“Jesse.” Pam entered, waving an envelope. “You’re not going to believe this, but I found a letter addressed to you. I checked the postmark. It came for you when I was on vacation, or I’d have given it to you.”
“Vacation?” He hit pause and reached for the envelope. “Wasn’t that over two months ago?”
“Guess what temp agency we’re never using again? That girl, I’m telling you, she’d walk into the wall if you told her it was a door.”
Jesse examined the envelope. “It’s from Bel Air.” And the Daschle estate was the return address.
“One of your Hollywood friends?” Pam came around the desk to read over his shoulder and kill him with her perfume. She’d been vying for an invitation toBound by Love’s premiere since he arrived.
“Probably.” He sat back, pressing the letter facedown on his desk. “Close the door on your way out, Pam. Tell Dan to start lunch without me. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Darn it. How am I ever going to meet Clive Boston if you don’t let me in on what’s going on?”
“Trust me, the only Boston you want to know is this one.” He pointed out the window to the sunlight glinting off steel and glass.
When he was alone, he set the letter on his desk. He didn’t have time to read it, though his every heartbeat declaredo-pen-it, o-pen-it. But he wanted to read it when he had time. Not on his way to a meeting. And there was the clip Jeremiah had sent.
On impulse, not letting reason have its way, he clicked play, then tore open the letter.
Chloe had written the letter by hand on cream-colored stationery.
Dear Jesse,
On the screen, the movie played. Jesse aimed the light remote at the sensor and dimmed the overhead lights, letter still in hand, burning his fingertips.
He’d been in half a dozen romcoms, two dozen commercials, but nothing compared to the experience of seeing his story come to life on the screen.
Rough cut or not, Jesse embraced the wonder and beauty of it all.
Chris Painter ran across the battlefield as Hamilton, rifle in one hand, yelling commands to his fellow militiamen.
As the battle raged, the camera panned to Chloe-slash-Esther, running toward the fight, stopping to watch from behind a tree.
Jesse hit pause, his throat thick with emotion. He loved her. Dang it. He loved her. With a glance at the letter, he hit play again. Yeah, he was going to be late to Dan’s meeting.
The scene cut to a redcoat firing and Hamilton reeling with the blast, gripping his shoulder as he fell.
Esther dashed onto the battlefield, screaming his name, unaware that Hamilton’s rival and enemy, Lieutenant Borland, rode toward her, pistol aimed. Jeremiah cut to a plume of smoke, and though the sound effects had yet to be added, the redcoat fell from his horse.
Esther fell to her knees next to Hamilton, declaring she loved him. Jesse was captivated.
When Esther picked up Hamilton’s dagger and charged a redcoat, Jesse stood, shooting his chair backward into the window.
“Death, you cannot have me!” She flew through the air about to ram the dagger into the man’s chest before a shot was fired and she collapsed.
The camera hovered over her as she lay so calm and still.
Unbelievable. Jesse paced around his desk, then sat, then stood, running his hand through his gelled hair. Was that in the rewrite ordid it just happen? He rewound the scene, putting every ounce of his imagination on the battlefield with Chloe.
She charged the redcoat, screaming, “Death, you cannot have me.” She collapsed, “dying” with beauty.
“Chloe Daschle, you are amazing.”
In the face of disappointment and adversity, she put her shoulder to the wheel and went to work. What did he do? Walk off. Let his emotions, his past, dictate his future.
Well, that ended today.
The camera panned away from Esther on the ground and faded to black. Jesse exhaled, pulling his chair forward, taking a seat, trying to take it all in.
