Joy was officially, undeniably, everywhere.
In that moment, no one in America was a bigger deal. She'd become the living, breathing embodiment of the American Dream: kid from nowhere claws her way to the top, wins eight Oscars in one night, makes the whole country believe again. The glow-up was insane.
But the flip side? Her entire life got ripped open like a Christmas present nobody asked permission to unwrap.
Suddenly every elementary-school classmate, middle-school teacher, and random kid who once sat behind her in algebra was crawling out of the woodwork, selling stories to the tabloids.
The nice quotes ("She was always talented!") didn't pay. So they went straight for the dirt.
- "Joy sucked at school. Barely passed math."
- "She was a total delinquent; skipped class all the time."
- Some dude who'd had a crush on her in 8th grade: "We almost kissed behind the gym once."
- And then it got creative: "She told me she slept with the quarterback. Pretty sure she lost her virginity in the locker room."
- "I saw her doing drugs in junior high, swear to God."
Half of it was exaggerated, half of it was flat-out fiction, but it didn't matter. The headlines wrote themselves.
The public wasn't even that mad; they just wanted the full access. Americans love a redemption arc, but only after they've torn the hero down first. The brighter the spotlight, the harder people dig for cracks.
Paparazzi weren't just digging through her trash anymore; drones were buzzing her roof. Joy felt like a zoo animal.
One afternoon, Catherine showed up and found the house completely dark in the middle of the day, every curtain drawn tight.
"Are you robbing the place or what?" Catherine laughed, yanking a curtain open.
Joy was curled up on the couch in sweats, looking exhausted. "Tom can afford ten-foot hedges and a jungle fortress. I can't. The paps are camped on my lawn 24/7. I'm one window flash away from being tomorrow's headline."
Catherine raised an eyebrow. "So your solution is vampire hours?"
Joy rubbed her face. "It's not even the old dirt that bothers me anymore. I've been dragged before; I can take it. What's killing me is having zero privacy. Who I had coffee with, who came over last night; everything gets twisted into some conspiracy. I thought once I 'made it,' people would finally just let me be the success story. Turns out winning big only makes them hungrier for the mess."
Catherine snorted. "And that, right there, is your blind spot. I've been waiting years to say this."
Joy blinked. "Me?"
"Girl, you're low-key arrogant." Catherine crossed her arms and kicked her feet up. "You honestly thought that because you became America's feel-good fairy tale, the public would politely ignore the messy parts? That they'd only celebrate the shiny version of you? Sweetie, that's peak self-importance."
Joy opened her mouth, closed it, then laughed in shock. "I… wow. Okay. Harsh."
"Truth," Catherine said, shrugging. "And the second thing: you're scared. You've wanted this so bad for so long that now that you finally have it, you're terrified someone's gonna snatch it away. So you flinch at every little rumor like it could ruin you. That's cowardice, babe."
Joy buried her face in a throw pillow and groaned. "You're out here doing surgery on my soul today."
Catherine softened and patted her head. "Look, nobody's perfect. Success this fast messes with anybody's head. You just need to own the ugly parts too. People love you because you're human, not because you're a saint."
That conversation rattled around Joy's head for days.
She realized Catherine was right: she'd started believing her own hype a little. Thinking the world owed her a flawless image because she'd "earned" it. The same word she'd thrown at Hughes; arrogant; had boomeranged right back.
A week later she showed up at Catherine's office again, this time with fire in her eyes.
"I'm done hiding."
Catherine leaned back, amused. "Define 'done.'"
"The narrative's getting away from me. That short video from years ago? It's still out there, in someone else's hands. One day somebody's gonna drop it like a nuke. I'm tired of waiting for the bomb." Joy took a deep breath. "So I'm gonna light the fuse myself."
Catherine's eyes went wide. "You're not saying…"
"Yup. I'm writing a book. Title: Everything About Joy Grant. The whole damn thing: childhood, family, how I got into this business, every relationship, every dream, every regret… and yeah, the drug years too. All of it. In my own words."
Catherine started laughing. "You beautiful maniac. You're pulling a Clinton."
(Back in '98, after the Lewinsky scandal, Bill and Hillary wrote books framing the whole mess on their terms; turned a PR disaster into a bestselling redemption tour and paid the legal bills.)
Joy grinned. "Exactly. If the world wants my dirt that bad, I'll package it up with a bow and sell it to them. Take the power back. No more mystery, no more rumors; just the truth, straight from me."
Catherine tapped her pen against her lip, thinking. "You'll mention the drugs?"
"Light touch, but yes. I'll own it: I was lost, I screwed up, I got help, I grew up. Americans eat that redemption arc with a spoon."
Catherine broke into a proud smile. "You're finally ready to stop running. I'm proud of you."
Joy exhaled, shoulders dropping like she'd been carrying a piano for years. "I should've done this a long time ago. Let them read the real story, warts and all. If they still love me after that? Then it's actually love. If they don't…" She shrugged. "At least I won't be looking over my shoulder anymore."
Catherine lifted her coffee cup in a toast. "To the girl who's about to become the most honest superstar in Hollywood."
Joy clinked her water bottle against it.
"Watch me."