Page 23 of Cinematic Destinies
They sat for a moment, comfortably looking at each other before Georgia said, “So, we’ll be doing one of our big scenes tomorrow. Are you nervous?”
He shook his head. “We’ll get through it together. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too.” Another moment passed, their gazes locked before she added, “Well, we should probably get some rest.”
“Indeed. I’ll walk you up.”
“Roo, this morning when you said you like spending time with me . . .”
“Yes?”
“I just want you to know how much I like spending time with you too.”
Roo smiled. “Thank you for both a wonderful start and a wonderful end to my day. Come on, let’s get some sleep.”
“LISTEN UP!” JEAN CALLED, AND EVERYONEsettled down. “This is an extremely intimate scene. There’s the growing,palpable desire between Rupert’s and Georgia’s characters, but also the revealing nature of the documents they are sorting, and then the look on his face when Michael’s character eavesdrops. Without any touching, it will all be in your expressions and tone of voice. Be delicate. Places, everyone.”
The actors scampered to their marks. Georgia and Roo were seated on the floor with stacks of papers in front of them and several cardboard boxes scattered about. Michael was out of the camera’s eye, waiting to walk to the door.
“Rolling . . . Action!”
Roo and Georgia began sorting through documents, and with the piles around them, it looked as though they had been at it for some time.
“When he hired me to write his memoir, I didn’t quite know what I was in for.”
“Yeah, it’s hard to believe how many notes and clippings he kept,” she said.
“Well, sure, but I was referring to his . . .”
“What?” she asked, pausing to look at him.
“He’s a bit gruff and demanding. Always seems angry, or at least unhappy. Perhaps except for when you’re around. You have such a gentle way. It seems to transform him from a lion to a puppy. He’s softer when you’re here.” The corners of her mouth curled upward ever so slightly, and he added, “I can hardly blame him. It seems impossible not to be in better spirits near you.”
Her smile grew modestly as their gazes held each other. After a moment passed, she returned her attention to the papers. “I’m glad to bring him some comfort, take care of him. It’s hard to imagine how difficult it is, well . . .”
“Preparing to die?” he said.
She nodded. “I find it a bit strange he left his home, came here to the middle of nowhere, and now we’re the only two people in his life. Seems like a time when most wouldwant to be with their loved ones. It’s so beautiful here, but it’s like he slunk off to die all alone.” She stopped and shook her head. “I guess it just makes me a bit sad for him.”
“In the literary world, he has a reputation for being a notorious reclusive. If it helps, I think this is very much in line with how he has lived.”
“I’ve never read his work. Do you admire him?” she asked.
“Immensely. He’s an extraordinary writer. Brave. Unapologetic. He really pushed the envelope with narrative structure, not to mention the subjects he’s written about. He’s certainly not afraid of tragedy and suffering.” He moved a pile of papers over and continued, “Of course, despite his enormous success, he’s always had detractors. Critics have been bitterly divided. When he won the Pulitzer, there were protests. Sometimes he courted the uproar, wearing the controversial label like a badge of honor, and other times he may have been a bit baffled or offended by it. I think it’s exacerbated his volatile side and explains why he’s chosen to be so isolated.”
Just then, Michael came to the doorway. Instead of stepping into the room, he stopped to listen.
“Why do you suppose he keeps all these negative reviews? Seems like something one would discard. There are piles of them, but none of the good ones nor any clippings about all the honors he’s received,” she remarked.
“I can’t say for certain. Perhaps he’s motivated by the criticisms. Or maybe it’s a marker to him of how wrong they’ve been, those who failed to recognize his genius. Or maybe he sees them with humor.”
“Or maybe part of him believes the bad stuff,” she suggested.
Michael squeezed his eyelids shut for a moment.
“If I was a betting man, I’d wager he’s not someone who wants to bask in the light. Perhaps some people are just more comfortable in the darkness.”
“Well, I hope I can help bring him into the light. For whatever time he has left,” she replied.
