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“She’s an actress,” Kyle was saying, scrolling through his phone. “We can find a photo. Sam said her last name was something like Kingsford…”
“Kyle, I swear—” Dillon looked to Georgina for help. “Georgie—”
The girl shook her head. “Sorry, Sinc. Mates judge dates. It’s our duty.”
With no help from Dillon, the trio managed to pull up a photo of one of Kameryn’s headshots on IMDb. She looked a couple years younger, her hair a little shorter, but Kameryn all the same.
“Who the hell names their kid Kameryn E. Kingsbury? Makes her sound like she came from a line of long dead members of parliament.” Kyle scrolled the page while the other two looked over his shoulder.
“I’ll concede—she’s hot.” Harry shot Dillon a thumbs up, to which she returned the finger. He grinned. “I swear, in my next life, I’m going to be a lesbian. I don’t know how you land the women you do, Sinc. Kelsey Evans. That one proper fit ting on the German team.Thisgirl,” he flicked a finger at Kyle’s screen. “What the hell do you have, that I don’t?”
“Charm,” Georgina cut in, “manners, humor, good hygiene—”
“Whose side are you on? The two of you might as well bloody date—”
“Don’t give them any ideas,” Kyle sipped his beer. “He’s got a point, though. It’s not right, the girls you date—”
“To be clear: we aren’t dating. I hardly know her.”
“Right. Because you fly halfway across the globe for every lass that knocks you off your feet.” He winked. “Pun intended.”
“Look at this!” Harry’s voice rose an octave in his excitement. “She was the voice of Relay inDragon Kingdom II! My sister loves that movie.”
Kyle wagged his eyebrows. “You struck gold, Sinc. Your Hollywood superstar was the voice of a polka-dotted dragon in a kid’s cartoon. Big winner, there. Hope you’re the one paying for dinner. I doubt those royalties will buy dessert.”
“If you’d run a little faster this morning, I may have been able to afford it,” Dillon shot back, but she couldn’t hide her smile. Even Kyle’s petty jealousy—or their second-place loss—couldn’t put her in a bad mood.
Scene 13
It was unlikely the sight of an eighty-one-year-old woman sitting in a plushly upholstered armchair would strike fear into the hearts of most people they encountered, but in my case, the moment I stepped over the threshold and laid eyes on the silver head of hair, I froze, immobilized with panic.
This wasn’t justanyeighty-one-year-old woman. This was Margaret Gilles.TheeMargaret Gilles. The author ofSand Seekers.
This was the woman who had stood toe-to-toe with the most powerful studio executives in Hollywood, for more than forty years, denying them the rights to turn her creation into a motion picture. The woman who penned a trilogy so epic, it had been translated into thirty-nine languages and sold more than 150 million copies worldwide, bypassingLord of the Rings.
The woman who, five years ago when Spielberg had famously tried to woo her with the promise of “immortalization,” had clapped back on the cover ofVoguewith the quote “don’t think you can dangle a rhinestone in front of a woman’s face and tell her it’s more valuable than the diamonds she already owns. I may be old, Mr. Spielberg, but I’m not an idiot.” She’d gone on in the article to explain that eight-figure offers and guarantees of idolization were not something she was interested in. She had money. The fans had already canonizedSand Seekersand givenher more than she ever dreamt of.What would it take for her to sign on the dotted line, allowing her words to be put to screen,the journalist had queried.
“Authenticity,” had been her answer. “I want the story done justice.”
It had been an admirable display of conviction, of belief in one’s art, and holding true to one’s own ideals.
And somehow, five years later, for reasons I couldn’t begin to fathom, it had been Waylon MacArthur who convinced the stubborn Iowa author he was the man to tell her tale.
She’d accepted an offer from Universal for less than half of the other proposals on the table in order to maintain creative authority on the film.
But because of her famous principles and devout dedication to seeing her beloved characters done justice on the silver screen, it sent me into a tailspin when I walked into the table read and found the frail, hunchbacked, gray-haired woman sitting beside L.R. at the head of the room. She was smiling warmly, welcoming the actors who would turn her words and imagination into a living, breathing being.
I’d already been suffering from an intense wave ofwhat-ifself-doubts. What if I wasn’t the right person for the project? What if I was too inexperienced, too boring, too…me? What if L.R. had made a huge mistake? What if today, at this first read-through, they realized I was nothing more than a fraud?
It was imposter syndrome at its finest.
It hadn’t been until the complete script arrived three days earlier that I’d gone into full panic mode. I’d been wavering on uncertainty, but it was nothing like the surge of terror that struck me after finishing the screenplay, when I’d come to realize the magnitude of the role in which I would play.
I’d read the books. Four times I’d read the books. Beginning in junior high, when I discovered the series at the ScholasticBook Fair, and then again when I first heard about Universal’s obtainment of the rights. And twice more over the months I’d been auditioning.
I’d felt I had a solid understanding of the character arch, the plot, the message. I was comfortable with what I thought Margaret Gilles wished to convey.
In short: I’d felt prepared.
