she gave me a grateful look before opening the door and stepping out.
"Goodnight, Olive," I called after her.
She turned slightly, walking backward for a step. "Goodnight, Lobster Todd."
I couldn't help but grin at that awful nickname. Shaking my head fondly, I started the car and drove off into the night.
"Cut!"
The word sliced through the moment, and instantly the illusion shattered. Crew members hurried onto the set, lights shifted, and chatter filled the air again.
"That was a fan-fucking-tastic performance, guys," Will's voice boomed through the speakers. "God, it's a shame people won't consider you for serious awards because of the film's genre, but you never know. After [The Dark Knight], anything's possible."
I smiled faintly. That wasn't going to happen. Emily had been phenomenal in this scene, perfect, even, but [Easy A] wasn't the kind of film that got serious awards attention. Maybe a Golden Globe nod, since they had a separate category for Musical/Comedy, but even that felt like a stretch.
"And with that," Will announced, "we're officially wrapped on all of Troy's scenes for the film! Let's give him a hand for taking time out of his crazy schedule to be part of this project."
Applause erupted across the set. I bowed my head in gratitude. It had been a short but memorable shoot, barely ten minutes of total screen time, but the week had flown by, and I had enjoyed every moment of it.
"You were great just now," Emily said, walking up to me once the noise died down.
"Thank you." I smiled warmly. "This scene was the only reason I agreed to do this film. Todd's the kind of guy you rarely see on screen anymore, a genuine good one, with actual green flags."
She grinned. "So you took the part because it makes you look good? Todd the benevolent guy, while I'm the damsel in distress?"
"That's not true," I replied. "You were incredible in this scene. Mark my words, once the movie comes out, people will realize you're more than just the emo, vampire-loving girl."
She laughed at that. "Sometimes I still can't believe you agreed to produce [Twilight], considering how much you hate it. Or that you asked me to be a part of it."
I shrugged, not explaining it to her. [Twilight], for me, always was a way to earn money, nothing more, nothing less. That's not something that most people will understand unless they have my meta-knowledge.
"So," Emily said after a quiet moment, "are you releasing a statement about your knighthood soon?"
"I am," I replied. "Tomorrow. For now, I—"
"Troy."
I turned at the sound of my name. Benji stood a few feet away, looking slightly hesitant.
"There are a few people here to meet you," he said. "Guys, you know."
I frowned. "At this hour?"
Since we were shooting on location for a night scene, it was unusual to have visitors around. An unannounced visit on top of that was more than a little strange.
"It's Trey Parker and Matt Stone from [South Park]," Benji clarified. "They would've waited for another day, but since you'll be starting your break tomorrow, I told them to come tonight. You were too busy filming to meet them earlier."
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck.
Trey and Matt, another reminder of my younger, more impulsive self. I'd once thought every insult or parody deserved retaliation, but I'd learned since then that not everything needed a response. Sometimes, you just have to let go.
"Alright," I said finally, nodding. "I'll meet them."
Turning back to Emily, I offered a small smile. "Let's talk some other day, yeah?"
"Sure," she said, returning the smile before heading toward her trailer.
I walked toward mine, where Trey and Matt were waiting just outside. But they weren't alone. Sitting beside them was a Latino man with a round, genial face that looked familiar, though I couldn't quite place him.
"Hello," I greeted, shaking hands with all three. "Sorry about the late hour. I got caught up with shooting."
"No worries," Trey said warmly. "I know how dedicated you are. I've seen you on the [Harry Potter] set before."
I smiled faintly. "I'd love to catch up, but it's late, and I still have to get home. So, spill."
Matt gave me a small nod, then motioned toward the Latino man. "This is Robert Lopez," he said. "He created the Broadway musical [Avenue Q], which won a bunch of Tonys a few years back."
Robert offered a friendly smile.
Matt continued, "The three of us are working on a new musical. It's called [The Book of Mormon]. And if you're willing, we'd like you to play the opening lead."
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AN: Check out my second story, 'Swimmer to Superstar (A Hollywood SI)', which is now publicly available.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com