The Director's Cut (4 page)

Still, we had work to do. And how could I call myself a director if I couldn't manage to get a simple roundtable reading started?

I finally got control of the room, and Scott dove in, reading the first line. The story took several twists and turns, each one more humorous than the last. Before long, we were all laughing aloud, even the children. By the time we ended, there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

“This is brilliant,” Brock said as he lifted his script in a triumphant manner. “The funniest thing I've ever read. No wonder you guys took home the Golden Globe back in January.”

High praise coming from a man whose last movie had garnered five Academy Award nominations.

“We've got some great writers.” As I looked Brock's way, my gaze lingered on his gorgeous face—perhaps a moment too long. Still, who could blame me? No harm in looking, right?

Jason cleared his throat as he reentered the room. “Should be a lot of fun to film.”

I startled back to attention. “No doubt. Let's get together and talk it through, okay?”

As he nodded, a hint of a smile creased his lips. I found myself torn between the prettier-than-a-picture actor seated across from me and the intriguing-sometimes-sarcastic-always-has-something-to-say-about-everything-even-the-things-I-don't-care-to-talk-about cameraman taking a seat to my right.

Thank goodness I didn't have to ponder this dilemma for long. Kat's words interrupted my thoughts. “Tia, I love this whole episode, top to bottom, and I'm sure the viewers will too. I just think it's hilarious that Angie goes into labor in an elevator and Scott—er, Jack—has to deliver the baby with Brock's help. Pure genius.”

“My favorite part is that we don't even know that Brock's character is a rival talent scout.” Scott grinned. “Thinking he's a gyro delivery guy is what makes it so brilliant.”

“And dressing Jack and Angie up like Mr. and Mrs. Easter Bunny is the icing on the cake,” Kat said. “I can't even imagine how funny it's going to be to add that element.” She giggled. “I also can't imagine what it would be like to have that happen in real life. Can you?”

Frankly, no.

Still, I'd better respond. “Well, we figured since the show will air so late in the spring, it just makes sense. Jack and Angie are on their way to see the kids they represent at an Easter egg hunt. Brock's character wants in on the action, so he sets himself up as a sandwich delivery guy to get into the party.”

“Hey, I love all of it.” Brock's smooth voice caught my attention once again. I turned to look at him, again captivated by his gorgeous eyes. “It will stretch me to use a Greek accent, but I think I can handle the role. I'll work on it until I've got it right.”

“Oh, I feel sure you can handle anything you put your mind to.” Erin flashed a smile so bright you would've thought she was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.

He returned the smile, his gaze lingering on her for a bit longer than one might expect.

“It's going to be an award-winning episode,” Rex added. “I can feel it in my gut.”

Kat shifted in her chair. “I'm just curious, how are you going to keep things going when I'm on maternity leave?”

I'd been waiting for this conversation for weeks, so I dove right in. “I talked to the writers about that at length. We've got a plan of action for the last couple episodes of the season. Scott will play a larger role, and so will the children and several of last season's elderly guests. And we're hoping that Lenora will have more of a presence.”

Lenora's cheeks turned the loveliest shade of pink. “Oh, I love having a presence.”

Kat flashed me a warning look. I knew she'd been worried about her grandmother's fragile state ever since the Alzheimer's diagnosis. Still, what could we do? Lenora wanted to continue on with the show, and who was I to turn away an aging Hollywood star—especially when we needed her as never before?

“I was a big star once, you know.” Lenora gave me a wink.

“You're still a big star, my dear,” Rex said as he slipped an arm over her shoulder. “It's the pictures that got small.”

She giggled and her cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, I love that line. Gloria Swanson said that in
Sunset Boulevard
.”

“In 1950.” Rex winked.

Lenora sighed. “Oh, movies and television were wonderful back in the old days. These days everything is so rushed, so much about ratings.”

“Well, keeping our audience happy is key. We've got to give them what they've come to expect from us—quality acting and great stories.” I turned to Kat. “But to answer your question, we've got it covered. Our audience has been following Angie's pregnancy over the last several months. They know she's about to deliver. So having her away from the show for a few weeks will be fine. But Rex and I decided that while Angie's away, the mice will play.”

“The mice will play?” Kat and Scott looked confused.

“We're thinking that it would be nice to keep Brock on the show through the end of the season. We're talking only a few weeks, after all.”

A little gasp went up from Erin, who apparently liked this idea—a lot.

“If he's really a rival talent scout and not a sandwich delivery guy, then imagine the possibilities. Maybe he tries to steal some of the kids away from the agency.”

“Ooo, can I be stolen away too?” Lenora clasped her hands together and giggled as she batted her eyelashes at Brock. “What fun!”

“Well, we were thinking of Candy's character first,” I said. “She might be a little diva, but we've set her up as the agency's biggest moneymaker. It would be fun to have Brock's character try to snatch her away from the Stars Collide agency and make money off her.”

“What's the name of this talent agency I'm running, anyway?” Brock asked. “Just curious.”

“I think the writers came up with A&B Talent, which is short for Above & Beyond. Your character will pull actors away from Stars Collide by claiming that you can take them above and beyond where they've been in their careers. You'll be sort of a Pied Piper character, playing a mesmerizing tune.”

“Very devious of me.” Brock scrunched his eyebrows in a devilish fashion and Erin stared at him, clearly ready to follow this handsome Pied Piper anywhere he might lead.

“Your sole purpose will be to woo people away,” I added. “And like your pirate character, you'll be the bad guy we love to hate. The one everyone ends up falling in love with.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Now that's a role I can get into.”

“It's perfect,” I agreed. “Just the thing we need to keep the momentum going.”

“And keeping the momentum going is what we're all about, right?”

I turned Jason's way, wondering at the hint of sarcasm in his voice. Why would he say such a thing, at least publicly? Of course we had to keep the momentum going. What else could we do?

Just about the time I gave myself over to the feelings of frustration rising inside of me, I noticed someone humming a familiar melody. I glanced across the table at Erin, who clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oops, sorry.” She giggled. “I hum all the time. Can't help it. Mama says I was born with a song in my heart, and it's hard to stop it.”

“Don't ever try to stop it.” Brock patted her shoulder. “And if I do say so myself, we could all stand a little song now and again.”

As I dismissed the crew, Jason lingered. I rose, albeit reluctantly, and reached for my copy of the script, still puzzled by his words. Maybe he would stick around long enough to explain.

Erin drew near, her face glowing with excitement. “That was great, Tia. I just know that the show is going to take off like a rocket, especially if you keep Brock Benson on. He's so . . . yummy.”

Jason rolled his eyes.

I offered a little shrug. “I see great things ahead, and I think it all went well today. It's a rare day when everyone catches the vision.”

“Oh, I don't know.” Jason stood and stretched. “I think half the battle is sharing the vision in a way that makes people want to latch on.”

“I'm just saying that whenever Athena and Stephen and the other writers come up with their ideas, they can see it all on paper. They tell those characters what to do and they do it. But then they pass the script off to actors who don't always see the vision as clearly.” I paused, ready to admit the truth. “I'm not saying I always catch their vision either. But this is a team effort. I spend a lot of time every week talking things through with the writing team. And with Rex.”

“Well, anyway, I think it went great too.” Erin's face lit into the cutest grin, and then she began to hum again. She made her way out of the room, which left me alone with Jason.

“I owe you an apology.” He sighed. “What I said was rude.”

Yeah, it was.

“Well, I guess we just have different ways of looking at things,” I said. “But we're on the same team . . . right?”

“Right.” He nodded, his gaze lingering on me. Out in the hallway, someone called his name and he turned to leave. As he reached the door, he looked back and shrugged. “Forgive me?”

“Of course.”

“I think I'm just used to bantering with you. It's a hard habit to break.”

Interesting.

The smile that followed his words pulled me in, like the Pied Piper playing his merry tune. Still, I couldn't figure out why Jason had embarrassed me in front of the group. The apology was a nice touch—and so was that line about liking to banter with me. Still, his initial words hit me the wrong way.

I found myself drawn back to that melody Erin had been humming. Seemed eerily familiar. As I slipped into the ladies' room, I heard it again, this time coming from one of the stalls. Listening closely, I realized she was singing a song I hadn't heard in years.

“Oh, you can't get to heaven on roller skates. You'll roll right by those pearly gates.”

In a flash, I was eight years old again, singing with the other kids who attended the inner-city street church. Strange that I'd been trying to skate my way into all sorts of worlds that weren't mine—then and now.

I pushed back the memory and focused on the day ahead.

Monday evening, I made the drive back to my house in Bel Air West with that goofy roller skating song on my mind. At least it helped to prepare me for the inevitable situation at home. Though I'd owned my sixties-era house off of Mulholland for a couple of years, I'd barely made a dent in the renovations. Putting my out-of-work brother, Carlos, in charge of the demo and rebuild had been a misguided act of faith. Still, what could I do? My heart went out to his wife, Maria, and to their little ones. He needed the work, and I needed my home renovated. Surely he would pull this off—with a little prayer and a lot of begging. Besides, he'd called on Humberto, my middle brother, to help. Humberto was always good for a laugh, if nothing else.

I arrived at the house, pausing at the front step to draw in a deep breath and usher up a “Lord, please help me” before unlocking the door. Knowing what awaited me on the other side made me wish I could turn around and head back to the studio. Instead, I bravely slid the key into the lock and turned the handle.

I tried not to groan aloud as I laid eyes on the mess in my large entryway. Ladders. Paint cans. Half-hung Sheetrock, semi-floated. And dust as far as the eye could see. The sweeping stairway was littered with Coke cans and even a couple of beer bottles. Lovely. Apparently my brothers hadn't made much progress today. Then again, they'd been moving too slowly all along. Many times I'd wished I could snap my fingers—or wiggle my nose like Samantha on
Bewitched
—and watch the rooms in my home take shape.

Unfortunately, wriggling my nose had only given me an itch. Or maybe it was the dust. Sure enough, I felt a sneeze coming on. “Ah-ah-ah-choo!”

After regaining my composure, I decided to slip out of my work attire and into what I'd taken to calling my real work outfit—a pair of gray sweats and a faded T-shirt with the LAFS logo on the front. Might as well support the alma mater in style.

Before starting, I flipped on the television and grabbed a yogurt container from the fridge. Nothing like dinner and a movie before floating Sheetrock. Not that I knew how to float Sheetrock exactly, but I'd watched Carlos and Humberto do it, and it didn't look that difficult. And I had to figure that if Carlos could do it with a beer in one hand, certainly I could attempt it sober and two-handed. I hoped.

Suddenly I heard Benita's words in my head: “Never do a job that can be pawned off on a man.” God bless my sister. She'd become skilled in the art of pawning. Still, I had to wonder if she would ever learn to do anything on her own, without assistance from the male species. Short of applying makeup, anyway.

Hmm. Makeup. I needed to remember to call Benita later about the potential job at the studio. She would be tickled to learn that Rex had jumped on the idea. Of course, he didn't realize what a risk he was taking. And I wouldn't be telling him, at least not yet. It might come back to bite me later, but for now I would keep my mouth shut.

For whatever reason, thinking about my sister got me to thinking about guys. Thinking about guys got me to thinking about Jason. I still couldn't shake the comment he'd made after the roundtable reading. Settling onto the dust-covered sofa with my yogurt in hand, I did my best to put him out of my mind. Instead, I found myself thinking of the way Brock Benson's smile had turned Erin to mush. Some girls just couldn't see straight with a handsome guy in the room. Me? I could see straighter than an arrow.

Still, what did Jason mean with that snarky comment? I thought about it a while longer. He'd apologized after, sure, but what had prompted the statement in the first place? Did he feel we were charging ahead too fast? Taking the show down the wrong track, maybe? Surely he realized we had to keep the ball rolling. Advertisers were expecting great things from us, and we wouldn't let them down. This week's episode would prove that as never before. Why, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Rex's prediction turned out to be true. Perhaps several of us would garner Emmy nominations. One could hope, anyway.

A knock sounded at the door, and I answered it, expecting to see Carlos and Humberto on the other side. My jaw dropped when I discovered my father standing there.

“Tia-mia.” He flashed a smile almost as crooked as his conscience. “Can I come in?”

“It's a mess in here, Dad,” I said. “The guys have left it in shambles.”
Again.

“I heard your brothers were working on the house for you. They need something to do.” He took a step inside, and I moved aside to allow him entrance. “How's that working out?”

“Well, you know Carlos. He works four hours and thinks he's put in a full day. Claims Maria or one of the kids needs him. But Humberto's doing all right. He keeps me entertained, anyway. Both of those guys are a piece of work.” I rubbed at my itching nose, willing myself not to sneeze.

“Chips off the old block.” He gave me a wink that I assumed was supposed to make me laugh. It did not. While I appreciated my father's attempt at humor, I had never appreciated the fact that he bounced from one job to another . . . and one woman to another.

Ugh. Was it getting hot in here? I tugged at the neck of my T-shirt as I led the way across the entryway and into the living room. I had a feeling he hadn't come all this way just to talk to me about my house, or the weather.

I pushed aside a newspaper from the sofa and gestured for him to sit, and then I faced him, but not before ushering up a silent prayer for God's help with this conversation. He'd written a lot of father-daughter scripts over the years, so this one should be a piece of cake for him. Still, being this close to my dad had me a little unnerved, considering how angry I was with him.

“So, what's the latest with you and Mom?” No point in beating around the bush.

“Well, a man can hardly avoid a question like that, now can he?” Dad chuckled and propped his feet up on my twelve-hundred-dollar coffee table. Great.

He gestured for me to sit in the empty spot next to him, but I declined. How could I be mad at my daddy while sitting curled up at his side? No way. I'd lean against the wall and let it hold me up for a while. Unfortunately, all of the dust threw me into a sneezing fit once again. Made my eyes itch too. When I finally got things under control, I reached for a tissue and gestured for my father to begin.

“You want to know where things stand with your mama?” The sigh that followed was a little exaggerated. “I showed up at the house this afternoon to talk to her.”

“No way. She would've called me.” I wiped my nose then wadded up the tissue.

“You can call and ask her yourself. I've told her how sorry I am and that it won't happen again.” He hung his head for several seconds, then finally looked my way. “Tia, I don't expect you to understand. You don't have a lot of experience with the opposite sex.”

Perfect. Condescension and a guilt trip. Just what I needed on a near-empty stomach in a dust-filled room, after a hard day at work with people whose lives off the set were as perfect as they were when the cameras were rolling.

Focus, Tia.

“So, you're done with what's-her-name, is that right? Or is this like last time?”

“Baby girl, don't be so hard on your old dad. I'm human. I make mistakes.” He offered a childish pout, then stroked his fingers across his heavy black mustache. Strange how I'd never noticed the gray mixed in with all that black before. Suddenly I felt very, very old. Right now, though, I focused on his eyes, still brimming with tears.

Look away, Tia. Don't buy into his story.

I stiffened my backbone and faced him head-on. “You've surpassed your legal limit on mistakes, Dad.”

“Legal limit?” He chuckled and his features softened. “Well, if there's a legal limit on mistakes, I probably passed it in my teens, like everyone else in the world. But hey, you're missing the point. We've got to forgive and move on. That's what life is all about. We fall down then get back up again. Right?”

I wanted to throw my arms up in the air and give him a little speech about falling versus deliberately walking into sin's path. My speech would include a section on God's idea of marriage and how he felt about men who cheated on their wives. I'd probably throw in something about building trust in a relationship and at least a brief mention—for the thousandth time—of how much pain his wandering eye had caused Mama all these years.

My father must've picked up on my inner angst because he rose and took a few steps in my direction. When he reached me, he extended his hand, his eyes growing misty.

Oh please, not again. You do this every time.

His voice trembled as he spoke. “Tia, my family means everything to me. Don't you see that?”

“I know you say that, but—”

“I'm a flawed man. But the Bible says we have to forgive.”

“It's not a matter of forgiving, Dad. It's a matter of being smart.”
One of us has to be.
“You keep falling into the same pit, and you expect Mama to pull you out. It's not fair to her or the rest of us. How do you think she feels after what you've put her through?”

“I know, I know.” He paused and raked his fingers through his hair. “But what can I do, Tia? I've got eyes in my head. Can't very well close them every time a pretty woman comes along. You might as well gouge my eyes out than ask me to look away.”

I bit back the “Don't tempt me” that threatened to come out. Still, a shiver ran down my spine at his blunt statement. Sure didn't sound like he planned on mending his ways. I started to open my mouth to speak, but he didn't seem to notice. No, he kept right on talking, clearly oblivious to my inner turmoil and my desire to put him in his place.

When he paused from his lengthy conversation about beautiful women, my father's expression brightened. “Speaking of pretty women, I hear Benita is coming to work for you at the studio.”

“We're in the talking stages, but nothing is really settled. I'm going to call her later tonight to let her know what my boss said.”

“That's one of the reasons I stopped by—to thank you. Benita's a good girl.”

“Humph.”

No comment.

“You're a good girl too.” He squinted and then laughed. “Maybe a little too good. Like your mama. Such a saint, that woman.”

I'm no saint. If you had any idea what I'm thinking about you right now, you would know that.

“Anyway, don't fret about Benita, honey. It will all work out.”

“I'm not fretting.”

He gave me a pensive look. “Sure you are. That's what you do. You analyze things.” He crossed the room and paused in front of the family photo on the mantel. “Benita's just the opposite. She goes where the wind blows her. Carlos too.”

Gee, I wonder where they get that.

“I'm afraid it's going to blow them out to sea if they're not careful,” I said after thinking it through. “That's no way to live. Everyone needs a firm foundation. You know?”

My father turned away from the photo and shrugged. “Oh, I don't know, Tia. At least your brothers and sister are getting to have some adventures. I can't fault them for that. I've had a few of those myself.”

Yeah, and look where they've landed you—living in a cheap hotel room away from your family.

Hmm. Maybe I should keep my thoughts to myself.

Or not.

“Which is better?” I asked him after pausing to think it through. “To live an adventure or to be sure of where you're going?”

He laughed. “I know where I'm going, Tia-mia. Same place I always go—back to your mama's arms. Don't ever doubt it. That woman thinks I hung the moon.” He took a couple of steps toward the door, then turned back with a wink. “She can't make it without me.”

I fought the temptation to slug him. Did it really seem that easy to him? Mess up—deliberately—then come crawling back, knowing my mother's big heart would accommodate him? Suddenly I wished I had the courage to tell my mother to send him packing once and for all. She had every logical reason to do so. Even the Bible would back me up on this one.

And yet . . . as my father stood here, a smile as broad as the Pacific on his face, I could see how he managed to charm people.

He walked to the door. Resting his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to face me. “Honey, about your sister . . .”

“What about her?”

“I know you said things aren't settled yet, but she really needs a job. It would ease your mother's mind if you—”

“I know, I know.”

“You're well connected, Tia-mia. You know people. Big people. Important people. So, it's only right . . .”

I waved my hand, unable to take anymore. “Our producer has already agreed to meet with her tomorrow. Don't worry. It's as good as done.” A sinking feeling took hold as I spoke those words. Having Benita at the studio every day would make me a nervous wreck, but I would do it—for my family. Besides, we had less than two months left in the season. Surely I could endure that much time with Benita.