If Harry Met Sally Again

by Annie Robertson

  He shakes his head, stays exactly where he is.

  I reach over for it.

  ‘It’s Mike,’ I say, reading the caller ID. Despite all the setbacks I do still feel a pang of excitement when Mike calls.

  ‘It can wait.’

  ‘No, it can’t.’ I squeeze my legs tight together.

  ‘This better be good,’ he complains, sitting up and answering.

  ‘Hey, Mike. I’m here with Nina. You’re on speakerphone.’

  ‘Perfect, this concerns both of you. I just spoke to Rob.’

  I do a little naked bed-dance of delight. Ben smiles with a you’re bananas sort of a look.

  ‘He wants a Skype meeting with both of you.’

  I clutch Ben’s arm, my eyes wide and mouth open trying to communicate, This is the moment I’ve been waiting for all of my life!

  ‘Great,’ says Ben, as cool as you like, oblivious to the fact that I feel as if I might explode. ‘When?’

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘Suits us,’ says Ben, looking to me.

  I nod, beaming from ear to ear, still clutching his arm.

  ‘I’ll let you know the details nearer the time.’

  ‘Exciting!’ I squeal, once Ben has hung up. I clap my hands and give him a big naked hug.

  ‘You’d better believe it.’ He takes my face in his hands. ‘This is when it starts to get serious.’

  I think he’s talking about the script but he’s looking into my eyes so intensely that part of me wonders, or hopes, that he might also be talking about us.

  30

  ‘Is it working?’ asks Rob – yes, the Rob – who’s staring straight into the camera of Mike’s laptop. I reposition Ben’s iPad so that our backdrop isn’t that of the extractor fan and the kitchen ceiling.

  ‘It is,’ I say, telling myself to be cool! Be very, very cool. He’s just a person, like any other; don’t get all star-struck and start talking gibberish.

  I stare at his white whiskers and shiny head and think: he could pass as anyone’s grandfather and, with the right costume, as a reasonable Father Christmas rather than a leading Hollywood director, but he’s Rob-chuffing-Reiner, for crying out loud, and I just happen to be talking to him via Skype.

  Over a month has passed and it’s late October; trying to pin down a time that Rob, Mike and Catherine could all make was akin to organising the NATO summit but, finally they’re all are in Malibu; Ben and I are in London, the five of us Skyping to discuss the script.

  ‘So, you’re Nina,’ he says, his voice is big and full.

  ‘I am.’ My mouth is suddenly as dry as a desert. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ he shouts, reminding me of my father’s approach to technology – shout, and if it doesn’t work, shout a bit louder.

  Mike’s computer is positioned outside on a white, wooden table, which is decorated with orchids in giant pink seashells. The three of them are sitting in a row at the table, with Rob in the middle. In the background I see the grey clapboard beach house that Ben has told me about, and I can hear the caw of gulls overheard. It all looks extremely tasteful, very Malibu, and frankly the sort of place I’d give up my family to own.

  ‘So, introductions over,’ says Mike, rolling up the sleeves of his soft pink shirt, which looks as if he’s selected it to fit in with the surroundings. ‘Who wants to kick things off?’

  ‘I’m not buying the relationship between Truman and Anna,’ says Rob, jumping straight in.

  My heart sinks and off camera I throw up a hand, which says to Ben, I told you we should have ironed this problem out. He rubs my knee reassuringly under the table as we wait for someone to respond. But no one does.

  ‘That’s still something that can be reworked,’ I say, twisting my lips, annoyed that I didn’t stick with my gut instinct about Anna. ‘The consensus was that she needed to be larger than life, but I can tweak that.’

  There’s another pause; I’m convinced they must be able to hear my heartbeat all the way in California.

  Eventually Rob says, ‘I don’t think Truman and Anna should get married. What does everyone else think?’

  When nobody is forthcoming Ben pipes up with, ‘As the co-writer I’m happy to work to everyone else’s vision.’

  Out of shot I shoot him a look that says What are you playing at? This is not the time to try and please everyone else, now is the time to please me!

  ‘Nina?’ asks Rob.

  I rub the bridge of my nose. ‘If that were the case then neither couple would be together and there has to be some sort of happy ending, right?’

  Rob shrugs. ‘Mike?’

  ‘I’m still into the ambiguous ending. The one that allows the audience to decide for themselves what happens to Harry and Sally.’

  Rob shakes his head making his jowls move. He pushes his chair back and folds his arms, creating distance between himself and the others. His ruminations seem to take an eternity. ‘We can come back to Truman and Anna. More importantly, I’m not sure about Harry and Sally being divorced.’

  I squint at the computer and jiggle my ear, wondering if I’ve heard correctly.

  Rob continues, ‘Having them divorced could sully the original movie, not only for an entire generation of fans but for a generation to come.’

  If he’d told me he wanted Sylvester Stallone to take the part of Harry I couldn’t be more dumbfounded. We’ve been developing the script for a year, I want to yell, how is it possible that you’re only bringing this up now?

  ‘For me, Harry and Sally have to remarry or I’m out.’ Rob drinks his lemonade, unaware of the devastation he’s just caused me.

  Ben, sensing my upset, reaches for my hand, which has started to shake.

  ‘Catherine, anything to add?’ asks Mike.

  ‘It’s a tough one. I love the script, I really do but…’ She pauses. I close my eyes momentarily, composing myself, preparing myself for another knife in the stomach. ‘But the more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to want Harry and Sally back together too.’ She must see my face fall and sense my growing frustration. ‘Harry and Sally had their happy ending. I’m not sure I want to undo that.’

  I sit quietly, my gaze down, circling thumb around thumb.

  ‘Nina?’ says Mike. ‘Your thoughts?’

  I wait for a moment, take a deep breath, and compose myself, knowing what I say next could make or break this project.

  ‘My understanding is that Nora Ephron never wanted Harry and Sally to marry. The whole point of my script, as an ode to Ephron and her work, was to write the ending she always wanted.’

  ‘What was the original ending?’ Catherine asks Rob. It amazes me that she doesn’t already know.

  ‘The one Nora wrote didn’t have Harry and Sally getting together but she recognised that ending wasn’t going to be commercially successful, hence why we didn’t use it and came up with the one we did.’

  ‘It’s still not the ending she wanted,’ I say, my voice trembling.

  ‘I don’t think it’s something that plagued her; the title probably bothered her more than the ending,’ says Rob. ‘And something else that bothers me is that Nora wasn’t keen on revisiting old characters. I’m not sure how much she would have wanted for this sequel.’

  I can’t find any words to respond. Rob has just delivered the final twist of the blade. Ben rubs my back. I wipe away a tear, wondering if I’m the only one who genuinely cares about this project. I’m almost down and out when a sudden rush of adrenalin, makes me think, Fight for your dream or regret it for ever. Nora Ephron said it herself – ‘be the heroine of your own life, not the victim’!

  I sit a little taller. Garnering all my courage and conviction I say, ‘It’s just it’s kind of the whole point of the movie, don’t you think? Mike posed the question, does marriage ruin a perfect relationship? and isn’t the answer to that, yes, it does? Sex dramatically changed Harry and Sally’s friendship. Marriage ruined their relationship. Ultimately they didn�
��t stand a chance.’ God, I think, if Will could hear me now!

  I look to Ben for support, knowing from the start he was in favour of more realism. He has to back me up.

  ‘I think we should stand up for Harry and Sally, keep them together,’ he says, quietly.

  I look at him sitting beside me, and wonder if he’s the same man I spent all of the last week with in bed, twiddling his chest hair, because right now I’d gladly wax every inch of his body hair to cause him gross, physical pain!

  ‘Wasn’t your whole argument previously that the film had to be edgier, more real?’ I ask, slightly more aggressively than is strictly professional.

  ‘Right, but ultimately everyone wants a happy ending,’ he says, and even though somewhere, in the furthest, remotest corner of my brain, something tells me he may be right, my stubborn streak won’t give in.

  ‘But what about remaining true to the characters?’ I say, exasperated, turning back to the camera. ‘I’m just trying to…’ I stop, and look at the three of them sitting out there in Malibu. I think of the depth of experience that exists between them, and wonder exactly what I’m trying to achieve. The film has grown and changed so unrecognisably, and my control over it grown so minuscule, that I’m no longer certain what I want from it now, let alone know what I wanted when I first started writing it. Uncertain what to say, I slouch back in my chair, my adrenalin rush over just as quickly as it began.

  Rob’s phone rings. He puts it on speakerphone.

  ‘Sawyer,’ he shouts.

  ‘Billy Crystal’s agent,’ Ben whispers to me. I’m too jaded to be excited.

  ‘The ending to the Harry and Sally follow up. What does Billy think?’

  ‘Loves it!’ exclaims the voice in the phone, and I admit, my heart does skip a beat knowing that Billy Crystal has read my script and loved it. ‘Harry and Sally were destined to divorce. No woman could tolerate Harry for the rest of her life. Not even Sally.’

  Hallelujah, I think. At last, someone who gets it!

  ‘But would it matter to him if they remarried?’ asks Rob.

  ‘Matter?’ I can almost hear the guy shrug ‘I doubt it. People will want to see this movie regardless of the ending.’

  Exasperated, I let out a long sigh.

  ‘Thanks, Arnie,’ says Rob, finishing the call. ‘Well, there you have it,’ he says, throwing his hands up. ‘People will want to see it whatever the ending.’

  ‘Let’s write the ending Rob wants, have Harry and Sally remarry, and take it from there,’ says Ben, getting up to make coffee once the Skype call is over. ‘What’s the harm? If he likes it, great, if he doesn’t, well -’

  ‘What? Even if he likes it he’s unlikely to go ahead and make it.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Ben, you heard him! He thinks it will sully the original movie, and he doesn’t think Nora would want the movie made. Do you have any idea how much that hurts? The very reason I wrote the piece, as an ode to my heroine, and now I hear from someone who actually knew her that she probably wouldn’t approve of it!’

  ‘These are not reasons for him not to commit to the project. It’s Hollywood. It’s about money.’

  ‘But that’s not what it’s about for me. I do still have some artistic integrity, even if no one else seems to. And besides, if he doesn’t like what we come up with, what then?’

  ‘It’s not as if we have to have Rob as the director,’ he says, getting up to make coffee.

  ‘The sequel to When Harry Met Sally without Rob Reiner? Are you kidding me? Talk about a plane crash waiting to happen!’

  ‘It won’t come to that, so we don’t have to worry.’

  I fold my arms. ‘Forgive me if I don’t feel inclined to hang on your every word.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning, I thought you’re supposed to be on my side. As the co-writer I’m happy to work to everyone else’s vision,’ I imitate, like a six-year-old. It’s not my finest hour.

  ‘Really?’ he asks, handing me a coffee.

  ‘I thought we were meant to be a team.’ I stare out of the window, tears welling in my eyes. ‘But perhaps, now that you’ve had what you want, you can show your true colours.’

  ‘Nina, you’re confusing professional allegiances with personal ones.’

  ‘I should have trusted my instincts in the first place, mixing work with fun was never a good idea – I should not have got involved with you. It’s just like Harry and Sally: I slept with you too soon after Will, just like Sally slept with Harry too soon after Joe.’

  ‘And look how that turned out.’

  ‘They got divorced!’

  Even in the heat of the moment it isn’t lost on me that the line between fact and fiction has become well and truly blurred.

  ‘Right, but if Rob gets his way, they’ll get married again,’ he chuckles, trying to placate me.

  ‘Don’t try and soften me up, I’m furious with you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, sitting down and offering me a Toffeepop.

  ‘I thought you loved When Harry Met Sally almost as much as me.’ I cast my biscuit aside. ‘I thought you felt as passionately about the ending as I do. Clearly I misread that; clearly my judgement isn’t that great at the moment.’

  ‘You’re far too emotionally involved in all of this,’ he says, sipping his coffee annoyingly calmly. It’s as if nothing gets to him.

  ‘Of course I’m involved! I’ve been working on this for years.’

  ‘Which is why I’m here,’ he says, trying to take my hand; I snatch it away. ‘I bring objectivity to the project.’

  ‘Oh, so now I’m not objective!’

  ‘Honestly?’ he asks. ‘Objectivity isn’t always your greatest strength.’

  ‘Fine! So why don’t you write the goddamn ending. I’m so past caring,’ I yell, shoving my chair away and going to the bedroom.

  ‘Fine! I will,’ he retaliates, heading out of the flat and down the stairs before slamming the front door behind him.

  31

  A little after Ben’s departure I flump onto the sofa and start sifting through the pile of bills and junk mail, which has been accruing for the last couple of months. Among the dross are two handwritten envelopes. I toss everything else aside and open the first.

  24th October 2018

  Dear Occupant,

  We have tried on numerous occasions to contact Mr William Masterton regarding renewal of the rental contract and annual inspection. Since he has failed to respond or allow us access, the property must now be vacated with immediate effect. If the property has not been vacated within fourteen days, legal proceedings will commence.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs Y Tang

  I sit dazed for a moment, absorbing this information. It suddenly occurs to me that with all that’s been happening I haven’t renewed the lease on the flat, which was due ten months ago. Wondering why I haven’t had any warning of this, I suddenly realise that there are letters for Will sitting on the hall table that I haven’t redirected to him. I fetch and open them. The first was written in January, the second in April and the third in August, all suggesting inspection dates when I’ve been away, preoccupied, or busy at the shop. The last letter, a notice of eviction, clearly states that ‘failure to comply will result in legal action, up to and including removal of all tenants and their property from the apartment’. I think about the message from Astrid when I was in New York about Mrs Tang in a rage, and realise she must have been trying to gain access but Astrid couldn’t understand her. I put down the letters, and glance at the wall clock; the date at the bottom reads 31 Oct, exactly a year since Will moved out, exactly a year ago that I motivated myself to prove him wrong, to show him I could be a success. And now, three hundred and sixty-five days later, having worked my arse off to show him how good I could be without him, I’m pretty much back to square one.

  ‘Arse-biscuits,’ I say, picking up the other envelope with its calligraphy handwriting, ignoring the buzzer as it
sounds into the flat, something else that hasn’t changed around here.

  Cuddling a cushion I try to figure out who the letter’s from by checking the postmark and turning it around to rub my finger over the wax seal with its impression of two love-birds. It’s then that it hits me.

  I pull out an invitation to Will and Carmen’s wedding.

  I sift through the different pieces of paper – directions, accommodation, gift list and finally, the one I could really do without, the engagement party invite, which, on closer inspection, I realise is at the end of next week. I’m about to text Astrid to ask if she’s been invited when my phone rings. It’s a US number.

  ‘Nina?’ It’s Mike.

  ‘Mike,’ I say, still slumped on the sofa. Once upon a time a phone call from Mike Steinfeldt would have been enough to propel me to the moon.

  ‘We’ve just wrapped things up at this end; Rob’s come to his final decision.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ My heart should be racing overtime – has he pulled the script, backed out, chosen a new writer – but instead, nothing, just a listless, pathetic response.

  ‘Harry and Sally have to remarry, and Anna and Truman have to split.’

  ‘Right.’ I’m not surprised or particularly bothered, ultimately it’s what we discussed.

  ‘Rob will commit to the movie with that ending, without it he won’t. We have no other choice: we can’t make the movie without him.’

  I rub the bridge of my nose.

  ‘Are you on board?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I say, wondering whom I’ve turned into. The Nina I was a year ago would have jumped on this version of me and tackled the phone out of her hand, quoting Nora – ‘it takes a huge amount of will and energy for anything to happen to you’, i.e., big fat losers never prosper.

  ‘If you won’t, someone else will.’ The finality of it all is clear.

  ‘I understand,’ I say, into the dark of my living room, resignation creeping over me.

  He pauses. ‘Are you saying you’re through?’

  ‘I am.’

  I know I should be shocked at myself but I’m more shocked for not being shocked.