"Heyyy, Henry~ You remember me, right?"
At the audition lot, Joey was leaning against the wall in huge sunglasses and a tan trench coat, grinning at him like they were old buddies.
Of course Henry Cavill remembered Joey. How could he forget that night at the comedy club in West Hollywood? The way Joey Grant owned the room: effortless, sharp, ridiculously cool.
She'd just been standing there in the crowd, but somehow everybody else faded into the background. Even though, honestly, she wasn't some drop-dead gorgeous supermodel type, and she was definitely on the shorter side, something about her vibe made her the only person in the room who mattered.
Back then she'd only had Juno under her belt, a little indie that punched way above its weight. Nobody saw the 180-degree pivot coming: next thing you know, she drops the mind-blowing Source Code, then bounces to Broadway and casually gifts Hollywood the biggest original musical in a decade with La La Land.
And now here she was, swinging for the fences again, this time with a $25 million of her own money, daring the big studios to keep up with a little supernatural teen romance.
Yep. Twilight was officially a $25-million indie (peanuts by blockbuster standards). Joey didn't hide it either. She straight-up told every actor and reporter who'd listen: "This is the budget. Take it or leave it."
And yet A-listers were still lining up around the block.
So what kind of magic was she planning to pull off with that kind of money?
Look, $25 million is pocket change to the majors, but to Joey it was every dime she'd scraped together from her Broadway profit participation. No way was she letting it go down the drain.
Twilight was still being made under her own shingle, but this time she'd done something smart: she hired a heavyweight screenwriter. Because she knew, deep down, the one thing the Twilight franchise had never been short on was cash; what killed it in her past life was the foot-binding-length scripts and two leads whose acting was… let's just say "wooden" (though honestly she thought they were fine for the genre).
In that other timeline, the first movie actually reviewed pretty well. It was the later sequels, when Summit got greedy and stretched a trilogy into five movies, that the plot turned into stale, smelly laundry. The story got so watered down and dragged out that by the end it was just vampires sparkling and staring at each other for two hours. No wonder the reputation tanked.
So this time Joey went out and got Nora Ephron, the undisputed queen of romantic comedy, the woman behind Sleepless in Seattle, You've Got Mail, all the classics, to rewrite the script from the ground up.
First guy through the door for the Edward role? Chris Hemsworth, aka the future Thor.
Joey watched his audition, shook her head, and whispered to Hughes, "Dude's dripping testosterone in real life, but the second the camera rolls? All of it vanishes. Can't carry the part."
Hughes laughed helplessly. "Welcome to Hollywood. Guys who are both gorgeous and can actually act are unicorns. When they exist, they're named Tom Cruise, Will Smith, or Tom Hanks."
Joey rolled her eyes and moved on.
Next up: Chris Evans, Captain America himself.
The second he walked out in wardrobe and makeup, Joey was already shaking her head. "Too… wholesome. Looks like the boy next door, not an undead stalker."
Andrew Garfield? Great actor, bright future, but way too sunny and Spider-Man-y.
Jake Gyllenhaal? Hughes actually liked him. "He killed it in Brokeback Mountain this year."
Joey shrugged. "Face screams Jewish features, which is normally a plus, but for this particular vampire heartthrob I don't want that strong an ethnic marker."
Finally, Henry Cavill walked in.
After the full parade, Joey knew it in her gut: he was the guy.
That brooding, gentle, mysterious thing he had going on, like the Superman he'd eventually play a few years down the road, was perfect. Solid technique, nothing earth-shattering, but more than enough for a commercial romance.
Plus, she just genuinely liked the guy. Kid's got manners for days.
Male lead locked.
Now the female side.
Emma Watson showed up first, bright and early, basically the moment the sun came up. Thanks to Hermione, everybody already knew her face.
Joey wasn't head-over-heels, but she was realistic. Emma's raw acting talent didn't touch Jennifer Lawrence or (controversial as she is) Kristen Stewart's. But for Bella Swan? You don't need Oscar bait. You need pretty, relatable, and decent enough line delivery.
Emma checked every box, looked like a classic beauty, and nailed the audition.
Boom. Cast.
That afternoon Joey's studio dropped the announcement:
Twilight stars Emma Watson and Henry Cavill.
Jaws hit the floor across Hollywood.
Half the town's leading ladies couldn't believe it. They had more credits, better reviews, bigger names, how did little Hermione beat them?
And the guys? Forget it. Henry Cavill wasn't even on anybody's radar. Dudes who were actually famous, guys like Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Johnny Depp, even Robert Downey Jr. post-Iron Man comeback, had all let it be known they'd love a meeting. Will Smith joked he'd do it if they were cool with a Black vampire. Every hot young thing from Jake Gyllenhaal to whoever else you can name threw their hat in the ring.
And the winner was… some British nobody named Henry Cavill?
Twitter (well, whatever we were using in 2008-style) exploded. Blogs, trade papers, everybody was asking the same thing:
How the hell did this happen?
Even Jude Law, who'd already accepted he'd burned that bridge with Joey and wasn't bothering to compete, was scratching his head. "Okay I get why I'm out, but… Henry Cavill? Really?"
The rumor mill went straight to the obvious place: Did Henry sleep with the director?
Joey didn't care. She picks who she picks. End of story.
She handles the creative, Hughes handles the grown-up stuff. That's why everything moves at warp speed when those two team up; no other producer on the planet could lock locations, permits, and a full cast this fast.
Principal photography was set for Oregon, Forks High School and all, but most of the movie would actually be shot on soundstages with green screen. Still, Joey had to fly up to Portland, sign a million contracts with the state (helicopter shots, a controlled explosion, the works), and basically beg various government offices for permits.
There were days she was climbing the walls with impatience, hounding Hughes every ten minutes. He'd just smirk and throw shade right back at her, which, weirdly, calmed her down.
Turned out his sarcastic assholery into a feature, not a bug.
And just like that, cameras were ready to roll.