Page 39 of Nantucket Gala

“Tonight, we honor one of the greatest directors ever to play the game,” Bernard said. “It is a great travesty of our time that great artists like Francis are no longer granted the funds to make their next films. During this era of blockbuster features, we get watered-down pictures and sloppy storytelling. We get bad acting and action flicks. I ask myself, what will that do to our society? What kind of ruin will that bring?

“When I sit down in front of a Francis Bianchi motion picture, I know myself to be in good hands. I know I’m about to be whisked off on a stupendous journey of love, philosophy, and fear. Every single question humanity has ever been plagued with finds a focus on Francis Bianchi’s works. And for that reason, we are gathered here today to ensure he can makeThe Brutal Horizon. I ask, as a writer and an artist but also as a simple man in the world, that you pledge as much money as you can to this mission. If we show the production companies how much we want artistic features likeThe Brutal Horizon, maybe they’ll change their tune. Maybe, in some small way, we’ll change the world and the future of art.”

Everyone applauded. Sophia brought her palms together and held them like that. Her ears were ringing. A strange, sinister feeling was dropping from her chest to her stomach.

“Let me call Francis himself to the stage!” Bernard said, extending his arm. “Welcome the next master of storytelling!”

Sophia felt a horrible lurch in her gut. Almost as though someone had reached inside and pulled. Sophia gasped, but nobody could hear her over the thundering applause.

The baby.

Tears filled her eyes.

What was wrong with the baby?

But Sophia couldn’t get up and run to the bathroom. Right now, she was trapped at the table, smiling prettily up at her handsome and famous husband. If she ran away now, the paparazzi and all their guests would think something was amiss. Maybe they’d really think they were having marital problems. And they weren’t! Not really. Why did she have to make everything so difficult?

Pain churned in her lower stomach. She placed her hand near her pelvis and thought,It’s okay, baby. Look at how handsome your father is. Look how much everyone loves him. You’re safe here. Stop this pain. Stop whatever this is. Please.

Her cheeks ached with her smile.

The applause quieted. Everyone was captivated with Francis, their handsome director.

“I am overcome,” Francis said. “On behalf of myself and my beautiful wife, Mrs. Bianchi, I thank you for your attendance here, for your pledge of support, and for your interest in the future of storytelling. I still remember the first film I ever saw as a boy. The year was 1944, and war was on everyone’s mind. The idea that you could go into a little dark room and be transported to new lands, different storylines, and different dreams floored me. It captivated my attention for months. All I did was dreamabout that film. The fact that I’m able to make my own pictures now is beyond my wildest dreams.The Brutal Horizonis a story very close to my heart, one that came to me during a very difficult and dark period of my life.”

It never came to you, Sophia thought darkly as her stomach twisted.You didn’t know anything about it until I showed you the script.

Suddenly, she felt like a fool.

The pain grew more and more powerful. But Francis’s speech was never-ending. It seemed he had a thousand people to thank. It seemed he had a thousand childhood stories to tell.

It seemed he couldn’t get enough of the sound of his voice.

Please, baby, Sophia begged.Please, be all right.

But she was beginning to think her luck had run out.

Chapter Fourteen

February 2025

Los Angeles

The day immediately following Henry’s meeting with the librarian Debra Hollow he received word from Sophia Bianchi:

Yes, Henry, I would love to see you again. Unfortunately, I’m in San Francisco meeting an old friend until this weekend. Would Sunday work? Dinner, maybe?

Henry wrote back that it would. He was grateful to have a three-day buffer between now and then—a time during which he could practice asking Sophia’s permission to write a script he’d already written. If Barry was right, she’d spring for it immediately. “It’s a way to bring her back into the public eye! It’s a way to honor her for what she’s already done!”

But if Barry was wrong? Henry would be flat out of luck.

There was no reason she couldn’t sue him.

Henry imagined calling his mother and telling her that instead of “making it before the age of twenty-six,” he was being sued by a very wealthy ex-actress and ex-screenwriter andthe widow of Francis Bianchi. What would Julia say? His head echoed with possibilities. None of them were nice.

Around noon, Henry left his apartment to meet the ex-filmmaker Cindy Saucer. He wanted to discuss the making of her World War II student film back in 1977. He wanted to discuss Natalie and Sophia and peel back the multiple layers between now and the past.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him that Cindy Saucer had given up on filmmaking. It was a difficult business, and 1977 was nearly fifty years ago. But during his research, he’d been surprised to learn that instead of filmmaking, Cindy had become a successful politician. During the nineties, she’d run for senator and lost by a narrow margin. Since then, she’d worked in government in Santa Monica before retiring in 2019—narrowly avoiding the chaos of the pandemic. In the photos he found of her online, she had hair and outfits like Hilary Clinton, and her smile was genuine. Her constituents said she was a rare breed of politician because she “really cared.”

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