Page 89 of Take 2
Collecting dust on James’ shelf in a dick mug doesn’t sound so bad right now. These people are brilliant legends, and I am not worthy to be among them. When I dreamed of being nominated for an Oscar, it never occurred to me that it would be so terrifying. So, I smile and nod and exchange pleasantries, but if I could just disappear here in the corner, that would be ideal.
When the final member of our little panel deigns to grace us with his presence, I busy myself with my phone. There haven’t been many reasons to see Preston Greene since I ‘met him’ at Lisa’s party three years ago. I was with James at the wrap party for his movie last year, but we avoided each other.
Rather than having difficulty renaming him in my mind, it’s natural to think of him as Preston now. This man is not the one I fell in love with in college. We’re both different people. Ryan and Bella are ancient history.
He greets our fellow nominees with an ease that shouldn’t make me jealous but does. When he approaches me, I do my best to act like I hadn’t noticed him.
“Oh, hi.” I flash a smile. “How have you been?”
“It’s been a good year. And for you too.”
I nod, and my skin prickles under his scrutinizing gaze.
“Can I get you more coffee?”
“God, no.” I put the half-full cup on the coffee table in front of me. “I don’t even need this one.” My purse mints are buried in a collection of nail files, hair ties, and pens, but I fish them out along with my lipstick. I’d like to snag one of the hair ties, but a ponytail would be a real shame after all the effort to look my best.
Preston sits next to me. “Nervous?”
Two mints pop into my mouth. He is the last person here I’d like to befriend, but he’s probably the only one who would bother with me. My voice comes out hushed. “I feel like they all hate me.”
“Why would anyone hate you?”
Oh, come on. You have plenty of reasons.I don’t go there. “Because I’m too young. I got here too fast, and I didn’t pay my dues.” I smear my lipstick on and rub my lips together. When I pull my focus back from the nothing I was staring at, his eyes are on my lips, and he snaps them up quickly.
“Just because you haven’t been big in the movie scene for a long time doesn’t mean you didn’t work your ass off to get here. The only dues you have to pay to get here is to write a great movie, and you did that.” The thought of Preston Greene sitting in a theater watchingmymovie tightens my chest. “If they were going to hate anyone, it would be me.”
Because he got here even faster and already won it once. Well, hating him for that is something I might find common ground with the others on.
“Can’t imagine why,” I say. “It’s so typical for someone to break into the scene with an Oscar-winning debut.”
“Mirabelle …”
As much as I don’t want Preston Greene to have a nickname for me,no onecalls me Mirabelle. “You can call me Mira.” I swallow hard. This was my brilliant idea, but acting like we don’t know each other is not something I can stomach at the moment. He repeats my name, and the newness of the sound catches me off guard.
We’re called into the studio and take our seats at the round, wooden table. Two bodies separate me from Preston, and for that, I am grateful. Our host, Scott, welcomes us, but he could be a basket of kittens and not calm me down. Some of these writers are also actors; they’re used to being on this side of a camera. So, there are about a million ways they are more prepared for this than I am.
The first question is a given, and he starts with Preston. Because ‘When did you realize you were a writer?’ is much more interesting question for the person who just woke up one day a few years ago like, ‘Feeling cute, might write a movie.’
“Writing started as a therapeutic activity for me.” His words make my chest knot up. I should have watched the round table from his last nomination to prepare myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “I didn’t think I’d ever show my first screenplay to anyone; I didn’t even know if I’d be able to write a whole script. But the story wouldn’t get out of my head, so I actually finished it, and I sent it to my sister. In hindsight, I don’t know why. I was obviously having a really hard time because under no normal circumstances would I have attached my heart to an email like that. Anyway, she loved it and doesn’t know how to mind her own business, so she sent it to a screenwriting competition, which it won, and a couple of managers reached out to me. I probably sounded like an idiot when I got that first call because I didn’t even know I had entered a competition, but fortunately, he thought that was a great story too, and it worked out.”
“Just a bit,” Scott says. “Your rapid ascension caught all of Hollywood’s attention. And it looks like you left the door open for more fresh, new talent to come in. Mirabelle, you’re another overnight success story.”
A breathy laugh slips out of my smile. “Well, that’s only because no one saw the first ten years.”Except for him.I force my eyes to stay on Scott because if I look atPrestonI might tear up. “This was all I wanted to do for as long as I can remember, and I took a different kind of path to get here, but it was always with this goal in mind.”
“Right, you have an English lit, creative writing background,” Scott says. “Most people write novels after that, don’t they?”
“They do.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “But hey, how many movies get adapted from novels, right? So, I wanted to take those skills and skip to the screen part.”
“The depth of your characters really shines,”—Preston’s green eyes pin me to my chair—“and I think it came from that.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to be annoyed that he’s trying to help me, but that’ll only make all of this harder, so I accept the gesture and let it boost me for the rest of the roundtable.
When it’s over, I truly don’t know if I’m relieved and feel good about it, or if I’m going to throw up.
I just fucking participated in aHollywood ReporterWriters Roundtable! I’ve watched these forever.Except two years ago.I’m having an out-of-body experience.
“Great job,” Preston says.
