The Director's Cut

by Janice Thompson

  I looked at Rex, who nodded. “Our viewers will understand. Nothing—and I repeat, nothing—is more important than caring for our cast and crew. They come first, before the viewers.”

  “Amen,” I whispered, feeling completely at peace about this decision.

  We dismissed the rest of the cast, and the tech crew got busy right away, cleaning up as much as they could. I made my way back to my office, finding things topsy-turvy. Hardest hit? My Prada handbag. When the desk toppled, the bag was destroyed for the most part. Oh well. What were expensive things when my life had just been spared? I could always get another bag.

  I returned to the soundstage and joined Rex and Lenora as they helped with cleanup. We were all still badly shaken—so much so that we scarcely spoke a word as we worked alongside one another. The whole thing just felt surreal. I wanted to go home and soak in my bathtub.

  My house! Was my house still standing? Would all of the work we’d done on it be for nothing?

  Deep breath, Tia. It’s just a house.

  I released a slow, steady breath, remembering my vow to take a calmer approach to life. Of course, when I’d made that promise, I hadn’t exactly counted on an earthquake. But a promise was a promise. And if I’d ever been given an opportunity to prove that I wouldn’t overreact, this was it.

  “Tia Morales!”

  I turned as I heard the gravelly voice and saw a fellow, maybe in his forties, with a sly smile on his face.

  “James Stevens from The Scoop.”

  Now? In the middle of all of this?

  He took one look at Lenora with her hair in shambles, makeup contorted, and feather boa strewn about, and pointed to his photographer, who started snapping photos.

  “Oh no you don’t. Not this time.” Rex reached out, and I thought he might knock the camera to the ground. “No cameras allowed inside. You know that.”

  “Well, yeah, but under the circumstances, I assumed—”

  “You assumed wrong.” Rex gave him a warning look. “Now get out of here before I call for security.”

  James laughed. “I’m guessing they’re a little busy right now.”

  Lenora fussed with her hair but only made it worse. She turned to James and offered a half smile. “Mr. Holliday, it’s so great to see you.”

  “Holliday?” James snapped another photo, catching her as her hairpiece came loose.

  Lenora sighed as she attempted to maneuver it back into place. “Years from now, when you talk about this—and you will—be kind.”

  Rex slapped himself in the head and chuckled. “Even under duress, she still amazes me.”

  “Deborah Kerr, Tea and Sympathy,” Lenora said with a smile. “1956, I believe.” She turned to face Rex. “Do you remember going out to dinner with Deborah back in the late fifties? She was always such a lady. I used to aspire to be just like her.”

  “You far surpass her, my dear.” Rex took Lenora by the arm. After a couple more camera clicks, she disappeared with him down the hallway. I hoped that would be enough to send the reporter running, but it turned out he was not alone.

  “Over here, Tia,” an unfamiliar woman hollered. “Jenny Collins from Tinsel Talk. What was it like to face death and live to tell about it?”

  “Face death?” Should I tell her that facing the paparazzi was scarier than any storm we could possibly face during an earthquake? Maybe not.

  I offered a smile, gave some sort of halfhearted answer, then repeated Rex’s warning that we would call security if they didn’t leave the premises. A short time later they cleared out.

  I took a seat in the audience, still badly shaken in every respect. I looked at our set in shambles and tried to think clearly about what to do, but I couldn’t.

  Jason sat in the chair next to me, reaching for my hand. “You okay?”

  I shook my head. “That’s a question for another day.”

  “Right.” He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. “So, I’m thinking . . .”

  “Oh? This is a good time for thinking?”

  “Yeah. We should get the writers to do an earthquake episode. After today, I think we can do it justice.”

  “No way.” I turned to face him, wondering if he’d lost his mind. Probably the trauma making him crazy.

  Jason smiled. “I was just kidding, trust me. It’s the last thing on earth I would do. Just trying to find the humor in all of this.”

  “Is there humor in it?” I asked. “If so, I’m having a hard time locating it in the midst of all the rubble.”

  “I’ve always believed that we can find humor in just about anything. If I didn’t feel that way, I would’ve chosen a different show to work on.”

  “You had offers from other shows?” I’d never heard this before.

  “I did. Three, in fact. But I chose this one because Stars Collide is funny. It lifts spirits and makes people smile. It’s always been about finding the humor in life’s tragedies. Like having a baby in an elevator, for instance. Or losing the kids at NASA in a space shuttle. It’s contrived, sure, but it’s hysterical.”

  I thought back over the many episodes I’d directed. Sure enough, every single one had been a “laughter in the midst of tragedy” tale. How had I missed the message?

  I sighed. “Maybe that’s where I’ve gone wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve always been so serious. Here I am, working on the funniest show in television, and I don’t know how to laugh.”

  All of a sudden the image of Lenora with her hairpiece falling off flashed through my mind, and I got the giggles. I thought back on the sight of poor Brock flipping over the back of the sofa and almost couldn’t contain myself. I remembered trying to brace myself inside a fake doorjamb for protection and realized how funny that must’ve looked from the audience’s point of view.

  My laughter poured out, energizing me as never before. On and on I went, giggling my way through the pain. By the time I’d worked my way through the laughter, the tears took over. Cleansing, honest, refreshing tears gripped me, and I rocked back and forth, a river of emotions. Through it all, Jason held tight to my hand, tenderness pouring from his eyes. And when I looked at him with a woeful sigh, he dried my tears, told me a funny joke . . . and got me laughing all over again.

  On the Saturday after the earthquake, I stared at my partially renovated house with new eyes. All around the Los Angeles area, people had lost their homes. Mine looked as if it had been hard-hit by the earthquake—on the inside, anyway—but nothing had really changed from two days before.

  No longer would I complain, however. At least I had a home. I had a roof over my head and plenty of time—Lord willing—to get the work done. In the meantime, I would stop stressing over it and just take things as they came. Well, just as soon as I started those allergy shots. In the meantime, antihistamines were my best friend.

  I shared my allergy tale with Carlos, who took it more seriously than I’d expected. He paced my living room as I told him about my conundrum.

  “I’m not sure what to do.” I sat on my plastic-covered sofa, shoulders slumped forward. “If this renovation lasts much longer, I might have to find another place to stay because of the dust and mold. I can’t go to Mama’s because of the dog. So I’m stuck.”

  “We’ll just have to get through it quicker than we’d planned, that’s all.” He looked confident for a change. “We’ll work double-time if we have to. I won’t let you down this time. I promise.”

  “Yeah.” I looked around at the mess he and Humberto had made. “I’m grateful for your hard work. I really am. But we’re probably talking at least another month’s work, right?”

  “Yeah, at least.” He shrugged. “Look, I’m not a professional. We both know that. But I can work harder. I really can.” He hung his head, then gave me a sheepish look. “Tia, I’m really grateful for the work. I didn’t want to tell you this, but Maria and I were two months behind on our mortgage when you asked me to help out. Having the extra inco
me has saved my neck.”

  I suddenly felt about two inches tall. While I’d been fussing and fuming over sneezing, my brother and his wife and kids were facing very real problems. Sure, he’d probably caused some of them with his drinking, but maybe he was ready for a change. I hoped so, anyway.

  He sat on the sofa next to me. “This earthquake shook me up, and not just in the way you think. I’m going to be a better husband. And a better worker. You’ll see.”

  I reached to take his hand. Giving it a squeeze, I whispered, “I know you will.” I gave him a huge hug.

  He stood and took inventory of the kitchen, the next room to be remodeled. “I think I can get these old cabinets out of here today once Humberto gets here to help.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “I know how you are, Tia. You’re going to want to hang out here and help. But I’m not going to let you. Not with this allergy problem. Do you have someplace you can go?”

  “I’ve already got a plan. Jason is coming by to pick me up. We’re supposed to go to lunch and then maybe see a movie this afternoon.”

  “A movie?” My brother looked stunned at this news. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m taking a break from my work and doing something normal for a change.”

  “High five, Tia.” He put up his hand. “If anyone deserves a break, you do.”

  I sprinted up the stairs to my room, where I changed into a pair of jeans and a cute but super-casual green shirt. As I applied my makeup, I tried to remember the little tricks Benita had taught me. The results weren’t half bad. And I did a pretty good job with my hair too.

  At 11:00, Humberto arrived, ready to work. At 11:45, I opened the front door and ushered Jason inside my home for the first time. He took one look at me and grinned. “Tia, you look awesome.”

  I glanced down at my jeans and T-shirt and shrugged. “It’s the more natural version of me. The post-earthquake version.”

  “If this is the ‘all shook up’ version, then more power to you. You look amazing.”

  “Thanks.” Suddenly I felt pretty amazing.

  I pulled him further into the house, wondering what he would think about the chaos inside.

  Jason took his time looking over the work my brothers had done. “I like the banister on the stairway. Is that new?”

  “Yes. Carlos picked it out.”

  “And that crown molding? Your brothers did that?”

  “They did.” I winked. “With my help.” A sneeze followed.

  “Mm-hmm. Sounds like I need to get you out of here.”

  “Maybe. I’ve been”—another sneeze followed—“sneezing all morning.”

  I said goodbye to my brothers and we hit the road. After all of the drama and trauma of this past week, I could hardly wait for some downtime. If anyone deserved it, Jason and I did.

  As he rounded the turn off of Mulholland, Jason glanced my way, his expression serious. “Tia, I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m worried about your health.”

  “Oh, that.” I waved my hand. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll start allergy shots this coming week, and my stress level is already going down. I can feel it.” I smoothed my jeans with my palms. “Besides, I’ve already figured out how this house thing is going to end.”

  “You have?” He looked perplexed.

  “Yep. Ty Pennington is going to show up at my door one morning and holler, ‘Good morning, Morales family!’ Then I won’t have to finish this house by myself.”

  “I’m pretty sure Extreme Makeover: Home Edition doesn’t come to Bel Air.” He chuckled.

  “Hey, you never know. They might consider it. My allergies are serious business, mister.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He focused on the road. “Well, speaking of which, I’ve come up with an idea that just might work for both of us.”

  “What idea?”

  Jason gave me a quick glance before crossing over the 405. “I think we should switch houses.”

  “Switch houses?”

  “Yes. You can stay at my place and I’ll stay at yours. That way you’ll be in a safe environment and I’ll be able to supervise your brothers. And I could help them. I enjoy home improvement stuff. I’ve always been pretty good at it.”

  “You . . . you would do that for me?”

  He grinned. “Tia, I’d do a thousand times more. I need you to be healthy.”

  I was so floored by his offer that I didn’t know what to do. In my thirty years of living, I’d never had anyone offer to look after me in such a caring way.

  I’d just started to gush over him when my phone rang. I saw Mama’s number and wondered why she’d picked this morning to call when she knew I had a date. Her first words totally threw me.

  “Tia, I need you.”

  “Mama, I’m right in the middle of a date with Jason, remember? We’re going to lunch and then a movie.”

  She choked back a sob. “Tia, I had to call 911. Your father’s on his way to the emergency room.”

  “W-what? What happened?”

  Jason, probably alarmed at the sound of my voice, slowed the vehicle and pulled off the road.

  “I don’t know, honey.” She switched to Spanish, her words flying by so fast I could hardly make them out. “I was in the kitchen getting things ready for tomorrow. He was working on that hole in the Sheetrock in Gabe’s room when all of a sudden he started having chest pains. I thought it was indigestion—you know how much he loves my chorizo and eggs—but it didn’t go away. Then . . . ” She began to cry. “Then he clutched his chest and told me to call 911.”

  “Oh, Mama.”

  “When the paramedics got here, your daddy’s heart rate was way too high, and they hooked him up to an IV. He’s on his way to the ER, and I’m in my car, following the ambulance.”

  “Where?”

  “CHW.”

  “CHW? Jason and I are on our way.”

  I ended the call and looked Jason’s way, feeling almost as shaky as I had after the earthquake.

  “Your dad?” he asked.

  “Mama had to call an ambulance. I think he’s had a . . .” The lump in my throat wouldn’t let me finish. I planned to say “heart attack” but hated to voice the words.

  “I heard you say CHW. Is that where he is?”

  I nodded, and Jason put on his turn signal, heading south. “Good thing it’s Saturday. Won’t be a lot of traffic.” He pointed the car in the direction of the hospital, and we arrived twenty-five minutes later.

  Mama met me in the waiting room, and we went into my father’s room together. Seeing him hooked up to all of those tubes almost sent me into a panic, but I managed to keep things under control.

  The heart monitor kept a fast and chaotic beat. The doctor couldn’t find evidence of a heart attack but was extremely concerned by my father’s high blood pressure and erratic heartbeat. Dad was immediately put on IV fluids and given several medications. After a few minutes, he fell asleep.

  My brothers and sister arrived in short order, and we all remained at our father’s side throughout the afternoon. Around four o’clock, I managed to talk the others into going to the cafeteria for some food. My mother resisted, but I knew she needed to get out of the room for a while, so I suggested Jason go with her. He readily agreed. My mother, on the other hand, did not. I found it interesting that, after all the times my father had left her, she now refused to leave him.

  “Mama, let me sit with him for a while,” I said. “You go get something to eat.”

  After a couple minutes of arguing, she finally agreed. She and Jason walked toward the cafeteria with the others, and I remained in the room.

  A few minutes later, my father awoke. He looked my way and stretched out his hand, muttering something I couldn’t quite make out. I stood and grabbed his outstretched hand.

  “Tia, what are they saying?”

  I tried to keep my voice on an even keel. “The doctor said it wasn’t a heart attack
. But they’re going to run tests. And you’ve got to take it easy.”

  “I can’t take it easy.” He tried to sit up but struggled to do so. “I have so much work to do around the house. I owe it to your mama. She’s put up with that beat-up old house too long.”

  “She’ll understand, Daddy.”

  He shook his head and a tear rolled down one cheek. After a moment of silence, he gestured for me to come closer. “Tia, I have to tell you something.” His voice cracked. “And I need you to listen.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I’d seen him cry before. He’d turned it into an art form. But I’d never witnessed anything as gut-wrenching as the tears that now flowed. After a couple minutes, he managed to get himself under control. Good thing, because his heart monitor went off. The nurse came in the room, fixed the machine, and adjusted the drip level on his IV. She took one look at his tearful state and insisted he remain calm and quiet. He nodded in response.

  After the nurse left the room, he looked up at me, teary-eyed. “I love your mama, Tia.” Tears now ran like a river down his cheeks. “I can’t explain why I’ve hurt the one and only person who’s ever truly loved me for me—in spite of myself.” He paused and dabbed at his eyes. “If it takes the rest of my life, I’m going to make it up to her. She’s going to have the husband she always wanted.”

  I wanted to respond, but the lump in my throat got in the way. Looking into my father’s tear-filled eyes, I couldn’t help but believe him. He’d laid bare his soul, and this time it was legitimate. Perhaps the decision to turn his life around had happened in the trenches—the ER—and I had the strongest sense he would not go back on this promise.

  “Daddy, you’re going to get well, but it’s going to take resting and doing what the doctor says. You’re not a kid anymore.”

  “You’re telling me.” He smiled. “Okay, I’ll do what they say. I have to get well. I want to dance at my daughter’s wedding.”

  “Beni’s getting married?” If so, I’d certainly missed the memo. Sure, she’d talked about marrying Bob, but . . . to actually do it?

  “Not Beni.” My father shook his head. “You, of course. I want to do the father-daughter dance with you after walking you down the aisle. I can’t do any of that from a hospital bed.”