All That Lies Within (19 page)

“And yet, here you are feeling guilty about keeping your mouth shut,” she mumbled.

True to her word, Rebecca hadn’t tried to contact Dara or explain herself. She’d simply disappeared. Carolyn wondered how she was doing, and whether she was as ornery as Dara was right now. “Probably.”

Maybe she should reach out to Rebecca.
And say what? That you’re sorry Dara’s being a butthead? That maybe she’ll come around? You can’t guarantee that.

Carolyn pulled into the parking lot of her West Coast offices. When she took on other LA-based clients in addition to Dara, she decided it was time to establish a beachhead on the left coast. It wasn’t much, just a small boutique setup convenient to the major studios in Burbank so that she could be present for her clients in their hours of need. She also rented a condo nearby. As much as she and Dara loved each other like sisters, they each needed their own space.

She checked her messages, returned phone calls, and answered e-mails. Then, unable to resist, she checked to see if there were any new videos of Rebecca’s classes online.

Sure enough, the newest entry listed in a YouTube search was Rebecca’s opening lecture for the semester in her “Constance Darrow and the Modern American Heroine” class.

An hour later, Carolyn was still sitting there, her chin propped up on her palm. The lesson was smartly crafted and the insights showed a remarkable command of the material, but… But, something was off. It was Rebecca. The passion from her previous semester’s classes was missing. The spark in her eyes had gone out.

“You’re every bit as miserable as Dara.” The problem was, Carolyn wasn’t sure she could or should do anything about it.

“No, no, no!” the director, George Nelson, yelled. “Stop!”

The actors and actresses halted in the middle of the third rehearsal scene. Dara turned her head from side to side trying to relieve the tension. She could’ve told him the scene would never work as written. But it wasn’t for the actress to speak up in this situation; that was between the director and the screenwriter, in this case, Cal Whiting.

“Cal, this just isn’t working. If this is what we shoot tomorrow, we’ll be wasting money and time.”

“It isn’t in the words, George. I’m not sure what you want me to do here.”

The director pulled the screenwriter off to the side, but Dara didn’t need to hear them to know what was being said. No doubt the screenwriter was complaining that the actors were underperforming. The director wouldn’t want his actors to be uptight before the shooting even began, so he would defend them and order the writer to figure something out.

“Okay, people. Let’s move on to the next scene, shall we?”

Dara noticed the writer hustling away.
Revisions to follow, I’m sure.
She only hoped the changes would bring Celeste closer to the complicated, conflicted woman as she’d written her.

They moved on to the scene where Celeste meets Harold, a middle-aged man who has just lost his wife. He’s questioning his existence, pondering what kind of God could take the love of his life in her prime, and trying to find his way in the wake of his loss.

“Dara, Sam,” George said. “You’re up. I’m planning to shoot this scene in tight, so I want to see plenty of emotion from you, Sam. Dara, how were you planning to play this?”

Constance’s Celeste also was searching for something more after years of stumbling through life, never really finding any solace or meaning in her days. This script’s version wasn’t anywhere near as nuanced.

“I think Harold and Celeste have a lot more in common than meets the eye. Although Celeste is much younger than Harold and hasn’t experienced nearly as much, she’s also questioning what the universe has in store for her.”

“Sounds lovely,” the director said. “Except that’s not really the way it’s written. If you take her in that direction, it throws off almost every other scene between these two characters. Poor Cal would have to rewrite the whole script.”

Dara badly wanted to point out that Cal never should have written the script that way in the first place, but that would be too far out of the norm for any actor to suggest.

“Tell me what you have in mind and I’ll make sure I deliver it.” She smiled the sweetest smile she could muster. Dara prided herself on being a team player. No one had ever accused her of being demanding or difficult on a set, and she intended to keep it that way.

The day progressed on in much the same fashion, as they blocked out and rehearsed the most critical scenes in the movie, going over motivations and mindsets, filling out the details that would bring the words on the pages to life. Finally, after eleven hours, the director told everyone to break for the day. Shooting would begin tomorrow.

As Dara headed to her car, she dialed Carolyn’s number. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How’d it go?”

Dara groaned in response.

“That good, eh?”

“You have no idea. Do you have time for dinner, or did you already eat?”

“I had a feeling I’d be hearing from you, so I waited. I’m starving, though, so hurry.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I’m already there.”

Dara raised her eyebrows. “Where’s there? Your condo?”

“Nope. Actually, I’m at your place. I figured you’d be beat and with tomorrow being the first day of filming, I thought I’d make this simple and bring in something light.”

Dara was quiet for a moment.

“But, if that isn’t what you want…”

“No. I was just thinking about what a thoughtful gesture that was and how much I don’t deserve it. I know I’ve been a total bitch all week.”

“Almost three weeks, but who’s counting.”

Dara agreed. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

In the end, she was there in ten. Carolyn already had everything on the table. “If Stan ever gets tired of you, you’d make a great wife.”

“I already make a great wife, and I’m taken. Sorry, you’re going to have to go out and find your own.”

Dara felt the edges of loneliness creep in. She’d spent enough time there in the last few weeks. “Nah. I’m good.”

Carolyn frowned, but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, she asked, “So, how was the last day of rehearsal?”

“In a word? Aggravating. George actually asked how I wanted to play that really crucial first scene between Celeste and Harold.”

“Uh oh.”

“What do you mean, uh oh?”

“I mean, I read the book, and I ran lines for this scene with you. They bear precious little similarity to each other.”

“My point, exactly.”

“I suppose you told George that?”

“Sort of.”

Carolyn covered her eyes and peeked out between her fingers.

“What?”

“I’m afraid to ask how that went.”

“I suggested the proper way Celeste should be played.”

“And?”

“And I got shot down.”

Carolyn made a sympathetic noise. “It’s going to be a long three months, isn’t it?”

“It’s looking that way.”

“Remember, you wanted this.”

“I did. But that was before I read the script.”

“Please tell me you haven’t changed your mind.”

“Okay. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Now say it like you mean it.”

“I do mean it, Car.” Dara leaned forward. “But I can’t say it’s going to be easy.”

“Your life seldom is, so why should making this movie be any different?”

“This is different. This is my creation. My heart and soul are in those pages.”

Carolyn got up to clear the plates. “You could always come out as Constance and suggest changes to the script.”

Dara choked on the water she was drinking.

“Well, you could.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Why not?”

Dara went to the sink and nudged Carolyn out of the way. “My house, I do the dishes. Besides, you got dinner.”

Carolyn leaned against the counter. “You haven’t answered the question.”

“I didn’t think you were serious.”

“I wasn’t. But if it’s going to be such torture for you, it’s worth revisiting.”

Dara turned off the water and faced Carolyn. “You’re my business manager. How can you ask that? Can you imagine how it would look to know that I campaigned to star in the adaptation of my own book without giving full disclosure? The press would have a field day, and George certainly wouldn’t want me on his set after that. There’d be too much tension. Do we follow the director’s lead, or do we go with the author/actress’s interpretation?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“But you knew all that already, didn’t you?” Dara said.

“Of course.”

“So that was for my benefit?”

“You needed to get to a place where you understand why you’re only the lead actress on this set. Otherwise, you’re going to be miserable. You have to let go of this one and trust the writer and director to get it right.”

Dara eyed Carolyn appreciatively. “That was pretty deft, you know that?”

Carolyn winked. “I sure hope so.”

“Is that why you’re really here tonight?”

“I live to serve.” Carolyn bowed.

“Right. Now get out of here before I kick you in the ass.”

“That’s the thanks I get?”

Dara leaned over and kissed Carolyn on the cheek. “Nope. That’s the thanks you get.”

“That and five bucks will get me a latte. I’m out of here.” Carolyn gathered up her things and waved as she headed out the door.

To the empty room Dara said, “Slick. That was very, very slick.”

Carolyn was right, of course. Dara needed to stop fighting with the material and just suck it up and do it. She wasn’t in charge here; she was just a hired hand. It would be a struggle, but she’d try to remember that tomorrow. She turned out the lights and headed for bed. A 5:15 a.m. makeup call meant she needed to get a good night’s rest.

“Professor Minton? Why do you think someone like Celeste, who is young and vibrant, wants to spend all her time with a washed up, beaten-down guy like Harold? What’s in it for her?”

Rebecca considered how to answer her student’s question. It was the second class of the semester, and she was pleased to see that the kids were invested in the material. Today, they were discussing the nature of Celeste and Harold’s relationship.

Rebecca threw the question back. “What do
you
think is in it for her?”

“Maybe she’s into older men,” one of the guys said.

“Or maybe she feels sorry for him,” one of the girls offered.

“Or maybe,” Rebecca said, “she has more in common with Harold than she does with a lot of other people her age. What do we know about Harold?”

“He’s a wicked sad dude who misses his dead wife and doesn’t know what to do with himself,” the male student said.

“True. And what is he looking for?”

“Someone to hang out with.”

“A friend.”

“An escape.”

“Meaning.”

Rebecca pointed enthusiastically at the student who said the last. “That’s right. He’s looking for meaning. He’s looking for something to hold onto, some force larger than himself to explain why things happened the way they did and why his wife died so young. He’s having trouble understanding how a merciful God could take such a good woman.”

“Professor, Celeste is just turning thirty. I don’t see what she’s got in common with Harold except that he was probably thirty at one point in his life too.”

Rebecca laughed. “That’s because you haven’t turned thirty yet. Trust me, it’s a life-changing event worthy of mourning. I draped my house in black for a week when I turned the big three-O.”

All of the students laughed. “Aw, you don’t look a day over fifty, Professor M.”

“Who said that?” Rebecca pretended to look around. “Nobody? Nobody wants to own that? Bunch of chickens.” Rebecca wadded up a piece of paper and playfully threw it in the direction of the student who made the crack.

“What Celeste and Harold share is a spiritual journey. They’re on a spiritual journey, each seeking meaning. Celeste is looking for something to believe in that makes her existence worthwhile. Harold always found meaning in his relationship with his wife. Now he’s trying to puzzle out the spiritual purpose of his wife’s death and a way to hold on to his faith now that she’s gone. They’re both adrift.” Rebecca waited a beat. “Kind of like all of you look right now. Get out of here, everybody. See you next week.”