“It was you, Drake. You pulled us back. You straddled him and beat on his face until the cops came. I remembered it in therapy.”
He leaned against the wall, shaking his head, his face twisted in pain. “He was a monster, not a man. And you were such a sweet little girl. I remember that. Mom and I both adored you.”
Bella’s eyes filled. “I’ve carried it around for so long, you know,
this idea that I was somehow bad enough to deserve what happened. I don’t know if I even realized it fully but, well, it
explains so much of what I do to mess up my life. Especially with men.”
“I know, Bellybear. I know. And this is a great place for a second chance.” He pulled her against his chest, kissing the top of her head. “Wish Mom could see how beautiful you are.”
“Me too.”
***
Bella and Gennie, wrapped in blankets, lay side by side on the
lounge chairs on Drake’s deck, staring up at the night sky. It was
clear, the horizon almost blue and the stars millions of silver splintered lights, brighter than anywhere Bella had ever been.
Gennie, her gaze fixed upward, reached over and took Bella’s hand. “I’ve been a lot of places and I’ve never seen stars like this.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“This is why we’re best friends,” said Gennie, squeezing her
hand. “Kindred spirits.”
They were silent for a moment. Looking up at the stars was like standing next to the ocean, thought Bella. One felt insignificant and
yet also omnificent, as if it were possible to steal the power
displayed, for nourishment and strength, possibly even courage.
She turned to look at her friend just as Gennie swiped at her cheek with her hand.
“Are you all right?”
“It’s been a year today that Moody moved out,” said Gennie
quietly. She dropped Bella’s hand and shifted onto her side.
“Everyone says it takes a year to recover from divorce.”
“Do you feel recovered?”
“I’m broken, Bellie. I’ll never be able to have a relationship that
works. You know that.” Gennie, regardless of her sensual performances, was unable to consummate any of her relationships.
With Moody Gennie had believed there was a chance she would eventually soften
and open to his touch, but it didn’t happen and finally out of
frustration he’d ended the marriage. Bella did not know why Gennie could not
bear a man’s touch. As close as they were, this was something
Gennie refused to talk about.
So, now, Bella said only this, “You and me. Kindred spirits.”
Again they were quiet, shifting on the chaise lounges to look
back up at the sky. After a few moments, Gennie stirred. “I’ve been
thinking about your cosmetic line.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll invest 49% if you can come up with the 51%, and don’t say you can’t come up with that kind of money because I know Drake will give it to you. And think of it this way—it’s actually a favor to me. I’ll need some source of income after I retire, and all the other actresses have already invested in restaurants. Seriously, once I turn forty I’m dead in Hollywood and then what am I going to do? I need a backup plan.”
Bella laughed, turning her head to look at her friend. “How long did it take you to come up with that argument?”
“There’s more.” Gennie met Bella’s gaze, her eyes shining in the light from the house. “I’ll do the ad campaign. My face can be the company’s face.”
“What did you just say?” Gennie never did any sort of
advertising work, believing it compromised her image as a serious actress.
“You heard me. You know it’s the sure way to make this work. Jeez, does that sound arrogant or what? I don’t mean to sound that
way.”
Bella chuckled. “It’s only arrogant if it isn’t true, which in this case it is. But I don’t know. It seems too big. I don’t know anything about running a company.”
“Don’t be afraid to look stupid, Bella. That’s the only difference between wildly successful people and those who think, ‘what might
have been?’ I’ll get us some T-shirts made that say, ‘I’m with
stupid.’”
“What if I make you look stupid too? I can’t stand the thought of that.”
“I, clearly, am not afraid to look stupid, given the shit I do on a daily basis in front of a camera.”
Could Bella really pursue this dream she’d talked about for so long? Here was a chance, offered up out of pure generosity from her best friend. How many others would get a chance like this? And yet, there it was like another person on the remaining chaise lounge: the fear of failure. The fear of looking like a fool in a world that loved more than anything to pile upon failure like it was something life-giving to those too afraid to look stupid themselves. The haters. They were everywhere.
Bella’s eyes were drawn back up to the sky. “Under the stars here, it gives me the same feeling as standing by the ocean.”
Bella shivered, the night air penetrating through the blanket. “It’s cold. We should go inside.”
“Promise me you’ll think about my offer.”
“I promise.”
THE NEXT DAY
the cast and crew of “Stone River” gathered on set, or “base-camp,” as it was called in the business, for the first day of filming at a restored farmhouse. Surrounding the farmhouse were
the grip, electric, props, and camera trucks, in addition to the "star-wagons" or trailers, for the director, Richard Greenwood, Gennie, Stefan, and Tiffany, all of whom were given the three-room variety. There was also a hair and makeup trailer, where Bella would do her work, along with the wardrobe truck that was like a huge walk-in closet.
The meeting was held in a "lunch-box," which was actually an enormous pop-out trailer with ten long tables and folding chairs. Members of the crew were there now, sipping coffee and eating
breakfast. Pastries and coffee were laid out on a side table and Bella chose a cherry Danish but skipped the coffee, feeling wired from nervousness, given the proximity of Graham Rouse.
Yes, there he was, dressed in expensive slacks and a dress shirt, looking strangely out of place amongst the rest of the crew, all wearing jeans and sweaters. Stefan, talking quietly in the corner with
one of the cameramen, wore work boots, jeans, and a fleece, seeming like a native to River Valley. Must be his Canadian roots, thought Bella. She made a mental note to tease him about it later.
Graham ambled over to her. His eyes skirted to the pastry and back to her face. He didn’t need to say anything. She knew what he was thinking. But apparently he felt the urge to say it anyway. “You’re not going to get away with eating like this forever.”
“Doesn’t seem to be catching up with me yet.” She turned
slightly so that he might catch a glimpse of her perky bottom and took a large bite of the pastry. He looked tired. There were bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept. And his hair seemed more salt than pepper than the last time she saw him. She almost wished she cared enough to ask if he was all right. But she really didn’t. It was liberating to no longer care. She was free. How had she cared for so long? Might she still be wrapped up in the dysfunction had it not been for meeting
Ben? Ben. The familiar ache came back to her chest. Had she ever cared about Graham the way she did for Ben? Had he ever understood her the
way Ben had seemed to? Had she ever been as attracted to him as she was to Ben? The answers were all no. Well, at least there is this, she thought. Ben had given her freedom even if he didn’t want her any
longer.
“How you been?” asked Graham. With the index finger and thumb of his right hand he twisted his wedding ring round and round. This unconscious habit had vexed Bella at one time. Now she
noted it but it did not hurt her. But once? At one time it had bothered her beyond anything else, this physical manifestation of his marriage. They’d had a horrific argument over it one night.
Can’t you at least take it off before you come to my house,
she’d screamed at him one evening.
She took another bite of pasty before answering. “Great.” She wiped a stray bit of cherry filling from the side of her mouth with her middle finger. Why hadn’t she grabbed a napkin?
“I hear you’re single. Didn’t work out with that Hylink guy, huh? He wasn’t in your league anyway, Bel. You need someone from our world. Someone to challenge you.”
“Don’t see how that’s your business. And I’m plenty
challenged.”
His eyes followed the movement of her finger. He had the same expression on his smug face before he took her to bed. “I miss you, Bel.” He said this quietly, leaning into her. “You should come by my room later. We can catch up.”
She matched his level of volume. “It’ll be a cold day in hell if I ever visit you in the lodge or anywhere else.”
His eyes were startled. “Then why are you here?”
Did he think she took the gig to be near him? So typical. Her hand twitched at her side. She stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans,
digging her fingernails into the side of her thigh. “I’m here for
Gennie. And because this is my town and I’m proud of it and want to be part of the film made here. I’m grateful we’re filming here. It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t chased me up here. Other than that,
I’m so far along the road I can’t even see you in my rearview
mirror.”
Richard Greenwood was heading toward the front of the room.
They both turned towards him. Richard was in his late fifties, short and slightly plump, with an air of a tenured English professor but without the tweed jacket. He wore his shock of thick white hair longer than was fashionable and a close-trimmed white beard, all of
which gave the impression (Bella believed rightly so) of a man who cared little what others thought of him and had no regard for his appearance.
“You sound like a bitter old woman,” said Graham out of the corner of his mouth.
“I may be bitter but I’m not old.”
He touched her lower back with his fingertips. “You’ll be back.”
She spoke silently to him.
You wear too much cologne. And get your slimy hands off me. I just picked up this sweater at the dry cleaner
. She moved away from him to the pastry table and grabbed another large
Danish.
Richard clapped his hands, looking around the room with a
wide grin. “Welcome to the first day of what I hope will be a time of great creativity and collaboration. I’ve worked with most of you before and am honored and humbled you’ve agreed to be part of another
project. There’s not a day I don’t shake my head in disbelief that
people are actually willing to pay me for doing what I love. I’ve loved the movies since before I could speak, watching at my mother’s feet the classic movies on television. It was a look of pure pleasure instead of the face of a woman who faced the hard physical work of cleaning rich people’s houses every day. In those moments she escaped into the story, into the characters. She was Grace Kelly or Katharine Hepburn or Bette Davis. And I thought then, as I do now, what better way to spend my time than to create stories people can fall into and escape from the drudgery and difficulty of this hard life? And my sensibilities have never strayed. I choose scripts with happy endings. I aim to make films that make people feel good. Films they can escape into like my mother did all those years ago. I’m scorned sometimes by the critics, these cowardly men and women who hide behind computers and say my work is fluffy and unimportant, but who are unwilling to get into the ring, as Theodore Roosevelt so aptly put it in his famous speech. ‘Another feel good movie from Richard Greenwood,’ they’ll say. There will be no Oscar nods my way.” He gestured toward his stars before putting his hand over his heart for a moment. “Although the three talents we have on this film
may break my streak. How I’d love that! Regardless, I don’t care what they say about my films or me because this is who I am. The people who need our films, they come in droves. Every time.
Because we give
them comfort, escape, a moment away from their troubles, and
there’s honor in this.
“And now I will get off my proverbial soapbox with these last parting words. Do good work and people will notice. This is all we need to commit to, my friends, each and every day. It’s the harder
way. I know this. It’s easier to cut corners, smudge the details, accept mediocrity. But this isn’t why we’re here on this earth. No, we’re here to be something bigger and more beautiful than we think we can be. It’s in the small choices, of integrity, of quality—working
from our hearts and pushing ourselves a little harder than we think we can bear that adds up to something in the end. And that something is art. It’s beauty.”
Bella, in tears, glanced around the room. Many of the others were obviously feeling the same. The burly cameraman Stefan was talking to earlier wiped under his eyes. Tears streamed down
Genevieve’s face. Tiffany, holding an unlit cigarette in her hand, was staring at the
ground, her cheeks flushed like two red apples. But Stefan was
smiling, his hands clasped behind his back. A man content with himself, she thought. Both he and Richard were not only at the peak of their creative careers but also inhabited a tranquility, a peace about who they were and what they were doing with their lives.
It begged the question, was this true for her? What about for Genevieve? Certainly not for Tiffany.
Bella noticed Sabrina then, standing in the back. She was in the corner, jotting something in a notebook, pulling long blond hair over her angry scar, as she often did.
Graham was standing by Bella again. How long had he been there? He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and spoke under his breath. “Where does Richard get this shit? Seriously.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “People like you will
never know.”