Page 44 of The Manor of Dreams

“I’m not—”

“My ambition fucked your coworker and ruined everything we built between us. Right?”

“What—” There was a pause. His voice lowered. “Jesus, Lucy! What the hell? Are you okay? What’s going on? Are you still at your mother’s house?”

“Yep. I’m saving it for us.”

“Still? Are you serious? You haven’t called my contact? Or an actual estate lawyer? I can reach out—”

“Don’t,” she snarled. “I’ve got it under control.Ican bring the case.”

“Right, but—it’s not that. Believe me, I know you’re good at what you do. But this isnot that.”

Lucille contemplated hurling her phone across the room and imagined it splintering against the doors. Instead, she hung up and tossed it on top of the papers. She missed when she could snap a phone shut decisively or slam it onto the receiver. She sat for a moment, full of rage.

Focus.

She looked back at the desk. Her mother’s leather-bound address book lay in the far-right corner. There was a stack of papers wrapped carefully in a brown pocket sleeve. Lucille unwrapped it. The words on the title page were still legible, despite the paper being brittle:

ALL HAPPY FAMILIES

VIVIAN YIN

Lucille flipped through the papers. It was a screenplay. Ma had never shared it or talked about it, as far as she knew. It must have been locked away for decades. It was about a hundred pages. Lucille was just about to settle in and start reading when she noticed that the last pages in the stack were on different paper, smoother and thicker, and typed with a different font. They were letters. One read:

DEAR MRS. LOWELL, THANK YOU FOR SUBMITTING ALL HAPPY FAMILIES FOR OUR CONSIDERATION. I REMEMBER BEINGINTRIGUED BY THE CONCEPT OF A FAMILY COMEDY WHEN EUGENE PITCHED IT TO ME.

HOWEVER, I AM NOT SURE THIS FITS THE TONE OF MY CURRENT SLATE OF PROJECTS. I FOUND MYSELF AT TIMES NOT BEING ABLE CONNECT WITH THE STORYLINE. FOR NOW I MUST PASS—

Eugene Lyman. Reid’s father, the producer. Lucille flipped to the next one.

I AM SO SORRY THAT—

WITH REGRET, I MUST PASS—

Rejection letters.

Lucille sat up. Ma had been a screenwriter. Why did she never know? Were there other scripts, too? Lucille could imagine Ma now, hunched over this desk, typing furiously on their old Smith Corona, and then on the word processor that replaced it.

The first letter was dated November 18, 1987. So she’d written the screenplay after she won the Oscar. Maybe becoming an actress had only been the beginning for her. She must have had her own dreams and private ambitions. Dad had always wanted to produce. He’d launched his production company in 1988. Two years before his overdose.

One last page was stuck to the back of the stack, and Lucille pried it away gently, trying her best not to crack the stiff paper. But as she slipped it out, she realized it wasn’t a rejection; it was a form. She scanned the letterhead.

PALISADES PSYCHIATRIC CENTER

She sat back. In clear handwriting below, Lucille read:

This recommendation for consultation is for: Vivian Yin.

Lucille didn’t move from her chair for hours as she read Ma’s screenplay. The light waned outside and she didn’t get up to turn on the stained-glass lamps, until finally, she put down the screenplay because it had gotten too dark to read. A few pages were missing here and there, but she could piece the story together. The script followed the dismal love lives of three cousins against the backdrop of a big San Francisco Chinatown family. It was full of dry wit and sharp characters. Studios would love it today, probably. But it didn’t matter. They hadn’t wanted stories like this back then.

Had Ma wanted to be a screenwriter? Was that why she gave up acting? Lucille remembered the buoyant joy she had felt when she watched her mother win the Oscar. Ma could have done anything after that night, it seemed. There were dinners with producers, and paparazzi that lingered wherever they went as a family. But she hadn’t booked many roles the next year, or the year after that. Instead, their mother drove out to auditions and came home and fought with Dad. They stopped watching TV or making weekend breakfasts together. Dad started coming home late and going on longer filming trips. When he was home, plates were broken and doors slammed.

Dimly, she heard voices and a knock at the library door, with Rennie asking if she wanted dinner. Lucille ignored it. When she finally shook herself out of her stupor, she returned to the last piece of paper. The printed letters were faded, the pen marks even more so, but she recognized her father’s large, looping scrawl.

He had been the one to recommend her. That summer. 1990.

Reasons for consultation:signs of erratic behavior, signs of paranoia, disturbed dreams. Exhibits signs of mental distress.

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