He chuckles dryly. “I don’t know if I’d call it love.”
Okay, he’s not there yet. “Tell me about the last time you had your heart broken.”
He crosses his arms. A pose I know all too well.
I turn to the actress. “Or you can start.”
“I …” She scratches her cheek, then holds her hand out as if she’s got nothing.
“Fine. I’ll start.”
They glance at each other, then look at me. At least they’re dropping their guard enough for their eyes to soften with compassion.
“He didn’t want to get hurt again the way his ex-wife had hurt him, and I couldn’t handle him comparing me to someone else, because I’d grown up in my twin’s shadow. We wanted to be together, but our wounds from the past pulled us apart.”
“That’s rough,” Johnny laments.
“Yes, it’s rough.” My voice sounds a little rough. I clear my throat. “And that’s what you and Baby are going through. You have past wounds that can separate you, but if you fight them together, they will make you one.”
“Wow.” Baby stares off at the lake which we will later film them falling into. “I wish I’d had that with my ex. The only thing we fought over was all the other girls he wanted to date.”
Johnny eyes her. “My last girlfriend went back to her ex. Evidently I was the rebound.”
Baby looks up at him, and for the first time I see a spark. It’s not attraction, but empathy. It will draw the actors together in a way that looks like chemistry to viewers.
This is a trick I learned through writing characters. I’ve used it when filming with actors I really didn’t like at all. For the first time, I wonder if this is what drew me to Karson—besides the hero thing. Could I see him hurting through his anger and think that if I could help soothe his pain, then it would soothe mine, as well?
“Are we ready, kids?” Charlie yells, waking me from my contemplation.
I nod at Charlie, then walk backward toward him but point and talk to our actors. “You are connected by pain. This is your one shot to help heal each other. Your whole future is in this moment.”
Baby takes a couple of steps so Johnny can practice grabbing her waist in the right place. The difference I see in them from before to now is the difference between the remake ofDirty Dancingand the original.
I call out encouragement. “Act as if in lifting her overhead, your relationship will soar, but if you fall, it’s over.”
“Even though it’s not,” Kai corrects me as I pass him. “Once we get this scene, we’re going to film Baby taking off her boots in favor of the Keds for the ending of the film.”
“Right.” The happy ending.
Kai has his camera set up, but he’s looking at me. “You know why Charlie wanted to start filming with the boots on, right?”
“Well.” I shrug. “Because once she takes the boots off, success will be so much easier.”
Kai levels his gaze. “Precisely.”
He’s right. Johnny and Baby come to life as broken souls, desperate to make the relationship work. They don’t succeed at first, but how they grow through their trials gives them the strength they need to overcome.
Isn’t it crazy how my own writing can offer more of a message than I intended it to? And sometimes it’s the exact message I need to hear?
I don’t have time to ponder the message long. We barely even sleep that weekend as we put the same amount of effort into every second of film. It’s almost midnight on Sunday when Charlie plays the final cut for us in the living room of our townhome. Yes, the film is well-made, but it’s also thought-provoking and joyful. As Johnny lifts Baby into the air for the final montage, I’m overwhelmed with the beauty of their victory.
Kai stands from his spot on the couch and gives a slow clap.
Charlie looks to me for my reaction.
My heart thumps its own approval, but I can barely offer more than a watery smile. Is it envy if I want to be Baby?
“I’ll take your tears as two thumbs-up,” Charlie translates. “I’m sending it now.” He thunders down the stairs to the computer desk in his room and leaves me with Kai.
