Hollywood: From Shadows To The Spotlight

[Chapter 25: A Step Into The Past (II)]

Alternative Title - [Chapter 25: A Leap Of Faith.]

Last Time on Chapter 024 of [From Shadows To The Spotlight] —

He folded the letter, tucking it carefully into his bag to send home the next day. A pang of guilt settled in his chest, but he reminded himself that he was doing this for them—for his family. If he had to bend the truth a little, he'd do it without hesitation.

This chance, however small, was his way to make a difference, to prove that man wrong, to break the jaws of the cruel fate that had been written for him and rise up as the protagonist of his own story. This would be the first step for Alex Masters.

Now Continuing —

~Back in the Present~

Margaret leaned closer, captivated as Alex recounted fragments of his past. His voice, usually steady and confident, softened as he described his early days—working on film sets, scraping by, and chasing dreams bigger than his years.

"I was fourteen when I started," Alex admitted, almost absently, his gaze momentarily distant. "Dropped out of school, lied about my age. I didn't have much of a choice, but looking back, I—"

"Wait," Margaret interrupted, her pen hovering over her notepad, forgotten. "You dropped out of school? At fourteen?"

Alex blinked, surprised by the interruption. "Well, yeah," he replied slowly. "I needed to work. And I wasn't exactly—"

"No," she said firmly, her voice suddenly tinged with something far more personal and emotional than her usual professional journalistic curiosity. "Alex, please tell me you at least finished your basic education."

The way her brows furrowed and the slight edge in her tone, it caught Alex off guard. It wasn't the reaction he had expected—no pity, no judgment—just genuine concern, like a mother who'd just discovered her child's recklessness.

"I did," he assured her, his tone softening as he saw the worry in her eyes. "Not then, but later. Almost a decade later, actually. Took my GED and passed with flying colors. I promise, Margaret, I didn't let that part of my life stay unfinished."

Margaret exhaled, her posture easing slightly, but her eyes still held a glimmer of pain, as if imagining the life he must have led at that age.

He leaned forward, his hands resting on the arms of his chair, his voice low and earnest. "I know it sounds rough, and I won't sugarcoat like I did for my little sister in my journal; it was hell. But just like I told my mother—" his voice caught for a fraction of a second, a flicker of emotion passing through his expression before he steadied himself.

"In a letter I sent her, I love movies. So much so that no matter how good or bad my life turned out to be, I would've ended up on a film set one way or another. Just think of it as me getting a head start. And now, look at me." He spoke with a confidence and conviction that was built upon the blood, sweat, and tears he had given to the art he loved his whole life.

Margaret studied him, her lips pressing into a thin line as she fought back the emotions threatening to surface.

"I'm barely half the age of most seasoned directors in Hollywood," Alex continued, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips.

"But you'd be hard-pressed to find one as well-versed in the craft as I am. I'll admit, I might not be as good as them in the one thing they've mastered. But I've done it all, Margaret. From camera work to special effects work to editing."

The room was quiet for a moment, the weight of his words settling between them. Then Margaret tilted her head, her curiosity reigniting. "Alex, can I ask you something? Just how old are you?"

The question made him laugh—a genuine, throaty chuckle that broke the tension. "Somewhere between thirty and forty," he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"And is Alex even your real name?" she pressed, a teasing smile breaking through her concern.

"Yes," he said with mock seriousness. "But Masters is my stage name. I picked it because, one day, I'd like to know everything about filmmaking. It felt… aspirational."

Margaret leaned back, her expression softening as she regarded him. "Well, Alex Masters," she said with a faint smile, "it seems to me you have more than lived up to that name."

Alex shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "I'd like to think I'm just getting started."

----------

Robert Downey Jr. leaned back in the plush leather chair of his agent Marvin's office while watching Alex happily recount his first few days on the set of Jaws 2. He still found it hard to believe that his friend had started his career in Hollywood as a crew hand at the shocking age of 14. Alex had been just a kid.

He tried to recall what he would've been up to at that age; all he could remember was sneaking out to parties, getting drunk, and doing something that his mother definitely didn't approve of. Compared to him, Alex was a saint, toiling away on film sets, trying to earn a living to create a better life for his family.

His fingers absently tracing the grooves of the armrest, as he was lost in his introspection, this sacrifice that Alex had made allowed him to become who he was today. The room was bathed in warm sunlight streaming through the tall windows, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Marvin, his agent, went pacing back and forth, holding a glossy folder emblazoned with the words The 13th Warrior in bold letters.

"This is it, Robert; focus up here." Marvin said, while pointing at the folder in his hands; his tone was sharp but enthusiastic.

"Trust me. If you land this role, it is going to be your golden ticket back to the top. This is [The 13th Warrior]. Slated to be directed by John McTiernan, based on a Michael Crichton novel. You know—Jurassic Park, Crichton! The guy practically prints money."

Downey raised an eyebrow, not feeling as enthusiastic as his agent as he calmly went through the list of creatives involved with the project, his trademark smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, I know Crichton," he said, his voice remained calm and measured.

"But let's not forget who made Jurassic Park the monster it was—literally and figuratively. Alex Masters didn't just write the screenplay; he practically birthed those dinosaurs with his effects team. He edited the whole damn movie into the record-breaking success we all remember."

Marvin stopped in his tracks, throwing up his hands. "Sure, Alex worked his magic on Jurassic Park. I won't deny it. But this isn't his project. This is McTiernan, the guy who gave us Die Hard and Predator! It's Vikings, swords, and a big-budget Crichton adventure. What's not to love?"

Downey sighed, his gaze drifting to the skyline outside. "You're forgetting something, Marvin. Alex Masters was the one who kept me afloat when no one else would touch me."

"When I got out of jail in '91, my career was dead in the water. Studios didn't want the 'troubled actor.' Directors didn't want the risk. But Alex? He gave me roles. Put me in movies he produced. Helped me prove I wasn't just some walking tabloid headline."

Marvin opened his mouth to argue, but Downey cut him off, his voice tinged with quiet anger. "Without him, I wouldn't even be sitting here talking about comebacks. So, forgive me if I'm not eager to jump ship the moment something shinier comes along."

Marvin sighed, rubbing his temples. "I get it, Robert. I do. Alex helped you when no one else would. But you can't let loyalty cloud your judgment. This isn't about favors; this is about your career."

"Alex is off chasing his next big dream, and we don't even know what it is. Meanwhile, the 13th Warrior is right here, on the table. A sure thing."

Downey chuckled softly, shaking his head. "A sure thing, huh? You mean a bloated Viking epic based on a book no one remembers? Crichton might've written it, but let's not pretend it's got the same magic as Jurassic Park. And even if it did, that magic wouldn't mean jack without Alex's touch."

Marvin's frustration was starting to show. He dropped the folder onto his desk with a thud and crossed his arms. "You're putting a lot of faith in Alex and whatever he's cooking up. You don't even know what the project is. What if it's a bust? What if it never even gets off the ground?"

Downey leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His voice softened, but his words carried weight. "You're right—I don't know what Alex is planning. But I know the kind of filmmaker he is. He's a visionary."

"He doesn't just make movies; he builds worlds. And more than that, he believed in me when no one else did. So, this time, it is my turn to take that leap of faith; I believe in him, Marvin."

Marvin stared at him for a long moment, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, he sighed and dropped into his chair.

"Alright," he said, his voice low. "You're not wrong about what Alex did for you. And I get why you feel like you owe him. But, Robert, you've got to look out for yourself, too."

Downey stood, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I am looking out for myself, Marvin. That's exactly why I'm sticking with Alex. Because I trust him to deliver something extraordinary."

Marvin shook his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. "You're a stubborn bastard, you know that?"

"Yeah, I've heard that once or twice," Downey said with a grin and stood up to take his leave, as he didn't want to continue this conversation any longer.

As he walked toward the door, Marvin called after him. "Just promise me one thing, Robert. If this mystery project of Alex's doesn't pan out, you'll let me get you something else. Deal?"

Downey paused in the doorway, his hand on the door handle. He turned back, his expression thoughtful. "Deal," he said. "But trust me, Marvin—Alex doesn't miss."

With that, he walked out, leaving Marvin shaking his head and muttering under his breath. "What even gives him that confidence?"

As Downey stepped into the cool Los Angeles air, his thoughts drifted to Alex. Whatever the man was working on, Downey knew it would be something worth waiting for.

Something he was willing to take that leap of faith for, and it wasn't like he was strapped for cash, having just completed the second season of [The Mandalorian], a critically acclaimed show that was a crowd favorite.

He was even nominated at the Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series for his role of Din Djarin or Mando, a role that he was grateful to Alex for giving him the opportunity to play the nuanced character.

It gave the audience the chance to love him as a character, despite being prejudiced against him for his past actions.

And it was also creatively challenging, as he had to convey his emotions through his body language and the tone of his voice. He personally felt he had evolved the most playing Mando than any other role in his career.

Alex had smirked when he asked why he wanted him to play the bounty hunter, all he got was a cryptic reply, "The role I have decided for you in my film, is also of a person who is often wearing a helmet, when he is on the battlefield."

--------

~Back in the Past~

Alex's second week on set began early; the sky was still dark, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon. He tugged his jacket tighter against the chilly ocean breeze; it was a nifty thing he had purchased from a thrift store.

The waves slapped against the boats anchored nearby, and the crew moved like clockwork, barely glancing at one another as they prepared for the day's scenes.

For Alex, this was as good as any film school—better, even, because this was real. Here, he was part of the machine, no matter how small a cog he might be.

The hours were long and brutal. When he wasn't helping haul equipment, he was cleaning up spills or standing in for crew members too sick to work that day. The sea was merciless, tossing smaller boats around like toys, and a few of the crew were already feeling it.

They ribbed him and called him "the kid," though most of them looked no older than their mid-twenties. Still, he took it in stride, knowing that if he kept his head down and did his job, he'd gain their respect with his diligent efforts and time.

Between scenes, Alex worked odd jobs on the side to send extra money back home to his family. He'd help rig up equipment after hours or fix up the rickety dock. Sometimes, the sound crew would throw him a dollar or two for running errands.

And in an age where every penny mattered, dollars were a pleasant sight for his sore eyes, and he made sure to save it, every bit of it meant for his family. He found quiet satisfaction knowing he was contributing something, however small, to help them keep the lights on or put food on the table.

It satisfied his hunger to prove that he wasn't useless, that even he could amount to something. The scars that his abusive father had left him were something that always cast a shadow in his heart at this young age.

After a long day, he'd find a moment to pull out his small, battered notebook and jot down a few lines about what he had experienced while working on set. Obviously he didn't mention how tiring or mentally exhausting work was; thankfully he was slowly getting better at it, both the job and at dealing with the exhaustion that came with it.

The answer? At least 5 hours of sleep; 8 is the best, but unfortunately that wasn't a luxury he could afford at the moment; the other was cheap coffee. His youngest sister was an avid reader and made him promise to send her a journal of all his experiences on set.

Every week or two, he would send a letter home without fail. It was to put his mother's worries at rest, and also to send back whatever he had been able to save since the last letter. He kept some with him in case of an emergency, and despite his mother's insistence on not sending them anything, he would always send the rest back home.

By noon, they took a break, the crew dispersing around the boats to grab a quick meal. Alex wolfed down a sandwich he'd packed, his eyes constantly scanning the set, watching the crew members he hadn't yet worked with and studying how they handled their roles.

It was then that he noticed Ann Dusenberry, the actress playing Tina Wilcox; she was one of the few among the crew and the only one among the actors who treated him kindly from the start.

She'd wave or offer him a warm smile whenever he passed by—a small kindness that brightened his days.

In quiet moments, he'd catch her rehearsing her lines, her voice narrating the dialogues in hushed whispers yet still audible and clear; her eyes reflected the intensity of the scene she was preparing for.

There was something familiar in her warmth, something that reminded him of his stepmom back home. In her, he saw the gentle way of his mother's care that kept the family together and happy even when the money was tight.

Late that afternoon, with the sun beginning to dip, a sudden shout broke out across the set. Alex turned just in time to see Ann struggling against the force of the waves as her dress snagged on a piece of debris drifting by.

At first, a few people laughed, thinking it was one of her practical jokes or some kind of acting exercise.

— To be Continued...

{2,609 words}

{TRL: This is the new Hollywood story that has been bouncing around in my head. I really need to get this out, so here's another chapter.

Also would you like to read ahead? You can do so for free up to 5 chapters ahead of the public release on my Patreon page as Free Member.

Yes, free. If you're interested you'll find the link in the Author's thoughts section or just google TheRamenLord and Patreon.

If you like my work and would like to support me then by becoming a paid member you read from 10 to 20 chapters ahead of the public release depending on tier you purchase.