The Director's Cut

by Janice Thompson

  “I—I am happy.”

  “I’m talking about the kind of happiness that comes when you’ve let go of the things that keep you bound up. That kind of happy. It’s not going to come until you kick that wall down.”

  I felt the sting of tears in my eyes. Brushing them aside, I turned to face him. “You don’t understand. What’s on the other side of that wall isn’t pretty. If I kick it down, I’ll have to face it, and I don’t have the energy to right now. I really don’t. Maybe after the house is done. Or maybe after this season ends. But not now.”

  “When you face it, you’ll probably go through pain, but the only way you’ll ever experience true freedom is to look it in the eye.”

  I thought about the wall I’d kicked down just this morning. Relived how good it had felt to get rid of my angst. If I could do it physically, maybe God could tear down the walls I’d put up emotionally. Still, I hadn’t planned on a therapy session right here and now, in front of Jason of all people.

  Before I could think any more about it, he slipped his arm over my shoulder. I felt genuinely comforted by his touch.

  “I want to know more, but if you’re not comfortable talking about your family, then let’s talk about your house.”

  “What about it?”

  “I see you dragging into the studio in the morning, worn out from working through the night. You think I haven’t noticed the drops of paint in your hair?”

  My hand instinctively went to my hair and he chuckled.

  “Not today. But I’ve seen it. Somewhere in the house, you’ve got a light tan theme going.”

  “That would be the living room.”

  “And a light gray.”

  “Ah. The bedroom.”

  “You’re painting your bedroom gray?” He shook his head. “Anyway, I’ve noticed. And I see how tired you are.”

  “I don’t really know much about home repair except what I’ve seen on HGTV and the DIY network. I’ve watched my brothers, but they’re not exactly experts.”

  “Why not hire contractors? They could knock out the job a lot faster, I bet.”

  I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped. “I know this is hard to understand, but I do things for my family to help them out financially. I’m really the only one . . .” The pause that followed felt like it lasted forever.

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Gotcha.”

  “I’m the only one who can take up the slack.” I put my hand up. “I know, I know. Before you say it, let me just agree with you in advance. I’m in a codependent relationship with my family members, especially those with financial woes. I’m too softhearted.”

  His laughter caught me off guard. “Sorry, but softhearted isn’t exactly the word I’m used to hearing where you’re concerned.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. “Guilty as charged. But I try to be extra tough on the set because it’s the only place where people seem to take me seriously. I have to come across that way. I’m the director.”

  “Oh, I’m not asking you to change. As directors go, you’re one of the best I’ve worked with.”

  “R-really?”

  “Really.”

  “But I lose it . . . a lot. Which is hard, because I like people to think I’m poised.”

  Confusion registered in his eyes. “You are poised.”

  I shook my head. “Did you see me trying to get through that one rough scene on Tuesday? I was anything but poised. I lost my cool a dozen times at least. It’s embarrassing, but more than that . . . it’s a sign that I lose control.”

  “Don’t we all?” He shook his head. “Really, Tia, I think you’re too hard on yourself.”

  I sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Seriously, do you ever give yourself a break?”

  “I’ll try. Starting now. Well, when I have some free time, anyway.”

  “Promise?” he whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  We stood for a lovely moment or two, just enjoying the quiet as we returned to our work.

  “If you had the free time, what would you do with it?” Jason asked.

  “No clue. Other than sleep, you mean?”

  “Yeah. Think of something you’ve never done before.” He snapped his fingers. “I know. Have you ever been surfing?”

  “Surfing?” I shook my head. “No way. Not my thing, trust me.”

  “There’s something so freeing about it. When I’m out on the water, I have no choice but to let go . . . of everything. Trust. That’s what it’s all about.”

  “I don’t know, Jason. Sounds . . .” Terrifying.

  “Okay, well, what about parasailing? Ever sailed across the sky over the ocean waves below?”

  I sighed. Clearly he didn’t see the bigger picture. “Look, the few times we went to the beach as kids, we couldn’t afford to do things like that. We just played in the sand and the water.”

  And considered ourselves fortunate enough to get to do that.

  My poor upbringing apparently didn’t faze him. He snapped his fingers again. “Okay, parasailing might be a bit much. Let’s go back to that surfing idea. One of these days I’m going to take you surfing. There’s no place to let go of your inhibitions like on the water. I’m telling you, it’s very freeing.” He reached over and took my hand. “You watch and see, Tia-mia. Those walls will come down one at a time. God can do it if you let him.”

  He’d lost me at “Tia-mia.” How in the world did he know to call me that? No one outside of my family knew that name.

  Unfortunately, I never had the chance to ask. Athena and Stephen entered the room, gushing over how beautiful the baby was and how wonderful the kitchen smelled. Within minutes they’d invited themselves to dinner. Looked like we were having a real party. I didn’t mind the interruption. Not at all. Jason had managed to put a little chink in my wall, already making me feel too vulnerable.

  Still, as I looked into his eyes, as I contemplated all of the things he’d said to me, I could only conclude that the walls in my life—physical or otherwise—were destined to fall sooner or later. If I could work up the courage, I’d march around Jericho seven times, blow my trumpet, and watch them tumble to the ground.

  Sunday morning I met my family at church, as always. With my father seated next to me, I was distracted from worship, and all the more so as I witnessed his tears during our pastor’s sermon. Not that my father’s tears were unusual, but something about his current emotional state seemed more genuine than before.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Mama, who dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. No doubt she had a lot of emotions to work through. I thought back to my conversation with Jason yesterday about the walls I’d put up. If I had so many, I could only imagine the ones my mother needed to tear down.

  For the first time in a while, genuine compassion rose up for her situation. I couldn’t deny that most days, I got that “Don’t talk too long, please. I’m really busy” feeling where she was concerned. But not today. Today I wondered what it would feel like to walk a mile in her shoes. To be wounded by someone you loved. The Lord gripped my heart with an empathy that surprised me. I reached over and took Mama’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She looked at me, eyes widening a bit, and squeezed back.

  The calmness in my spirit lasted all day Sunday. And by the time I arose on Monday morning—thirty minutes later than usual—I was determined to have a better attitude . . . about everything.

  I rushed through the process of getting ready and headed out the door. I waved at my neighbor, who was out walking his dog—the same dog who’d yapped all night—then climbed into my car and headed to the studio.

  From inside my purse, my cell phone rang out the melody of “My Heart Will Go On,” the theme from Titanic. Seemed appropriate for how I felt. I managed to reach beneath the receipts, wallet, breath mints, and keys to fetch the phone by the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  I expected to hear my mother’s voice but did not. “Tia Morales?” The woman on the other en
d of the phone sounded like she was in a hurry.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Michelle from Dr. Kennedy’s office. We got your phone messages over the weekend about coming in for allergy testing.”

  “Yes, I need to schedule an appointment. The sooner, the better.”

  “Dr. Kennedy had a cancellation this morning. Would you like to come in now?”

  “Now?” I glanced at the clock. Eight twelve. Ack. How would I manage the roundtable reading? “How long will it take?”

  “Oh, not that long. You’ll just be coming in for a consultation. Dr. Kennedy will schedule the actual allergy testing for a later date. We can probably have you out of here no later than 9:30.”

  “I see.” Hmm. Maybe if I hurried, I could accomplish this.

  I agreed to leave right away and ended the call. Then I called Erin’s cell phone. She answered on the third ring and said she would help out by corralling the cast members into the roundtable reading room at nine o’clock, along with the writers, who would share their vision for the script. If all went as planned, I’d be in my chair by 9:45, just in time to start the read-through. Perfect.

  I exited the freeway, did a U-turn, and headed to the doctor’s office. The allergist, Dr. Kennedy, talked me through the process, explaining the tests she had scheduled for the following week. She sat at the computer, typing madly. “I would guess, based on your symptoms, that you’re allergic to dust and mold. You said you’re flipping your house?”

  “Yes.” The sneeze that followed was more coincidence than anything.

  “Mm-hmm.” She paused to type something else. “Well, I’ll check for other things too, but I’m pretty sure those triggers would be enough to cause all of this.” She gave me a pensive look. “And what about your stress level? Stress can definitely exacerbate allergy symptoms.”

  “My stress level?” I repeated her words, unable to think of an easy answer. “Oh, well, you know. I live and work in Hollywood.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I direct a television sitcom.”

  She stopped typing and turned my way. I could read the curiosity in her eyes as she asked, “Which one?”

  I’d no sooner responded than she dove into an explanation of why Stars Collide happened to be her very favorite show on television. “It’s one of the funniest shows I’ve ever seen. I can always count on it to cheer me up when I’ve had a bad day.”

  “Thank you. That’s the goal. There’s nothing like humor to get you through the rough patches.” I thought about my words, wondering why I hadn’t applied them to my life.

  Before I left, Dr. Kennedy gushed a bit more about the show, focusing on Scott and Kat. She smiled. “Hey, I read in the paper that Kat Murphy had her baby. A girl, right?”

  “Yep.” I nodded. “She’s a doll.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. And how interesting that Kat’s character, Angie, is going to have a boy. I read that just this morning.”

  “Ah.” So much for hoping our studio audience wouldn’t leak the news to the papers. Oh well. It was inevitable, I supposed.

  “I think the best part is what they’re naming the baby.” Dr. Kennedy chuckled. “It’s perfect.”

  This certainly got my attention. We’d worked hard to protect that secret. Even our own cast and crew didn’t know. We’d deliberately left the name out of the episode we’d just filmed.

  I felt myself getting nervous. “O-oh?”

  “Little Ricky. Priceless!” She laughed. “I think it’s such a great tribute to I Love Lucy. You know, I’ve always felt that Lucille Ball would have loved Stars Collide. It’s her kind of show—quirky, slapstick, filled with real humor, not the twisted stuff you see on those comedy channels.”

  She went off on a tangent about comedy shows, but she’d lost me at “Little Ricky.” Rex was going to kill me. Well, not me exactly, but someone.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you read all of this info about the show?”

  “It’s all in The Scoop.” She giggled. “I can’t believe I just confessed to reading that gossip rag. You won’t hold it against me, will you?”

  “Of course not.” Still, how and why had they run that story? And who fed them the information in the first place?

  Suddenly all of the frustrations I’d worked so hard to get rid of over the weekend came back in full glory. I somehow managed to muster a smile, then paid for my visit and left. My drive up the 405 was faster than usual. My foot felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as I headed toward the studio.

  I arrived in record time, whipped into a parking space, and stormed inside, then kept moving until I got to the conference room. My cast members looked my way as I popped my head in the door, but I couldn’t break my train of thought. “Rex?”

  “Yes?” He glanced at me, his brow wrinkling the moment he saw the concerned look on my face. He rose and took a few steps my way.

  “We need to talk,” I whispered.

  With a nod, he joined me at the door. I turned back to Erin. “Erin, do you think you could handle the roundtable reading until I get back?”

  “What do we do about the Lesleigh thing?” she asked.

  Rex looked my way. “You know that scene where the kids are with Scott at NASA and the tour guide is supposed to accidentally let them on board a real shuttle?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, Lesleigh Conroy was doing a guest appearance as the tour guide.”

  “Right . . .”

  “Apparently she’s got some sort of stomach bug and can’t be here today. We just got a call from her agent.”

  “Hmm.” I paused to think things through. “Well, it’s no big deal. It’s only Monday, right?” I glanced back inside the room. “I’ll have a courier run a copy of the script to her house. In the meantime, Erin, would you mind reading for her?”

  Erin’s eyes grew wide, but I didn’t give her a chance to say no. Instead, I slipped back out into the hallway. Knowing her aim-to-please mentality, I hoped she’d dive right in.

  Rex and I took a few steps away from the room, and I faced him, ready to get this over with. “Rex, I hate to tell you this, but someone is leaking information to the media.”

  “Leaking information?” He looked confused. “What sort of information?”

  “The news is out that Jack and Angie’s baby is a boy. Came out in the same article with the news about Scott and Kat’s baby being a girl. My doctor told me all about it.”

  “I’m surprised it took this long. But it’s not that big of a deal, Tia.”

  “They know the baby’s name, Rex.”

  “No way. No one knows that but the two of us and the writers.” He paced the hallway, saying nothing for a moment. “It’s got to be someone from the inside. Maybe the scripts are going out to the media somehow.” He released a slow breath. “Let’s go talk to Athena and the others to see what they have to say.”

  Ugh. I hated to have to do that. No doubt they would think we were accusing them in some way.

  We arrived in the writers’ room to find them hard at work, already laughing over next week’s script. Paul was pacing, and Bob was seated on the sofa with his laptop. Stephen nibbled on a piece of baklava while Athena sat at the desk, pen and paper in hand.

  “Hey, guys.”

  Athena turned to look at me. “Well, hello, strangers. Aren’t you guys supposed to be in a roundtable reading or something?”

  I noticed the tray of baklava on the coffee table and took a couple of steps that way.

  “Help yourself,” Athena said with a smile.

  I did. Between bites, I explained what had happened. Athena paled. “This is awful.” She sat on the sofa, shoulders slumped forward, then turned to face Stephen. “What do you think happened?”

  “I have no idea. We’re so careful. Don’t have a clue how someone could’ve leaked information that wasn’t even written down. You know?”

  “It is written down,” Athena said. “It’s in the script they’re reading ri
ght now.”

  “But they just got it this morning,” he argued.

  For whatever reason, we all happened to look at Bob and Paul at the same time. Bob threw his hands up in the air. “Wasn’t me. I promise.”

  “You guys know me better than that.” Paul grunted. “Besides, I need my job too much. I would never risk that.”

  True. None of them would. Still, someone had leaked the story.

  “What are we going to do?” Athena asked.

  Stephen shook his head. “Only one thing I can think of. We get the scripts back at the end of each day.”

  “The actors have to be able to memorize their lines,” I said. “Besides, I’m sure they’re not to blame. We can trust them.”

  “Even the guest stars?” Bob asked. “I’m not saying anything against Brock, just wondering if we’re safe letting those scripts go out to people we don’t know very well.”

  “I know Brock, both by reputation and in person,” Rex said. “He’s not behind this.” He turned to face me. “I want you to keep an eye on people in your department, Tia. I’ve got a strong suspicion about this. It’s definitely an inside job. So we watch and wait to see when the person strikes again. Watch is the key word. Keep an eye on everyone and everything, okay?”

  “Okay.” I shook my head, unable to process this. What kind of person would do something like this?

  I did my best to push my concerns aside as I headed back to my office, where I spent a few moments of alone time just thinking things through. Surely we’d figure this out in time.

  Now back to work. I checked my appearance in my compact mirror, noticing how tight my face looked. I did a couple of deep breathing exercises and tried to relax. No point in letting my cast and crew know I was worried about something. They would certainly pick up on it if I didn’t watch myself.

  I headed back to the conference room just in time to find everyone taking a break. Jason lingered, probably concerned by my earlier interruption to the process.

  “How did Erin do?” I asked.

  “She was great.” He nodded. “Very businesslike, but kind with the kids too. A couple of times she had to help them through their lines, but she did a fantastic job with the cast. She’s a natural leader.”