The Director's Cut (7 page)

I spent Tuesday night arguing on the phone with my brother, who claimed he'd been too sick to finish floating the Sheetrock in my entryway that day. Too drunk was more like it. From the sound of things, he'd passed “sick” about four beers back. So, once again, I tackled the chore by myself. For hours I worked alone, until my body just couldn't take it anymore. By the time I tumbled into bed at midnight, the dust had clogged my airways, causing me to cough and sneeze nonstop. Lovely. Nothing like a director with a head cold.

Wednesday dawned bright and sunny. I awoke, rolled over in my bed, and whispered up my usual “Dear Lord, please let this be a good day” prayer. Okay, so maybe it wasn't deep and spiritual, but it was all I could muster after such a long night.

When I tried to sit up on the bed, my arms and legs didn't want to cooperate. Well, not without pain, anyway. And what was up with my shoulders? Strange. They were almost as stiff and sore as my neck, which refused to turn. And then there was the issue of my stuffy sinuses. They were worse than ever. Maybe I really was coming down with something.

No, after a hot shower, I could only conclude I had DIY syndrome. Too much home improvement had nearly done me in. But no time to think about that right now, not with our final run-through happening today. Somehow I had to get through this delivery scene, even if it killed me. And I had a feeling it might, especially with my body in such a weakened state.

After showering, I did a few stretches, hoping to ease my joints into working order. Though they cried out in pain, they cooperated for the most part. Still, nothing about this particular Wednesday morning felt right to me. For one thing, Mama didn't call me like she always did as I made the drive to the studio. For another, I couldn't seem to get my creative thought processes to come into alignment where this week's filming was concerned. Instead, I had this nagging feeling that I was on the
Titanic
, slowly guiding it toward an iceberg. Heaven help me.

Arriving at the studio, I parked and did my best to emerge from the car without wincing in pain. After all, with Lenora and Rex pulling into the spot next to me, I had to keep up appearances. And speaking of keeping up appearances, Lenora emerged from her pink Cadillac convertible wearing a cream-colored blouse with a high collar, a long skirt, white gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat. I'd gotten pretty good at guessing her movie getups, but I had to admit this one boggled me.

“Who are we today, Lenora?” Jason said from behind me, and I turned to see him walking my way from the most gorgeous red BMW Z4 I'd ever seen. I'd never noticed that he drove such a wowzer car. Maybe it was new. Still, it seemed a little odd considering his cameraman's salary.

Lenora's voice startled me back to attention. “I'll give you a clue. I traveled with Humphrey Bogart up the river, facing crocodiles and renegades who tried to kill me.”

“Ah, piece of cake.” Jason nodded. “Katherine Hepburn.
The African Queen
.”

“One of the greatest movies ever filmed.” Lenora sighed. “Wasn't Bogart the dreamiest boat captain you'd ever want to see?”

Rex cleared his throat.

“Oh, don't worry, you sweet man.” Lenora reached up to stroke his cheek, her eyes filled with wonder. “There will never be a hero greater than you.”

He gave her a sweeping bow. “Why, thank you. Thank you very much.”

A girlish giggle erupted from his wife. “It's Elvis in the flesh!”

“Then you are my Priscilla.” Arm in arm, they walked into the studio, Rex's voice bellowing out “Love Me Tender.”

I pulled out a Kleenex and blew my nose. “They're really something, aren't they?”

“Yeah.” Jason looked their way then glanced at me. “They give me hope that some relationships really do stand the test of time.”

“Me too.” Just one more thing we had in common.

“Are you sick?” He pointed at the Kleenex.

“I've been stricken with a rare malady—DIY syndrome—but I'd rather not talk about it right now if you don't mind.”

“DIY syndrome?” He looked puzzled but didn't comment.

“Yeah.” I blew my nose again. “But don't worry. It's not contagious. If it was, the whole country would be under red alert.”

As we entered the studio, I took note of Erin, who was playing with a couple of the kids. They really seemed smitten with her, and vice versa. Her laughter, lilting and carefree, brought a certain sense of joy to the place. What would it be like to live like that all the time? To have such a relaxed attitude? Likely I'd never know.

I got right to work, checking in with the writers to see how next week's script was coming, then committing to a plan of action for the day.

By eight o'clock, my cast had arrived in full. Kat looked a little pale but claimed she was perfectly fine, just a little tired. Scott looked anxious, and Brock—well, he just looked distracted. Strange. I'd never seen him this way before.

Seconds later, I noticed the object of his distraction. Benita's familiar giggle rang out from the far side of the set. She'd somehow collected a group of guys around her—no big surprise there. Jason stood in the center of the group, just a few feet away from her. She'd said something funny, obviously. Jason, Brock, Bob, and Paul were all laughing. Why this bothered me so much, I couldn't say. Probably had something to do with not feeling great. Well, that, and the comments the guys had made yesterday about Benita and me having different parents. That still bugged me.

Kat approached, one hand on her belly, the other hand clutching a churro she nibbled on. “Looks like your sister's quite a hit with the guys,” she said between bites.

After a couple seconds of silence, I finally said, “There's always so much drama going on around here.”

“Well, of course.” Kat giggled. “That's the point, isn't it? We're a television sitcom, after all.”

“I just like to keep my drama on the stage, if you know what I mean. In bringing Benita in, I feel like I've had to direct more drama offstage than on. I should have known.”

Athena joined us, offering a sympathetic look. “You're worried about your sister?”

I nodded. “You have no idea. She's . . .” I wanted to say, “following in our father's footsteps,” but held back.

“She's flirtatious with the guys. I've noticed that much,” Kat said. She took another bite of her churro and a contented look came over her. “Yum.”

“And she's a raving beauty,” Athena threw in. “You can't blame them for being interested.”

“Yeah, she's pretty, all right.”

On the outside.

The words had no sooner flitted through my brain than I felt like slapping myself. Really, who did I think I was, cutting my sister down because of her physical beauty? Only God could see the heart, right? Besides, how would I ever know my sister's potential for inner beauty if I didn't slow down long enough to get to know her—really know her?

“Looks like she's got Brock right where she wants him.” Athena's eyes narrowed to slits. “Yep. She's caught him on her hook and is reelin' him in.” She chuckled. “He'd be quite a catch. Can you even imagine, Tia? If she snags him for life, that would make him your brother-in-law.”

Ugh. Why did that idea suddenly make me feel nauseous?

Okay, time to get to work. I blew my nose one last time, then clapped my hands together and called the room to order. Seconds later, a roomful of cast and crew members faced me. The words of Kieren Willingham, my director at LAFS, ran through my head.
Look confident. Confident, Tia. Make them think you know what you're doing. They're going to follow your lead.
I squared my shoulders, ready to take control.

“I know we had a rough day yesterday, but today is going to be different. We'll get through this episode top to bottom and clean up the rough spots.”

Everyone on that set is going to be taking their cues from you.
Kieren's words again.
If you fall apart, they fall apart. If you look lost, they will feel lost. It's your responsibility to keep the ship from sinking. Or at least to keep it from looking like it's sinking.

But how did one go about that with a true sinking feeling in her gut?

Everyone stared at me in complete silence. After a minute, someone coughed.

Oh, right. Better get this ball rolling. I smiled and dove right in. Somehow we managed to make it through the episode, scene by scene. Kat did a superb job with the delivery, and we all cheered when Scott lifted up a plastic doll and proclaimed, “It's a boy!”

Tomorrow we'd have a real baby. I'd already arranged for an infant boy to arrive on the set early in the morning. Filming his scene would be tricky. He could only be under the lights for minutes at a time—what with child actors' activities being governed by the labor union and all—but we would manage. I hoped. And keeping the news that the baby was a boy out of the papers would be even trickier. My cast and crew had been sworn to secrecy, and studio audience members were as well. In fact, the network had gone out of its way to prepare privacy documents for audience members to sign before they were allowed on the set. Hopefully no one would leak our little secret.

By the time the lunch hour arrived, I felt completely confident once again. And as if on cue, the stuffy nose ended. Ironic. Maybe I wouldn't need to see a doctor after all.

Rex pointed at his watch—my cue that I needed to cut everyone loose for lunch. I did just that, thankful the caterers had arrived with our food for the day. Wednesday run-throughs always required a quick lunch.

Instead of joining the others, I slipped down the hallway to my office, pulled open the script, and began to scribble and scratch. My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it and kept working. There would be time to grab a few bites later. Maybe.

A rap on the door caught my attention. I turned to discover Jason standing in the open doorway. His boyish grin captured my heart. “Still working?”

“Yeah.” I sighed and pointed to the script.

He gave me a fatherly look as he took a couple of steps in my direction. “So, I guess Benita was right. You do overwork yourself.”

“Oh, I don't know about that. I just—”

“I'm worried about you, Tia.”

Well, that certainly got my attention. “You are?”

He nodded, and I could read the concern in his eyes. “You need a break. And you've got to eat.”

“Yeah, I know, but I'm worried about that one bit where Scott and Brock fight over the sandwiches. Something about the way they handled it didn't ring true. At times like this, I wish we had a choreographer on staff, someone who could actually block the scene to its best potential. It could be really funny if we get it right.”

“You need a choreographer? I used to do a mean hip-hop.”

“No way.”

He chuckled and tried a couple of awkward dance moves. “Totally kidding. Just thought it would make you smile. And it did.”

I pursed my lips, not wanting to appear so fickle. Still, what could a girl do with such a handsome guy teasing her like this?

A playful smile lit his face. “Well, why don't we go to the lunch table and wrestle over a couple of sandwiches to figure out the scene? What do you say?”

“I can think of no one I'd rather wrestle with.”

Good gravy. Had I really said those words aloud? Judging from the look on his face, yes. I rose slowly and shrugged, then mumbled a few words under my breath in Spanish in an attempt to calm my nerves.

“What was that?” He gave me a curious look.

“Oh.” I paused, then repeated the words the same way they had come to me: “
Es posible que no hay nada que de más vergüenza?
”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded. “And the answer is yes. I'm sure there are a thousand things you could've said—or done—that would've been more embarrassing, so don't worry about it. I'll wrestle sandwiches with you any day.” The edges of his lips curled up in a delicious smile. So delicious, in fact, that I almost forgot to be embarrassed.

Then reality hit. “Wait. You speak Spanish?”

“Junior high Spanish class. But I do a lot of work with my church down in the inner city, so I've been brushing up on it.”

“W-where did you say?”

“South Central. There's a street church that I've just started working with on Wednesday evenings. I'll tell you all about it at lunch.” He gave me an imploring look. “If you'll come with me. I hope you will.”

“I would, but I really need to get this done. This episode is so important to me.”

“Me too. But there are more important things.” He gave me a pensive look.

My heart did that nutty flip-flop thing again, and I tried to steady my breathing. If this guy didn't stop making insinuations, my heart might not be able to take it.

He drew so close I could almost feel his breath on my shoulder. It sent little tingles coursing through me.