Scent of a Woman

MC (POV)

"OUT OF ORDER? I'LL SHOW YOU OUT OF ORDER!" He reacts passionately, as he proceeds to stand up from his chair.

His face masked with fury and indignation as he held up his walking stick above the desk. "You don't know what outta order is, Mr. Trask! I'll show you but I'm too old, I'm too tired, I'm too fucking blind. If I were the man I was 5 years ago..." He proceeds to bang his hand against the desk, righteous fury etched out on his face as he raises his voice, "I'd take a FLAMETHROWER TO THIS PLACE!"

A tense silence followed his declaration, as everyone's emotions intensified just as he was about to open his mouth again-

"CUT! CUT-CUT-CUT GODDAMNIT!"

The director looked around the room with a frustrated visage, "WHO IN THE HELL FORGOT TO CLOSE THE GODSFORSAKEN BLINDS OVER THE WINDOW!" He yelled out as he pointed towards a beam of sunlight that shone brightly onto a section of the set, providing a shiny glow to three extras who had obviously applied a shit ton of product in their hair.

"Martin! Marty buddy, calm! Calm down man, relax. This was the second take, we still have the place booked till 4. We'll get the shot, don't worry... let's have some lunch yeah? I'm starving over here." Mr. Pacino pacified the red-faced director as the stagehands proceeded to move around the set in a hustle.

All the while I sat towards the end, shivers running down my spine at the sheer fucking epic-ness of what I had just had the privilege to witness.

Judging by his slack-jawed expression, Trent would've probably agreed with me had I expressed the thought verbally.

"That was..." I trailed off, not having words to describe the sheer magnitude of Pacino's performance.

Trent on the other hand... "Fucking awesome!" He ran his hand through his hair, as we stared at each other.

"I'm gonna go talk to him." I got up from my seat and started smoothing out the creases in my suit.

"Wha-? No! Ricky that's Al Pacino! He's gone down to his trailer to eat lunch; take it from me, no actor wants to be disturbed by fans while they're eating lunch on set!" Trenton sputtered out, his eyes wide with incredulity at my sheer gal.

"Well then, it's a good thing I'm not gonna approach him as a fan." I clapped my hands cheerfully, really enjoying Trent's disbelief.

To be honest I understand where Trent was coming from... I mean, looking at his mannerisms alone anyone could see how deeply entrenched he was in his hero worship.

I couldn't fault him here really, it was after all, Al Pacino.

Granted my views on him differed greatly from Trent's, cause where I'm from, Al Pacino was pumping movies and tv series well into his 80s, and was arguably one of the greatest actors of the Golden Age of Cinema.

Here though? Not so much. In fact, he hadn't even achieved the same mainstream success he had by 1994 in OTL.

Apparently, the AU was starting to show its signs here in a surprisingly drastic manner. In OTL, Pacino's breakout role was that of Michael Corleone in the famed Godfather trilogy, one of the most acclaimed film trilogies in the history of cinema.

One little thing... there was no Godfather here, in fact, most of Godfather's cast and its Director Francis Ford Coppola just didn't exist here. I have no fucking idea why or how, but honestly if I encounter more shocking information of this level, I'll just shrug it off and blame it on happenstance.

Anyways, as I was saying, Marlon Brando, James Caan, and Diane Keaton didn't exist here. Robert Duvall did, but he was not an era-defining thespian in this reality. It took me a while, but I found out he is currently a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Navy. Apparently, his mother was an actress and his father a Rear Admiral.

It's pretty clear whose footsteps he followed into here.

Now one of the most defining changes this resulted in was the fact that the Gangster Genre never achieved the same level of Notoriety in Hollywood here, because there were no showcases of high grossing movies. 'The Godfather' managed to gross a miraculous $135 million in its initial run, and through 8 re-releases, it peaked at a hefty $291 million.

And I'm not even accounting for ticket price inflation here, these are just the gross receipts. For the 1970s this might as well have been the Avengers of its era.

Now there were a few more butterfly effects I'm sure, but I frankly don't remember enough history from my OTL to actually find the various intricate distinctions that occurred henceforth, all I know is that Gangster movies never found popularity among mainstream audiences until 1991, when Martin Scorsese, the legend himself directed 'Goodfellas', a movie that won him the Oscar for Best Director and was nominated for Best Picture. I don't know if it was due to the oversaturation of action-adventure films, or other factors beyond industry control, but Goodfellas grossed $102 million overall on a modest $15 million budget and won the Golden Lion award at the Venice Film Festival.

Anyways, due to this change, and many others I'm sure, Al Pacino did not gain recognition due to his iconic roles in Gangster films, instead, he was showered in acclaim for the first time after playing a supporting character in a 1981 war film called 'Winds of Change'. He won the SAG award, the Golden Globe, the BAFTA... all in the Best Supporting Actor Category. He was nominated for an Oscar, but some guy called Hansen Glottal one-upped him there for an indie flick. A real tearjerker they said it was but then again, I don't even remember the name.

Anyways, after that one release, he started working as a character actor in acclaimed productions and quickly gained notoriety for never having played the lead role in a film. So, imagine everyone's surprise at the shocking decision of director Martin Brest to cast him as one of the two leads in his movie 'Scent of a Woman', a film I remember seeing in my past life after becoming intrigued with it when I saw a clip on YouTube of the famous speech.

The very same speech that I was intent on witnessing in person, now that the scene was being shot in an Assembly Hall in USC!

In fact, to serve as faceless students in the scene, the production recruited several film school students from my department, myself included, to serve as extras.

So here I am, witnessing history in the making.

"Dude, doesn't matter how you greet him... he's Al Pacino! Remember the famous quote bro, never meet your heroes. Trust me, it won't end well. He'll either act like a diva that almost all celebrities secretly are, or just shoo you away with an autograph. There's zero chance you'll get to engage in a conversation with him."

Ah, dear old Trent. Always so cautious.

"Look, my mind is made up, now you can either tagalong... or go to the cafeteria and grab some tacos. If it's the second, save me one, I'm starving." And with that, I walked off into the ensuing pandemonium.

Took me a minute, but I finally made it to the trailer only to be halted by an unexpected barrier...

"No, I'm sorry Mr…"

"Stirling"

"...Stirling, I'm afraid Mr. Pacino is busy and cannot indulge his fans at the moment. If it pleases you, I can perchance fetch you an autograph? I'm sure Mr. Pacino will acquiesce to it for his dedicated fan."

Oh hell no, I'm not about to be turned away by his goddamn assistant right now!

"Miss…?" I shoot her a questioning look.

"Oh, Katherine."

"Miss Katherine, I completely understand, Mr. Pacino is a very busy man, and he more than deserves to eat his lunch in peace without being disturbed, but… and this is just a request, can you ask him whether he can spare 10 minutes of his time? Just drop my father's name, Ambrose Stirling… they've worked together before and if he still insists… then I'll walk away." I said, my CHA at full blast, as I widened my eyes to show a hopeful facade, and contorted my face to appear as the epitome of sincerity.

"Umm… you're not making it easy for me Mr. Stirling but fine, I'll pass on the message. Though I'm warning you here and now, everything that happens hereafter will be beyond my control." She raised her hands in appeasement, the hesitance visible on her countenance.

She knocked on the trailer door before opening it, and whispered through the crack, while I waited outside in the raging sun, religiously going over what all to cover over the next 10 minutes, just some topics of interests, some factoids I might drop casually to improve my standing in his eyes, and just maybe… a few questions regarding his acting.

Honestly I hated it. Using daddy dearest's name that is to get an in. It bothered me more than I thought it would, cause I might be a 16, nearly 17 year old college student, but I had an identity of my own!

I was Ricky Stirling damn it! The most valuable and talented prospect to have ever graced the halls of USC and a successful author in my own right!

Over the past two years, I had released two full length novels, a novella, and started a highly acclaimed and beloved weekly comic book issue that sold out nearly every time it hit the damn shelves!

So to use my God-given connections to get 10 minutes with an actor well past his prime… it just bothered me more than it should.

Hmmm, to think that after all these years, I, Ricky Stirling, have developed something of an ego… interesting. I should probably compartmentalize this thought for future consideration.

Just then…

"Mr. Stirling? Mr. Pacino has agreed to meet you… for reasons beyond my understanding, you may enter the van." Katherine said, clearly confused at the swift turn of events, but I nevertheless saw a hint of understanding on her visage.

Understanding, not realization… indicating that she has indeed not yet identified who my dad really is, but the mention of his name must have struck Pacino by surprise, so she's probably perceived some sort of prior relationship between the two parties, one that she was obviously unaware of.

Huh.

I gotta say, my observational skills are advancing quite well. If a single glance at her face was all it took to deduce her current mental state then I might just become the real-life equivalent of Sherlock Holmes.

Except… in this world, there is no Sherlock Holmes, I know, cause I checked. Thoroughly.

Arthur Conan Doyle sadly didn't exist, or existed, but lived a fairly unremarkable life, so as to not attain any kind of fame or notoriety in the literary world.

Hmmm, then perhaps I could be benevolent enough to introduce to this messed up timeline, the joys of one of the greatest fictional sleuths of all time? Again, let's file that down for future deliberation.

I step into the trailer, my eyes immediately drawn to the 50 something year old icon, clad in a sophisticated suit, eagerly digging into a prime tomahawk ribeye steak, that honestly captured more of my attention than it should have.

Alfredo Pacino (POV)

I clean the edges of my chin with a napkin as I scrutinize the kid who had the audacity to use 'that' man's name to get a few minutes with me.

This 'Ricky' Stirling, Ricky clearly being short for something, Richard maybe, there's no way in hell or heaven Ambrose would name his child something as blasé as Ricky.

Huh, damn. I mean, Ambrose always had that classic charmer look on his face in his early days, but suffice it to say, his son seems to have surpassed him in that one aspect already. Who knows how many more?

The kid looked handsome, obscenely so. It's like his face had not a single thing going wrong, not a pimple, not a blackmark, no, just pristine in every possible aspect. Hell, I've seen actors with makeup on, who haven't looked half as dashing as him on the red carpet… and that's saying something.

"Well, get on with it boy, you haven't got all day, and I sure as hell don't. No, ten minutes is all you're getting here, so speak up will ya?" I finally said, as he made his way towards my table.

"Mr. Pacino, I am Richmond Stirling, and might I say it is an absolute honor." He finished with a smile that reeked of sincerity, too much of it in fact as he moved his appendage forward, clearly aiming for a handshake.

I snort lightly instead, content on observing his antics clearly aimed at trying to form a positive impression on me.

He stared back at me, his smile slightly strained at this point, a hint of confusion apparent on his face, before he masterfully masked it with innocence.

It just made me laugh harder.

"HAHAHAHAHA… kid," I began, as I made a gesture with my hand to sit down opposite me, "drop it."

"I-I'm sorry? I'm afraid I don't… understand?" He continued with a face that screamed 'confusion and befuddlement'. God, what a gem. If I was half as talented, I would've taken LA by storm in my twenties. Too bad, life sucks, even if you pray to the Almighty. It still will.

"You're good, I'll tell you that much. The sincerity, the confusion… my god, not a single inch of your face was wasted, your eyes… they conveyed so much of it. But in the end, that's what gave you away." I spoke, taking a surprising amount of satisfaction from the growing horror on his face. Before it disappeared, and his body hunched over slightly, his acceptance visible on his face.

He sighed in defeat, before raising his head to stare at me in my eyes, "How did you kn- no, that's a… silly question. Ok, I tried all right? I did my best. I've been practicing non-stop in front of my mirror for years now, unfortunately, I could only get this good till now. Not enough really, I'm gonna debut in less than two years and I need to get better. So please Mr. Pacino, tell me…" He leaned forward, as if pleading to have his thirst quenched, "... how good is the steak?"

CHIRP - CHIRP - CHIRP

Wha-what in the, oh fucking hell! He got me? He-he fucking got m-

And that was the final straw for me.

MC (POV)

Flawless. My delivery was absolutely flawless… as I diffused the tension and changed the tone in seconds.

I adopt an expression which indicates I'm trying to hold back my laughter and failing spectacularly at that, my body mannerisms were impeccable as always, as I wait for his chortling to die down.

To be frank, I underestimated him, big time. He saw right through me, but then again, I knew he would. It was one of the countless eventualities that could occur, all of which I had contingencies drawn up for to steer the conversation back on track.

I was initially going to look down sheepishly, admitting how lacking my paltry skills were, coming off as humble in my own right, but one look at him, and I just knew he wouldn't have bought that, not by a long fucking shot.

So… a joke it is, an outlier comment, with absolutely no relevance to the subject matter pertaining to what was being discussed.

And before I knew it, he was laughing like anything, not at the joke by itself, it was pretty mediocre all things considered. But rather at my sheer fucking balls to crack it right there and then.

"Hah… I gotta say kiddo, I take it back, you're good. Pretty good for your age, I'm guessing you're what? 18? 19? Anyways, are you self-taught by any chance? Cause, let me tell you… you don't wear your heart on a fucking sleeve, you cover it so completely, that it makes it obvious that you're doing it in the first place." He said.

"Uh - Sir, sorry to interrupt, I'm 16, will turn 17 in two months, and I'm pursuing a masters in fine arts. J-just to set the record straight."

A moment of silence followed.

"16?" He turned his head to side and back in disbelief, "16? Kid at your age, I was hopped up on all kinds of colorful shit, and you're telling me that you're doing your masters in one of the most prestigious film-making programs in the world? Damn. You know, now that I think about it, a couple of years ago at this str - nightclub, your father got piss drunk, enough that he had to be carried out by the bouncer to the car outside. I myself don't remember every damn thing, but I'm pretty sure at one instance he was bragging to high heavens about his kid being some kinda prodigy or something." With that, he proceeded to look at me inquisitively.

"Umm, I don't know what to say Mr. Pacino, I'm flattered I guess." I replied hesitantly.

"No, you're not." He said, throwing yet another curveball, this motherfuck- "You know you're a goddamn genius. For you, it's not a compliment to be called one, just a cold hard fact, ain't that right kiddo?"

Just as I was about to retort to that, he held up his right hand in the universal sign of… stop talking bitch, you'll get your turn.

So I did.

"Kid, forget the ten minutes, for you... I've got twenty. Actually, all I've got is twenty before Martin calls me for rehearsals, so here's the deal. You tell me about yourself, then I tell you about myself. And then I give you a few tips if you want, call it a favor, or anything really. All you gotta do in return is this…

My eyes widen with what I hear, as I hastily nod in agreement, "Yeah ok, deal. I'll-I will definitely do it. Thanks for your vote of confidence though, the fact that you think I can actually accomplish this is…"

"Again, let me stop you right there kiddo," He said putting his hand up again, "I didn't recognize you at first, why would I? I'd never met you before today. But your name, I recollected hearing it somewhere… well guess what? I remember now. You're the kid who one-upped Georgina Cannavale to win the Nebula two years in a row. You lost Hugo the second time though, coming in second with the votes." He chucked briefly, "I've been friends with her for years now, and I have never, and I mean NEVER… seen her as angry as that day when the results were announced. You have a real talent for pissing people off boy."

"Hold on." I said, making a stop gesture with my hands, "You know Georgina Cannavale? That's awesome! Please, can you tell her what a huge fan of hers I am? She's the 'Apocalyptic Queen'! I- my third novel actually draws some inspiration from her classic 'The Shandorian Secret'. Also, why would she hate me? I mean, I know that I kinda surpassed her bestseller that year, but come on! There've been plenty of people who've done that! She has published 27 novels, 8 of which have been nominated for Nebula and Hugo, and only 4 have won. It's an impressive record frankly, but it just goes to show how many times she's been 'one-upped'. Why me specifically? And how do you know all this?" I fired off one after the other, eager to make sense of the situation.

"Well, sure I'll tell her you're her fan. Maybe afterwards we all can go hula-hooping into the sunset with rainbows and unicorns and what not. Sigh kid, rule number one of showbiz, when someone acts all bubbly and adorable in front of the camera, you best believe they're hiding a couple dozen skeletons in the closet, if not themselves altogether. Georgina is petty, and a hateful shrew. She's a damn good drinking buddy but make no mistake, you're never gonna get along with her. Don't worry though, a decade or two and she'll be off to her appointment with Lucifer himself, so she'll be out of your hair by then. Something to look forward to I guess. Anyways, she might be a spiteful bitch, but she knows what's good and bad. And she has grudgingly admitted how perfect your second novel is. 'Dune' I think. Right?"

"Uh… yes. 'Dune' it is. Well, I gotta say, I never expected all of… this. But thanks for sharing." I reply cautiously.

"No need, kid, no need. Anyways, you mind opening up a bit? Maybe, tell me a bit about yourself?" He asked, his gaze filled with naked curiosity.

So I did. As in tell him about myself. The events of my life, a few of my major accomplishments excluding the novelist aspect. You know, things like becoming the State Chess Champion a year ago before going on a hiatus, being an amateur sports journalist, my top-notch marks in literally every single subject, wholesome things all in all.

Eventually I made it to my end goal, what I wanted to achieve in the future.

"I want to be an auteur. The landmark film-maker of this modern era. When people think of era-defining auteurs, I want my name to pop up first and foremost, above everyone else. Charlie Chaplin, Stanley Kubrick, Jimmy Skander, Eugene Hoffman, they'll be lucky to be footnotes in my biography by the time I'm done. I made that promise to myself, and I intend on keeping it, come hell or high water." I finish, as I snap out of the self-induced trance to look up at him, only to see…

Alfredo Pacino (POV)

"Haaaa… I needed that." I said taking another puff of my cigarette.

I've been hearing the kid yap on and on about his dreams and whatnot for what felt like an hour. As someone who heard MLK's speech about his dream, I gotta say… the kid's lacking.

Then again, can't exactly place unfair expectations on him now, can I?

He seems to be blowing a lot of hot air right now, but then again, what do I know? Hell, the kid might just accomplish everything he set out to, if not by the virtue of his talent which he's got in spades, then by the fact that his father is Ambrose fucking Stirling.

To any new artist, Hollywood is a battlefield, you never know what's gonna happen next. One moment, you just got a promotion, the next, your eyes get blown out by shellfire. Ricky though? All he's got to do is join his daddy at Clayton, and all of a sudden, the battlefield will turn into a playground… with fucking merry go rounds and whatnot.

Anyways, won't exactly hurt to teach the kiddo a lesson or two. Who knows? He might just return the favor sometime down the road.

I took another puff, the last one, before crushing it in the ashtray and flicking the extinguished 'butt' into the bin two steps away.

"You done?" I finally asked.

"Yes I am… done. So, what's your story?" he leaned in, clearly anticipating some rags to riches crap from my end. Well boo-freaking-hoo.

"Kiddo, if I start narrating my story, we'll be here till tomorrow. So just… listen, you clearly came here with questions in mind. We've got 5 more minutes before the shoot starts. You see where I am going with this?"

"Hmm… fine, yeah. That makes sense." He said before whipping out a yellow legal pad from… hold on, where was he keeping it the whole time? Where in the hell did he whip it out from?! What the… I normally don't refer to kids as such but here we go… the little fucker know magic now?!

"Ok so, here's my conundrum. I'm gonna graduate in a year and half. By then, I'll possess a deep expertise in nearly every aspect of film-making. Directing, Producing, Editing, Screenwriting, I don't know about casting and supervising visual effects, but I've got contingencies there. I spend 15 hours a week going over to Thornton where I'm actively learning how to compose scores and mixing sound effects to create the ultimate audio-visual experience. It's a slow process, but I'm handling it. So this leaves acting. Any exercises you can suggest to improve in that area?"

Sigh. "Kid if all that you've said is true, then this is probably not gonna be your first time hearing this… WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

He remained unfazed, proving that I wasn't the first to point out the absurdity of the situation. This kid's life is… surreal. Not a single misstep, every single experience a victory of some kind, achieving excellence effortlessly in any activity he affords even an iota of focus into… he's quite literally living the dream.

I take a deep breath before continuing, "Listen, I met you barely, what? 10-15 minutes ago, so I'm not gonna go off on you about cutting some slack, maybe enjoying life a little. You're… mature enough, it's up to you. And believe me, I'm very, very curious about your daily schedule, which I'm assuming you have it planned out like clockwork."

He had the gall to nod along, "Yes, I do as a matter of fact anyways… any suggestions?"

"Kid… do you know how I got into acting? Don't answer-" I held my hand up, "it was rhetorical. I was down on my luck. My ma had passed away. Had lost all my childhood friends to… a wide variety of drugs, my grandpa kicked the bucket. I had lost the most important people in my life by 22, I almost gave up to be honest. I was rejected by the Actors Studio in my teens, so I joined the HB studio… this non-profit that provided coaching to those pursuing arts. Made my living acting in basement plays in New York's theatrical underground occasionally, but make no mistake, I wasn't employed. I was unemployed and homeless, and sometimes slept on the street, in theaters, and friends' houses."

"After 4 years of being destitute, I auditioned again for Actors Studio but this time, I got in. There, I met him. Lee… Lee Strasberg. He coached me in a set of exercises he called 'Method Acting'. Now he didn't invent it, thespians have been practicing their versions of method acting for ages. Though different people focus on different aspects of it. Strasberg focused on the emotional aspects of it. In his approach, actors make use of their own experiences to bring them closer to the experience of their characters. So in my case, I recall the sensations involved in experiences that have made a significant emotional impact on me. I don't fake it, I don't force it, I allow those sensations to guide me into stimulating a response and I never inhibit myself when I'm in character."

I stopped for a second to catch my breath. The kid obviously saw an opportunity here.

"So, one question… do you stay in character off stage as well?"

"Oh, no. Hell no. You know it's a fairly common misconception, but method acting does not require you to stay in character off stage. A few actors have done it to great success but in most cases, the mental toll it would take would make them exhibit a less than satisfactory performance. Then again, I don't really know. Never tried it myself you see."

"Anyways, "I continued before he could speak, "You asked for suggestions. I'm not saying you follow Lee's 'affective memory' techniques as he liked to call them. But in my humble opinion, method acting is no doubt the missing puzzle piece you've been looking for. So read up on it. There are different variations you know, Lee focused on emotional psychology, others have focused on behavioral, sometimes sociological aspects of it. You just gotta find the one that gels with you the best. Or make up your ow-"

KNOCK-KNOCK

"Sir, Mr. Brest is calling for you. He's waiting on set. He seems to have rewritten a few lines for the scene. He wants to rehearse with you before commencing the shoot." Said Katherine.

"A MINUTE!" I yelled back, before getting up from chair.

Ricky did the same, right before he tried for a handshake. Again.

I gave it to him.

"Thank you Mr. Pacino. Truly. You've helped me far more than you realize. Best of luck for the scene Sir."

I snorted, "No hair off my back kid. Just don't wish me luck. I don't really need it."

A tense second later, I smirked, "Now get out of here. You still have… approximately half an hour before the shoot, get something to eat."

I said as he moved towards the door, waving all the way with that stupid ass grin etched on his face.

There's no doubt in my mind. I'm calling Ambrose and holding it over his head for years. Boy, is he not going to find this funny.

*snort*

But I certainly am… and that's what really matters in the end.

Just something to make note of... this chapter is fairly exposition heavy and there will AU historical information that doesn't match up with real life. The release dates of movies, names of famous personalities, box office gross differences, etc.

All I am saying is... I've done my research and all changes are made with careful deliberation to simulate the real time ramifications of the famed 'butterfly effect'. So don't go writing pretentious comments claiming the author hasn't done his goddamn research, believe me... I have.

Also... don't forget to join my discord server for regular movie and tv series recommendations: https://disco rd.gg/ 3TfN DR5d (remove the spaces after copy-pasting the link)