Page 4 of Beyond the Fame

I read the screenplay, more curious about what was so important about this story for the author to be so resolute about not compromising.

Then I read the book and understood why this screenplay was so important to her. She wrote it true to the book, but unfortunately, book to movie adaptations have to be altered. I don’t know what happened with the other directors—maybe their changes were too extreme. Maybe they just didn’t want to fight, feeling it was a waste of their time.

For me, it’s not a matter of getting my way. As I told Rebecca, my revisions are solely for a smooth production. But I can’t direct a movie that’s not funded. The production company is determined to get this movie made, but if these producers pull their money, Rebecca and her script will be placed on the blacklist, and no one else will want to make this film.

She must have realized this and finally agreed to changes in the final two scenes. We end the meeting signing the lawyer-approved paperwork.

“Ms. Taylor,” Shyon begins, standing. “I hope we don’t run into any more issues as we continue pre-production. We’ve already wasted too much time on these revisions. We begin casting this month and six months from now in May, we start filming. Think you can manage that?”

Rebecca offers a solemn nod, which Shyon accepts and leaves with her two shadows, and Rebecca’s lawyer following. I need to get out of here before Rebecca says something about that moment in the bathroom.

I’m not fast enough.

“Jensen,” she says as I reach the door.

She stands to walk to me, and I freeze, refusing to look at her. When her floral scent hits me, I close my eyes, and my body instantly relaxes. Her nearness soothes me in a way I can’t understand.

“What did I do?”

Her voice is small and full of hurt. I hate myself for causing that uncertainty. I should say something... tell her she did absolutely nothing wrong.

All I want to do is hold her in my arms again.

I shake my head. No. I can’t. I won’t. Not while my best friend is crushing my heart. It won’t be able to handle one more hand wrapped around it, and I have a feeling if I let this woman claim my heart, she’ll never let go.

“Can I offer some advice?” I ask, my voice cold and my eyes focused on the door. I continue before she can answer. “Just... stay out of my way. If you’re going to be on set, let me do my job, okay? You’ve already made this much more difficult than it needed to be.”

“What?” she whispers, in shock.

“Goodbye, Rebecca.”

“Jensen?” she says my name in a sob.

“What happened in the bathroom... that wasn’t me. I just felt bad for you is all.”

I force myself to look at her. The hurt I caused, the confusion wrecking her face, it all transforms into a wrath that should send me running in fear. It's impressive.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

I wince and almost apologize. I almost tell her I don’t mean it, but I say nothing and walk out the door because I really am an asshole.

Chapter 2 – Rebecca

Present Day

I’ve never been to a wedding. How sad is that? I’m thirty-nine years old and not once have I received a wedding invite.

Over the years, the friends I had in high school and college got married. I saw the beautiful photos of the ceremonies on social media. Maybe their invitations got lost in the mail. Maybe only close friends and family were invited. Or maybe they were never really my friends to begin with.

Like many young girls, I always dreamed about the day I’d say ‘I do.’ I’d dress up in the extravagant wedding gown my mother bought me. It wasn’t a real wedding dress, of course. It was bright pink with a sparkly light pink tulle skirt. I spotted it in the toy section at Walmart. My mother told me it was a princess dress. I don’t remember this part, but apparently, I threw a tantrum and demanded my mom call it a wedding dress from that day forward.

I wore that pink dress all the time, every day, until it got too covered in food stains and dirt, and Mom made me take it off so she could wash it. I’d wear it to bed, so when I woke up in the morning, I was ready to begin preparations for the ceremony. My wedding guests—all the stuffed animals I owned—were meticulously placed in rows upon rows in my bedroom.

My first husband was my blue rabbit, Leon. Who names a stuffed animal Leon? I remember hearing the name once. I was outside playing and came in to get a glass of lemonade. I stopped to eavesdrop on my mother’s phone conversation about her annoying boss, Leon, and his new secretary and something about rabbits. Now that I’m older and look back on a conversation I wasn’t meant to hear, she’d clearly said they were ‘doing it like rabbits,’ but I was six and I didn’t know what ‘doing it’ meant. So, all I gained from that conversation was my mom's boss Leon was a rabbit, and for a while I thought all rabbits and bunnies were called Leon.

I know. It makes no sense. How could her boss be an animal?

Mother used to tell me I had an overactive imagination. One that gave human names to stuffed animals. One that took me to fantasy lands where I had magical powers and ruled the equally magical creatures who lived there. One that took me on endless adventures and gave me the happiest memories of my childhood. One that I tucked away when it started giving me attention at school. Bad attention. The kind that left you with unwanted wedgies. The kind that ended with you locked inside lockers, or with food “accidentally” dropped on you during lunch.

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