The song ended, and Joy slipped her pink heels back under the hem of her long white dress.
She flashed Tom a smile, pulled the jeweled flower clip from her hair, and twirled it between her fingers. "Don't forget to hit me up. You said you'd ask around for me, remember?"
Tom's mouth curved into a soft, indulgent grin. "I did say that. Doesn't mean I'm guaranteed to come through, though."
The waltz was over. Joy gathered her skirt, ready to head back inside. "Thanks either way. I really do appreciate it. But I should get going—it's getting late."
She'd barely turned when Tom's warm, steady hand caught her arm. He gazed at the dark curls spilling over her neck, a quiet, almost tender smile tugging at his lips. "The night's still young. Have fun."
Joy gave him a playful wink. "Honestly? These fancy parties aren't really my scene. Too stuffy."
Tom leaned one hand on the balcony railing behind him, the night breeze ruffling his hair. "I used to hate them too."
"Really?" She tilted her head. "So what changed?"
He shrugged, voice light but carrying weight. "I figured out I had to play the game if I wanted to survive out here."
There was a whole backstory packed into that one sentence; stuff he clearly didn't feel like unpacking tonight.
But Joy heard it anyway. "I know you worked harder than anybody to get where you are. Nobody hands you this kind of success overnight."
Tom's gray-green eyes studied her. "What exactly do you think you know about me?"
She didn't even hesitate. "I know you moved across the country to the West Coast so you could put your little sister through school. I know you started acting to pay her tuition. I know you got turned down a million times for the dumbest reasons. I know there were days you lived on one single hot dog. I know you barely slept because you were hustling for every extra gig you could land. I know you used to swim twelve hours a day just to get in shape for roles. And I know you're super close with your mom; you take her to Broadway shows every week." She rattled it all off in one breath, then just looked at him.
Tom blinked, caught off guard, then broke into a sly little smile. "Wow. You've done your homework."
Joy took a deep breath of the cool night air. "I've never actually told you this… but you're kind of my idol."
For once, Tom Cruise was speechless. Then he laughed softly. "You're kidding. That's… I'm floored."
He genuinely hadn't seen that coming. He figured a hotshot director like her would be into artsy, high-brow actors, not a guy who got famous doing stunt-heavy blockbusters.
A quick flicker of warmth hit him right in the chest.
Joy could tell he didn't know what to say next, so she grinned. "Don't look so shocked. I've been using you as my 'this is what hustle looks like' motivation for years."
"Well, I'm honored. Truly." He sounded like he meant it.
Joy glanced at her watch. She'd already spent way too much time up here; there were still a ton of power players downstairs she needed to charm. "Anyway, I should get back down there. You have fun."
She started to go, lifting her skirt again, but for the second time tonight, Tom's hand gently closed around her wrist.
She turned, surprised, and met that famous megawatt smile. "Let me walk you down."
He said it casually, but inside he was thinking, I'm not ready to let her disappear into the crowd just yet.
Joy slipped her hand free, moonlight shimmering in her eyes. "All right. Let's go."
Back in the ballroom, Joy waved goodbye and drifted toward the other side of the room. Tom headed upstairs, leaned against the second-floor railing, and watched the sea of people moving below.
He pulled out his phone, opened Google, and typed her name.
He literally just wanted to know how old she was.
Up till tonight, he'd never bothered to look it up. Hadn't cared. Hadn't been curious.
Now, suddenly, he was.
Joy: Born October 8, 1980. Los Angeles.
Eighteen years younger than him.
He let out a quiet huff of amusement, shut the phone, and went back to people-watching with an easy smile.
This little spark he'd felt tonight? It'd fade by morning. No big deal.
Downstairs, Joy was having a blast chatting with Jim Carrey. Tom's inner circle: Will and Jada, the Beckhams, Jim; they were all here tonight. Joy had always loved Carrey's manic genius. The guy had been the first actor to ever command twenty million a picture, and since Joy had never directed a straight-up comedy, she was picking his brain.
Carrey was meeting her for the first time too. He'd seen Source Code and couldn't believe this brilliant young woman had been blacklisted for so long. "JOY! Oh my God, I'm obsessed with you. If you ever do a comedy, you better call me. Your movies are magic."
He pulled one of his signature over-the-top faces, and Joy cracked up, zero elegance, just pure belly laughter. "Deal! And you've been one of my favorites forever. The Truman Show is an all-timer for me."
Carrey raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea you and Tom were tight. He's one of the hosts tonight; we go way back. Didn't know you two knew each other."
"Uh," Joy laughed awkwardly. "We're not that close, actually. I'm really good friends with Jack Hansen."
"Oh, old Jack!" Carrey lit up. "That guy's got the best eye in the business. Top-ten producer, easy. Looks like a hot mess half the time, but the man's a legend."
Joy grinned. "Tell me about it. He's the one who gave me my first real shot."
They chatted a little longer, then Joy excused herself.
That's when Tom appeared again, bringing someone over.
"Joy, meet Gertia Schwartz, managing director of the Olympia Theater on Broadway."
Joy's eyes widened. Damn, he works fast.
She stuck out her hand. "Hi! Joy. So nice to meet you."
Gertia had sharp dark-rimmed glasses and serious boss-lady energy. "Tom says you're dying to direct a Broadway musical and want to cut your teeth somewhere."
"I mean… yeah, it's been a dream, but I wasn't sure anyone would let a movie director near a stage."
"You're the hottest young director in Hollywood right now. I'm willing to take a chance. Especially since Tom's vouching for you." She gave a small, knowing smile.
Joy glanced at Tom; he just gave her that steady, you-got-this look. It calmed her nerves instantly.
Gertia's face turned more serious. "Look, I'll be straight with you. The Olympia used to be one of the crown jewels of Broadway. But newer theaters; American, Metropolitan; have been eating our lunch. Ticket sales are in the toilet. The owner's ready to sell the building. Before he does, I want one last swing. See if we can turn her around."
"So… a hail-Mary, save-the-theater show?"
"Exactly. We've been cycling through the same old catalog pieces nobody wants to see anymore. Even when we do them well, audiences yawn. We need something brand-new. Something nobody's seen."
Joy nodded slowly. "You're right. Reviving old hits won't move the needle. You need an original that knocks people's socks off."
"That's what I'm hoping," Gertia said. "And I'm hoping you're the one who can pick; or write; the right one. I've seen your films. The way you handle color, pacing, human truth… if you brought even half of that to a musical stage, it could be revolutionary."
Joy's mind was already racing. First step: find (or create) a killer original musical that could bring crowds back.
The flip side? If she failed, an entire historic theater could go under on her watch.
But the truth was, no respectable Broadway house would hand a movie director with zero stage credits the keys. She'd have to assistant-direct for years before anyone let her near a mainstage show.
Here was a sinking ship willing to make her captain on day one.
She looked at Tom again. He gave her a small nod, like, Why not?
Joy took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm interested. But I have one non-negotiable condition."
"Name it."
"Everybody in that theater signs an NDA. If I come on board, nobody leaks to the press that Joy Zhao is directing a Broadway show. Not a whisper. I want to do this quietly."
Gertia smiled for the first time all night. "Deal."