"Mom, tonight the Olympia Theater is premiering a brand-new musical you've never seen before," Tom said, relaxed behind the wheel, his voice practically humming with excitement. "I'm taking you."
His mom, dressed to the nines in an elegant outfit and a little felt hat, peeled off her gloves and gave him that warm, curious smile that could melt anyone. "Sweetheart, you've brought this show up a bunch of times lately. You're really proud of it, huh?"
Tom flicked the turn signal with a grin. "Because the creative team is a friend of mine."
He slid the car into the garage, parked, and walked his mother to the private elevator. Mary moved a little slower these days, but she still had that spark.
"You almost never recommend anything," she teased. "Usually I'm the one dragging you to shows. Did you sneak in and watch this one already?"
Tom took her arm gently. "I've only caught a couple of rehearsals. Tonight's the real deal, but trust me—this one's going to blow you away."
Mary's eyes twinkled exactly like her son's. "Oh? Do tell."
"The director's a friend of mine—Hollywood director, insanely talented, works her tail off. She's created something jaw-dropping."
Mary let out a soft laugh. "I never thought I'd hear you gush about a director like this. Sounds like a future collaboration in the works?"
Tom rubbed his jaw. "Maybe. We'll see."
Inside the theater, the crowd was already seated. Tom had booked them a private VIP box on the second floor—perfect view, zero interruptions.
Mary settled in and glanced around. "I haven't been to the Olympia in years. Last time was ages ago. This place has really been struggling."
Tom raised an eyebrow, flashing that movie-star smile. "Give it time. I have a feeling it's about to make a comeback."
The lights dimmed almost the second they sat down.
Mary was old-school Broadway royalty—she went at least once a week. It was her happy place.
From the opening number, she could tell this one was special.
The audience was electric. You could feel the itch in everyone's feet to leap onstage and dance along.
Halfway through, Mary was completely under its spell. The lead—Emma Stone—was pure magic. Bouncy, a little goofy, but so lovable you couldn't look away. Not elegant, not polished—just real, earnest, and heart-melting. Totally different from the glamorous heroines in Phantom or Les Mis.
Whoever directed this knew exactly how to cast. And the show itself? It felt like a fairytale for grown-ups. You knew it was grounded in harsh reality, but you still wanted to believe every dreamy second of it.
Compared to gritty, cynical shows like Chicago, La La Land was a big, colorful hug disguised as a musical.
Mary forgot Tom was even sitting next to her. She forgot to whisper compliments. She was just… lost in it.
When the final note hit and the lights came up, she was still floating.
Then the applause exploded—like thunder that wouldn't quit. The entire crowd shot to their feet, screaming, whistling, stomping. It went on and on.
Mary was right there with them, on her feet clapping until her hands hurt.
She turned to Tom, eyes shining. "That was incredible. Listen to that ovation—this is the best review any director could ever get."
Tom just smiled, quiet and proud.
Then the cast came out for bows.
And there—stepping onto a Broadway stage for the first time ever—was Joey.
Mary actually gasped. "That child is the director? She's a baby!"
Joey looked radiant up there—young, beaming, waving like the sweetest angel you've ever seen.
Tom rested a reassuring hand on his mom's. "Yep. That's her. That's my friend."
Mary grabbed his sleeve. "I need her to come over for dinner. Soon. I have to meet this girl. She moved me to tears!"
Tom chuckled. "I'll ask her."
Down on stage, Joey gave the audience a deep, graceful bow. Emma handed her the mic. Joey flashed her trademark mega-watt grin and said just one word—"Thanks!"—then handed it right back.
Classic Joey. Zero ego.
After the show, someone handed Joey a massive bouquet backstage.
She figured it was from a fan.
It wasn't.
It was from the cast—the same cast that used to roll their eyes at her, trash-talk her behind her back, even file complaints about her.
Every single one of them looked like they wanted to cry.
They'd been holding this in for weeks.
"Joey, we owe you the biggest apology," one said.
"We were jerks. We didn't trust you, and we were so wrong."
"You gave us a freaking miracle."
"We're never missing another one of your movies—ever. We love you, Joey!"
Joey felt her throat tighten. All the grudges, all the side-eye from months ago—it just melted away.
They'd suffered with her, drilled the choreography till their feet bled, trusted the process even while grumbling. Tonight was theirs, too.
She suddenly yelled, "Alright! Old beef? Buried. Starting tonight, we're kicking off a new era of Broadway!"
Then she threw her head back and screamed, "Long live La La Land!"
The entire company roared back, "LONG LIVE LA LA LAND!"
The backstage erupted—screaming, jumping, hugging, crying. Months of being the laughingstock of Broadway, the empty seats, the humiliation—all of it exploded out of them in the best way possible.
They did it.
They'd just dropped the hottest show on the street.
The Olympia wasn't the sad-sack theater anymore. They were the new kings.
And it was all because of her.
Before Joey knew what was happening, half the cast hoisted her up onto their shoulders like she was the Stanley Cup.
She shrieked, "Oh my God, what are you doing?!"
They just laughed and tossed her a little higher, parading her around the wings while the whole company chanted at the top of their lungs:
"LA LA LAND FOREVER!"
"OLYMPIA THEATER FOREVER!"
"JOEEEEY!"
"JOEEEEY!"
"JOEEEEY!"
"JOEEEEY!"
"JOEEEEY!"
"JOEEEEY!"
"JOEEEEY!"
"JOEEEEY!"
"JOEEEEY!"