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He nods at me, looking one part proud and two parts scared. “You can do it. You’re constantly underestimating yourself.”
“I’d say I’m more of a realist.”
“No,” Gersh says. “What you are is your harshest critic.”
He’s not wrong about that. Well, I’m probably third harshest, right behind my father and this nasty little guy who reviews movies for the Harvard Crimson. He hates my guts. Planting my hand on my hip, I say, “Even if I did have what it takes to do a serious drama—and I doubt I do—who’s even going to give me a shot?”
“I’m repping a new director—Peter Ma. Super talented. Up and coming. He’s the next Scorsese. He’s working on a new project with the woman who wrote The After Wife,” Paul tells me.
“I loved that movie.” Gershwyn shakes his head and puts a fist up to his chest. “The part when she saves Olive from drowning? And then you find out Liam’s dying?”
Paul nods at him, looking suddenly verklempt. “It was too much for one family to go through.” He glances at me and winces a little when he sees the glare on my face. “Anyway, this script? It’s one hundred times better. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime role, I’m telling you,” Paul says, leaning down and flipping open his messenger bag. He pulls out a script and tosses it onto the coffee table. “Galaxy Studios has agreed to a package deal—Ma, Summers, and you.”
“What’s the catch?” Gersh asks.
Paul pauses just long enough for me to know we’re getting to something else I won’t like. “It’s a pay cut.”
“How much of a cut are we talking?”
“Like, indie film pay,” Paul tells me.
Gersh and I both cringe. Before either of us can answer, he adds, “But doing indie films is cool these days. It says to the world that the art matters more than the money. You get to be the hero that brings a big name to the film. Plus, it’s your chance to go to Sundance and Cannes. You’ll finally be taken seriously.”
My muscles feel all rubbery at the thought of having a film at the serious festivals. No way I belong there. “I’ve never wanted to be taken seriously. My whole thing is to keep it fun.”
“There’s only so long you can do that,” Paul tells me. “And I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of what’s been a great run.”
My shoulders drop and I let out a long puff of air, trying to absorb what’s happening. I’m being shuffled off stage and into oblivion, that’s what. Folding my arms, I glance down at the script. “What’s it about?”
He offers me his best salesman smile and spreads his arms out to the side as he announces, “A radio astronomer.”
I stare at him for a second, then say, “I don’t even know what that means.”
“People who study space. In this case, the astronomer in question was a man on a quest to find intelligent life in the Universe.” Pointing to the script, he says, “Here, take a look.”
My gut tightens as it always does when I’m asked to read something in front of people. Gersh, the only person other than my parents who knows the truth, gets up and swipes the script off the table, saving me from the embarrassment. “So it’s a space movie?” he asks, opening it up and flipping a few pages. “That’s almost a superhero movie.”
Paul shakes his head. “No, it’s not actually set in space. It’s historical fiction based on something called Radio Silence Day that took place in the 1920s. This guy, David Todd, convinced the US government to get the entire country to shut down all radio signals for five minutes an hour, every hour, so they could listen for signals from Mars. Quite a feat, if you think about it.”
“So, it’s a movie about something that failed,” I say.
“No, it didn’t fail. There just weren’t any Martians up there to talk to,” Paul says. “Todd was an extraordinary man. He also suffered from mental illness. It’s a complicated role, but it’s also about the strength of the human spirit and love and determination. Honestly, it’s a masterpiece. You can’t go wrong with a script like this.”
“It sounds like something we should look at,” Gershwyn says.
“Yes, you absolutely should,” Paul answers. “And I need an answer by tomorrow morning.”
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “Why so fast?”
He swallows hard. “It took a little … massaging to get them to give you the part.”
“Massaging?” Gersh asks, his face turning slightly red. “Hudson is a star. A leading man. And you’re telling us you needed to convince these guys to take him at an indie rate?” Looking over at me, he says, “I think it’s time for a new agent.”
Putting up one hand, I say, “All right, Gersh. Let’s not get crazy here. Paul’s been my champion through everything. If he says this is our only move, then it’s our only move.”
“It really is,” Paul tells me. He sighs, and I can tell he feels bad about what’s happening. “Look, you are a talented actor, Hudson. You really are.” He pauses, then adds, “This is your shot to prove it.”
Nodding, I say, “Give me the night to read it, okay?”
