….
The filming of [Iron Man] had begun.
After finishing three months of pre-production, the first schedule began.
Regal stood in a converted warehouse in Playa Vista that had been transformed into a terrorist cave in Afghanistan.
Robert Downey Jr. sat shirtless in the center of what looked like a scrapyard explosion, a glowing arc reactor prop embedded in his chest.
Wires snaked across his torso.
His hands trembled - not from acting, but from holding the same position for twenty minutes while the lighting crew made adjustments.
"How much longer?" RDJ called out, voice strained.
"Thirty seconds." Matthew Libatique, the cinematographer, replied without looking up from his light meter.
Regal approached, crouching beside the actor.
Up close, he could see the toll the morning had already taken - RDJ's jaw was tight, his breathing shallow.
"You alright?"
"Define alright." RDJ shifted slightly. "This thing weighs about fifteen pounds and it's digging into my sternum. But sure, I am peachy."
"Good… sounds like everything is alright to me."
RDJ's eyes snapped to him. "Is it?"
"Tony Stark has shrapnel migrating toward his heart and a car battery keeping him alive. He should feel like he's wearing his own coffin. That discomfort you're feeling right now that's exactly what we need."
Something flickered across RDJ's face - surprise, then understanding, then a grim sort of respect. "You are showing off your sadistic nature a bit too openly lately?"
Regal just shrugged and stood. "Libatique, where are we?"
"Ready."
"Everyone to their positions!"
The cave set was cramped by design.
Crew members squeezed into corners, navigating around props that looked genuinely dangerous - jagged metal, exposed wires, a forge that actually worked.
Shaun Toub, playing Yinsen, entered from the shadows, his presence somehow making the space feel even smaller.
"Scene twelve, take two." the first AD announced.
The slate snapped.
"Action."
Yinsen moved to Tony's side, checking the arc reactor with careful hands.
RDJ didn't look at him - just stared at the cave ceiling, at the rock that entombed them both.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Shaun said, his accent coloring the English with Persian warmth.
"Do what?" RDJ's voice came out raw. Exhausted.
"Try to remove it. The shrapnel is too close to the atrial septum. You will be dead before you hit the ground."
"That's reassuring."
Shaun's hands stilled.
When he spoke again, his voice carried weight that transcended the script. "You have been asleep for two days. When you arrived, I removed as much shrapnel as I could. But there are dozens of pieces moving toward your heart. The magnet is keeping you alive."
RDJ finally looked at him.
And for three seconds, Regal counted, the set disappeared.
There was only a weapons manufacturer realizing he had been killed by his own creation, and a surgeon trying to save him with the enemy's tools.
"Cut." Regal's voice was quiet. "You killed it, Downey."
The crew remained silent for a beat, absorbing what they'd just witnessed.
Then Libatique spoke up. "Should we go again for coverage?"
"No… We most likely will never get better than that." Regal turned to his script supervisor. "Mark that take. Print everything."
….
But before diving into the chaos of production, his mind drifted back three days - to the press conference that had introduced Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark to the world.
The hotel conference room had been packed.
Every major entertainment outlet, dozens of cameras, the buzz of anticipation mixed with skepticism.
Regal sat at the long table beside RDJ, both facing a wall of journalists who looked like they had already written their headlines.
Has-Been Gets Last Chance.
Regal's Biggest Gamble Yet.
Iron Man or Iron Liability?
The questions started predictably.
About the source material.
About how this fit into Regal's vision after [Spider-Man].
RDJ handled them with charm, deflecting with humor when needed, going serious when the question deserved it.
Then a journalist from Variety - young guy, mid-twenties, with the aggressive confidence of someone trying to make a name - stood up.
"Question for Regal." He didn't wait for acknowledgement. "It's all good that Mr. Downey has turned over a new leaf. But similar news has come out in the past too, and we all know how that turned out - he went right back to his old habits. So I want to ask you directly: why do you believe this time will be any different? Why risk a hundred-million-dollar production on someone who might relapse and derail everything?"
The room went silent. Even the camera shutters stopped clicking.
Regal leaned forward slightly, ready to answer, but RDJ's hand shot up like a student in class.
"Ooh, ooh, can I? Can I take this one?" His voice was light, almost playful, but there was an edge underneath it. "Because honestly, I'm dying to hear the answer too."
Regal raised an eyebrow, then slid the microphone across the table with a slight shrug that said be my guest.
RDJ caught it smoothly, spun it once between his fingers - a nervous habit from his theater days - then leaned into it.
"So, here's the thing." He paused, tilted his head like he was genuinely considering the question for the first time. "You're absolutely right. I don't know why this guy—" he jabbed a thumb toward Regal. "—is trusting me either. I mean, my track record speaks for itself, and it's not exactly singing my praises. It's more like... mumbling incoherently in a corner somewhere."
A few nervous laughs.
"So yeah, you should definitely help me get it out of him. I'm genuinely curious about the reasoning here. What's the logic? Did he lose a bet? Is this some kind of elaborate tax write-off scheme?" RDJ grinned, but it was his press-conference grin - the one that kept people at arm's length while looking inviting.
Then his expression shifted. The performer's mask didn't drop entirely, but it... thinned.
"But if you want to know why I think this time will be different..." He set the microphone down on the table, both hands flat beside it, like he needed to ground himself. "You guys know I have a kid, right? Indio. He's eleven. Great kid. Way smarter than me, which, let's be honest, isn't saying much, but still."
He picked up the microphone again, rolled it between his palms.
"Recently, he asked his mom something. Very simple question. Kid logic, you know?" RDJ's voice had lost its performative quality. "He asked her: 'Why does Dad always stay at home or in jail?'"
He laughed - sharp, bright, almost a bark.
But his eyes weren't laughing. His eyes looked like someone had just stuck a knife between his ribs.
"Which is - I mean, that's funny, right? That's objectively funny. An eleven-year-old distilling your entire existence into 'home or jail.' Kids have a future in comedy, or therapy. Probably therapy."
The room was dead silent now.
"But here is the secret - and I am telling you this not because I want sympathy, because I really, really don't. Sympathy makes me itchy. Can't stand it." He scratched his arm as if to demonstrate. "But that question? From my son? That made me—" He stopped, pursed his lips, looked up at the ceiling for a second. "That made me tear up. Just a bit, not a lot. I am not going to cry at you people. You don't deserve my tears."
A few scattered, uncertain laughs.
"So when you ask me why this time is different - I can't give you guarantees. I can't promise I won't screw this up. But I can tell you that I have sufficient motivation now to at least try not to be the same. Because I would very much like my son to have a different answer to that question. Something like, 'Dad's at work' or 'Dad's making a movie.' You know, normal dad stuff."
He picked up his water bottle, took a sip, set it down with exaggerated precision.
"So yeah. Iron Man. Guy in a metal suit. Flies around, shoots lasers, probably makes questionable decisions - seems like a good fit. And maybe, my kid can watch it and think, 'Oh, that's my dad. He's a superhero. That's cool.' Even if it's pretend. Even if it's Hollywood nonsense. Even if it's just... one thing. One clean thing."
He set the microphone down with finality.
"That's all I got for you. That's the whole pitch. Now someone asks me something about the arc reactor technology because I have been studying that all week and I am dying to sound smart about it."
The room erupted with hands shooting up, journalists yelling questions, but Regal caught the moment when RDJ's shoulders sagged just slightly - relief that he had gotten through it, exhaustion from having to explain himself again, hope that maybe this time people would actually believe him.
After the conference, walking to the parking garage, Regal finally spoke.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Oh, I absolutely did." RDJ dug out his car keys, twirling them around his finger. "Better to lance the boil early, you know? Get it out there, address it head-on, then we can move past it."
"Your son really asked that?"
RDJ stopped walking, keys dangling from his hand. The parking garage fluorescents made his face look washed out, older.
"Word for word. Indio doesn't... he is not diplomatic. He just says what he's thinking. Very pure, very direct. Zero filter." He smiled, but it was soft now. Genuine.
"And you want to change that."
"I want to give him one thing, Regal. One thing that isn't complicated. One thing where he can just be a normal kid whose dad did something cool. Not a kid whose dad is a cautionary tale. Just... a kid whose dad played Iron Man. That's it. That's the whole goal."
Regal nodded slowly. "Then let's make sure Iron Man is worth it."
"Yeah." RDJ unlocked his car.
He slid into the driver's seat, then looked back up. "Hey, Regal?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. You know? For letting me take that question, and for not answering it with something that would've made me sound like a charity case. I get enough of that."
"You're not a charity case. You're a calculated risk with a high potential payoff."
RDJ grinned - his real grin this time, the one that reached his eyes. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Your bar is concerningly low."
"Tell me about it." He started the engine. "See you Monday. Try not to lower your standards between now and then."
.
….
[To be continued…]
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