Page 2 of Beyond the Fame

“Rebecca,” I say, a little rougher than I meant to. She immediately interprets my tone the wrong way and sharpens her distasteful glare. I adjust my black-rimmed glasses and clear my throat. “We’ve explained this several times. Book adaptations are tricky. With books, you have pages upon pages of details. Yours was... what? 90,000 words? About 400 pages? We only get a fraction of that for the movie. We have two hours to tell Tyler’s story. These changes are necessary for certain parts of the book and important scenes to translate better from paper to screen.”

She huffs, likely because she knows this. She knows this because every other director before me must have given her the same speech. Then why is she being so goddamn difficult?

“Look, you’re a new author. This is your debut novel. To have a movie deal with as much control as you have is unheard of.”

“And what about you, Jensen?” The way she says my name is so condescending, it should piss me off. Instead, it only makes me want to fall to my knees before her. Submit to her and take care of her and—

What the hell? I’m losing my mind. She's making me lose my mind.

“Aren’t you just a baby director yourself?”

Baby director? Was that a quip about my age?

I may have just turned twenty-six, but I’ve already directed two Oscar nominated films. And before that, I acted. I’ve been on TV and film sets since I was five years old. I know what I’m doing.

I bite my tongue before saying something I’ll regret. She waits as I form a response, refusing to release me from her fiery stare.

Be nice, Jensen.

“What I’m trying to say, Rebecca, is all this control you have: filming locations, casting, final script approval... it won’t work if you won't let us do our job. Logistics-wise, we have to make sure the camera shots work. Many of these changes are based on the filming locations we all agreed upon. You know, the ones in your hometown in Arkansas and at Tyler’s alma mater that you were so adamant about keeping true to the book?”

Her unrelenting gaze falters, and she casts her eyes down to her clasped hands resting on the table.

“Look, I read your book—”

Her head jerks back up. “You did?”

“Of course.” Her defensive posture loosens slightly, so I feed off that. “It was a beautiful book, Rebecca. I understand how much this means to you, and I promise not to tarnish Tyler’s story with these changes. I promise they’re only so we can make production as smooth as possible within the budget and time-limit we’re given. Okay?”

Her eyes glaze with the tears that have been teasing her all day.

“I think this has gone on long enough,” Shyon says, standing.

Rebecca tenses at Shyon’s words and she erects those defensive walls once again. Damn it. I was finally getting through to her.

“Accept these changes or we’re withdrawing our funding.” Shyon buttons her fitted blazer and turns to the two other producers in the room. “Let’s break for ten minutes and upon returning, we either part ways or celebrate the start of this project. Your decision, Miss Taylor.”

Shyon leaves in silence, followed by the other two producers, and Rebecca’s lawyer, who has been sitting in the corner. He’s only there to go over any paperwork we sign.

The moment the door closes, Rebecca’s bottom lip trembles and that uncontrollable need to want to comfort her returns.

“Rebecca,” I whisper.

She stands and I lean back at the abrupt move. Without a word, without even a glance my way, she runs out the door.

I find her a few minutes later in the bathroom at the end of the hallway, her hands planted on the ceramic sink and her head down. She sniffles, not hearing me walk in until the door bangs loudly as it shuts. She straightens and turns away from me, but I can see her wiping her cheeks in the mirror.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why do you care?”

I can’t answer that.

“Just go away and leave me alone.”

“I will when you tell me you’re okay.”

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