December 2006, Los Angeles, CA, USA
"That was the best sex I've ever had," Rihanna whispered against my chest, her body draped gracefully in nothing but moonlight. "You keep getting better whenever we are apart. Are you practicing with someone else?"
I chuckled at her joke before pressing a kiss to her temple. "Thanks, love. I missed you so much I just had to show you. It's a shame you can't move in after my birthday—then we could do this all day, every day, however many times you wanted."
She chuckled and playfully slapped my chest. "Stop. You know why we can't."
Truthfully, I didn't—I really didn't. It was hard to accept her flimsy reasons for our fake breakup when we were so happy together. I knew my own: I only agreed because if I hadn't, she would've broken up with me for real. And I didn't want that.
"I heard you've been acting all mopey at your concerts recently," Rihanna mused, curiosity lacing her tone.
"You weren't there to cheer me on," I grinned. "Of course I was mopey."
She rolled her eyes before sitting up. "No, seriously. Is it true?"
"Of course not," I said, shaking my head. "People always want a story where there isn't one. If our breakup wasn't public, no one would've cared if I didn't smile the whole goddamn time I was on stage."
Rihanna hummed in response before slipping out of bed and starting to get dressed.
"Hey!" I caught her midway. "Don't go yet. I wasn't done with you."
I stood up, completely bare, and wrapped my arms around her. "We can go a few more rounds. If not that, we can work on music together. Or just talk. Whatever you want. Stay the night."
"I can't," she said with an apologetic smile. "It's late. If someone sees me leaving any later, it'll be hard to explain."
"It will be hard to explain at any time of the day," I deadpanned. "Stay. My security team will drop you off wherever you want. All my cars have tinted windows. No one will see you. One of the guys can even drive your car back to your place. No need to worry."
She sighed. "I have dance rehearsals for my next music video early tomorrow. I'm sorry, but I can't stay."
Disappointment sank into me. I released her and took a step back, exhaling sharply.
"Okay," I said after a pause. "Go if you have to. But before you do, answer me this—when do you plan for us to get back together publicly?"
She froze, like the thought had never even crossed her mind.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, confirming my suspicions.
"I mean," I said slowly, "do you ever plan to make this public again, or are we supposed to keep up this charade indefinitely? Because I'm in this for the long haul. I can't do this cloak-and-dagger shit forever."
She looked away, avoiding my gaze. I gave her a moment.
"Give me half a year," Rihanna said at last. "I need time to make a name for myself without you. Then we can go public again."
"Six months it is," I agreed, reluctant but resigned.
In my head, I'd expected everything to be back to normal in a month at most. But I couldn't push her. Not yet. Sooner or later, the media would catch us red-handed. And if they didn't? Worst case scenario, I could always pay off a paparazzo to snap a few 'accidental' photos and end this game early.
I know it sounds underhanded, but I had no choice. Rihanna doesn't understand that fame is a fickle thing. Once you start chasing it, you will never be satisfied. You'll always want more, just like money.
(Break)
"Hey, Becca! Hold up!" I ran down the school hallway and stopped in front of Anna Kendrick.
"Hey!" she greeted me enthusiastically.
"Did you hear about the party tonight?" I asked nervously, gripping the straps of my backpack and shifting my weight slightly from foot to foot.
"Oh yeah, I just heard. Sounds awesome," Anna replied.
"Yeah, I'm going," I said, a little too eagerly.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I'm going," I repeated, this time with more confidence. "That's actually why I was looking for you. Me and the guys are hitting up a liquor store after class, and I thought, you know, if you needed someone to grab you something, I could do that. I could be that person."
"Really?" She twisted her hair around her index finger, leaning in eagerly. "That would be great. I was gonna beg my sister, but this would save me the hassle. Could you get me a bottle of Goldslick Vodka?"
"The one with the little gold flakes in it?" I asked.
"Yeah, the girly one," Anna replied. "I'll pay you back at the party."
"No, you won't," I shut down the idea immediately. "It's my treat, miss. The first of many, so get used to it, sister."
As soon as the word sister left my mouth, I cringed, mortified. But only for a second.
"Well, thank you," Anna said gratefully, missing my reaction, or most probably ignoring it.
"Yeah, no problem." I raised my hand for a fist bump, but before I could make contact, someone shoved me from behind. My raised fist came crashing down—straight toward Anna's right boob.
As soon as I fist met her breast, Anna sniggered.
"Oh, come on!" I groaned just as Greg Mottola called out, "Cut!" from the background. "I had the timed it perfectly this time."
"Sorry," Anna turned to the crew, still laughing. "I just keep thinking about the headlines if this ever got out—'Harry Potter caught punching random girl in the boob.'"
Nearby crew members—cameraman, boom operator, even Greg Mottola—burst into laughter.
"Ugh, please don't say that!" I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "It's bad enough that we're even doing this scene. I'm already afraid that by the time we're done, you're actually gonna be sore."
It didn't help that Tobias, who had written permission from my parents to act as my guardian, was here today to keep an eye on things. I didn't need him, but California law required his presence. An official was also on set to ensure nothing inappropriate happened—because, of course, I had to accidentally punch Anna's character in the chest.
"I'm sorry," Anna said, still giggling. "Also, don't worry about hurting me. I'm heavily padded under this dress. So go nuts. Punch me like I deserve it."
I chuckled at her joke. "Alright, I'll punch the shit out of you then."
That's what I loved about working with Anna Kendrick. She could take any scene—no matter how awkward—and turn it into something fun, just by joking about the ridiculousness of it all. My experience with her during [Brick] hadn't been the best, but people mature over time, and that's exactly what had happened here. It helped that she was genuinely funny—perfect for this role.
"Alright, guys," Greg cut in. "Enough fun. Now focus. Anna, please don't laugh this time."
We nodded, reset, and reshot the scene.
(Break)
I moved through the party as everyone around me danced like crazy. My eyes landed on a bucket full of alcohol, and I scanned the crowd for Seth (Jonah's character).
Before I could take a step, a girl suddenly appeared in front of me and started dancing close—very close.
"Oh boy, we're doing this," I whispered uncomfortably as she rubbed her legs against mine.
"Hey!" she called out over the non-existent music. "You dance hot!"
"Thank you!" I said in character.
Then, without warning, she spun around and started grinding against me.
I glanced around as if searching for an escape route but quickly decided to just roll with it. If I was stuck in this situation, I might as well enjoy it. I matched her movements, swaying my hips in sync with hers, and soon we were dancing perfectly in rhythm. She leaned back, resting her weight against my chest, her body still moving to the beat that wasn't actually playing.
The music was supposed to be blasting at full volume, but it would only be added in post-production. If they played it live, all our dialogue would have to be dubbed later, and there could be licensing issues if the song's owner refused to sell or asked for an outrageous fee. Keeping it silent meant they could add any song later.
It was awkward enough dancing without music in the midst of tens of people, what I had to do next went even a step further.
I grabbed the girl by the butt and pulled her closer as we transitioned into a slow dance. We weren't the only ones—this was the moment when the party's music shifted, and couples paired off across the room.
After a few moments, she stepped back and said, "Thanks," before slipping out of frame.
I took the opportunity to head straight for the alcohol bucket, stuffing beer bottles into my pockets. Once I was fully loaded, I grabbed two extra bottles in my hands and started making my way out—only to be stopped by some guy.
"Hey," he said, pointing at my thigh. "What's that?"
The beer bottle in my hand was at about the same height, so I casually hid it behind my back. "I don't know. What?"
"That fucking stain on your pants, idiot. What's that?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
The guy leaned forward and swiped two fingers across my trousers, right where the makeup team had generously applied red paint. His face scrunched up. "Dude… is that blood? Are you bleeding?"
"Why the fuck would I be bleeding?" I shot back. "I'm not cut or anything."
He rubbed his fingers together, frowning. "Wait… were you dancing with some chick in there?"
"Yeah?" I answered hesitantly. "So?"
The guy immediately wiped his fingers on the sleeve of the guy sitting next to him. "Dude, it's blood." Then he started laughing.
"Why the fuck would I be bleeding?" I repeated, still oblivious. "Why would there be bl—"
And then it hit me.
A wave of disgust crashed over me as realization dawned. My entire body tensed, my stomach twisting in horror.
"Oh God, I'm gonna throw up."
Meanwhile, the two guys sitting in front of me completely lost it, laughing their asses off.
"Someone perioded on my fucking leg?" I exclaimed in sheer horror. "Oh shit! What do I do? This is so disgusting!"
One of the guys stood up. "I'm gonna get Bill. He'll love this!"
"No, don't get Bill! Who the fuck is he!? Is this some cultist shit?"
"Cut," Greg said casually. "That one didn't land. Add some more desperation of your character and maybe try the original line, yeah?"
"Okay," I nodded. I had improvised that last line because that's what brings out the best comedy. But sometimes it was best to stay true to the script—especially when the scene was already hilarious.
"Alright, guys," Greg continued. "Let's start again from 'Someone perioded on my fucking leg.'"
Originally, this scene had been written for Jonah's character, Seth, but the focus ended up shifting too much away from my character. I had a long discussion with Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg before the cast was even finalized, and they agreed to rewrite the scene so that I was the one who got blood on my leg while Jonah's character was off singing upstairs.
They also made another small tweak—turning me into the one who stole the alcohol, making me a "bigger hero" in the film. It wasn't a major change in the grand scheme of things, but it definitely altered the dynamics between our characters.
"Action!"
(Break)
"Yo, guys! What's up?" Christopher Mintz-Plasse ran up to Jonah Hill and me, slightly out of breath.
"Fogell! Where the hell have you been, man?" I asked, a hint of frustration slipping into my tone.
"Did you pussy out or what?" Jonah added. "Come on, let me see it."
"No, no, man. I got it," Chris said proudly as he pulled the fake ID from his pocket and handed it to me.
I examined it. "Hawaii… Alright, that's good, I guess? Hard to trace and shit… Wait." I looked up sharply. "You changed your name to McLovin?"
Chris grinned.
"McLovin?" I repeated, incredulous. "What kind of stupid fucking name is that, Fogell? Are you trying to be an Irish R&B singer?"
"They let you pick any name you want when you're there," he said with a proud little shrug.
"And you landed on McLovin?" Jonah asked in utter disbelief.
"Yeah, it was between that and Mohammad."
Jonah's face twisted in exasperation. "Why the fuck would it be between that and Mohammad?!" he yelled. "It's a made-up, dumb, fucking fairytale name, you fuck! Why couldn't you pick a normal name like—Troy or Jonah?"
That did it for me.
I lost it.
I burst out laughing, doubling over as I rested my arm on Jonah's shoulder. It wasn't even that funny, but after months of filming, something about him slipping our real names in just broke me.
Jonah and Chris cracked up, too, because we all knew this take was completely unusable.
"It's been nearly two fucking months since we started shooting this," Jonah said, shaking his head, "and this is the first time I made you break? Man, you're a tough nut to crack."
I shrugged, still laughing. "Not my fault you're usually so unfunny."
"Oooh! Burn!" Chris chimed in.
"Shut up, Fagell," Jonah shot back.
"Suck my dick, fuck face," Chris retorted immediately.
I sighed. "Guys," I said in a warning tone. "It's the last time we're doing this. Don't start now."
Getting Jonah and Chris to be on the same page had been a goddamn nightmare. I had thought my bonding sessions over video games would help. It did, and both became good friends with me. But only me. Their relationship with each other was still borderline hostile.
At first, it was just Jonah constantly roasting the younger guy, but over time, Chris grew a backbone and started giving it right back. It never escalated beyond juvenile insults and swears, but I was so ready to be done with it. One thing was certain: I was never signing onto another movie where both of these guys were in the cast.
After a beat, Jonah sighed. "I'm sorry, Chris."
"Yeah, sorry, man," Chris echoed.
"Good." I nodded. "Now let's finish this scene and get it over with."
I still couldn't believe we were finally wrapping this film—at least, all my scenes.
Except one.
My awkward as fuck sex scene with Anna Kendrick was still left to shoot.
We'd been waiting for my birthday in a few weeks so everything is legal. We had set it up for after my world tour.
For the rest of the cast and crew, a few more scenes still had to be shot in January after the winter break—like McLovin drinking with the cops at the bar, them torching their cruiser, or Jonah's supermarket dream sequence where he fails to buy alcohol because his throat gets slit. None of those required my presence, so they'd be filmed later.
The schedule was structured this way because, as soon as the holidays were over, I'd be traveling the world promoting [Little Miss Sunshine].
"Let's do it one more time, team!" Greg called out.
The set was reset, and we ran the scene again. And again. And again.
It made sense. This wasn't just a scene—it was the scene. Years later, no one would care much about Seth and Evan. But everyone would remember McLovin. This moment had to be perfect in every way.
It took ten full takes before Greg finally called it. "That's a wrap for the day!"
As the crew started applauding, Chris walked up to me and shook my hand. "I'm gonna miss you, man," he admitted. "I learned a lot from you."
I nodded. "Glad to hear that, Chris. You're a good actor. Finish school, and if you still want to do this afterward, call me."
Like others, he had also signed a three-picture deal with me, but I wasn't about to force anyone to act if they didn't want to. I knew Chris kept acting in the original timeline, but this one had already diverged in small but noticeable ways.
"Thanks man," he said gratefully.
The following half an hour was spent wishing Happy Holidays to all the crew members and distributing them with their bonuses and Christmas gifts. Just because I am not shooting Harry Potter this year, didn't mean I would forget about the holiday spirit.
As I made my way toward the parking lot, my security team flanking me, my mind shifted to what was next.
There was one last thing to handle before my global tour: the annual New Year's party.
Just like last year, I had two options—Warner or Paramount.
Last year, skipping Warner's event had stirred up enough drama within their management. This year, Dick Parsons, CEO of Time Warner, had personally asked me to attend.
"It's of utmost importance that you come," Parsons had insisted over the phone. "I have something important to discuss with you. And I daresay, you'll like that piece of news a lot."
Barry Meyer, I could afford to offend—especially after everything he'd pulled against me. But Parsons? That was a different story.
After a brief moment of consideration, I decided I'd call Brad Grey personally to apologize for missing Paramount's event.
He'd understand.
Not to mention, I was more than curious enough to know what exactly Dick Parsons had to say to me.
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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