Page 2 of The Quiet Rebuild

Stanley coughed. “Okay? Do you have an idea?” He let the silence hang before he asked, “You think you could write it better?”

“Of course not,” Taylor said, although she was pretty sure she could have. Not that she’d had any writing training, but come on. This was flaccid. This was pathetic.

Stanley turned and beckoned the scriptwriter over. Taylor thought she might melt with embarrassment on the spot. She told herself to remain strong. She was Taylor Charron. She had more money than any of these people—and more power, too. Surely.

“What’s up?” the scriptwriter, whose name was David, asked.

“Taylor thinks there’s something up with her lines,” Stanley said.

David’s eyes flickered. “Didn’t you read the script before this morning?” His question was, Why is this happening now, rather than weeks or months ago? Which was a valid question.

“I did, but…” Taylor looked over at Chase, who avoided her eye contact again. If Chase hadn’t said anything about the script, would she have taken issue with it? Would she have made this big of a show?

“I really think we can do better. Maybe we should scrap today and take it back to the drawing board?”

“I don’t think that’s up to you,” David said, coughing with disbelief.

“This is my movie,” Taylor said, raising her chin.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” David shot back.

Stanley scraped his fingers through his hair. He was sweating. When Taylor glanced around, she saw that almost everyone else was glistening with sweat, as well. Not only was she making everyone nervous but she was taking up time. She was making everyone wait in this awful heat.

But she reasoned now, as her thoughts raced—nobody else’s career rode as heavily on this film. Her name was the name on the marquee. Her name was the name associated with it. If this film flopped, then her career would continue to flop—maybe forever. Maybe this would be the last time she was ever on a film set! She imagined months from now, when Jason’s film came out alongside hers. There would be articles comparing their careers. There would be interviews with her, asking how she felt about Jason’s career. And she’d have to lie and say, “We support each other in everything. I love his work, and he loves mine.” And all the while, she and Jason would know in their heart of hearts that he’d made a brilliant film, and she’d made a stinker. And maybe, just maybe, he’d use that as a reason to leave her.

No, she thought. Jason wouldn’t leave her. He couldn’t. They’d been through too much. They were really and truly in love, linked forevermore. Jason didn’t care if her movie tanked. But she cared. And wasn’t that enough?

“I really don’t feel comfortable reading the lines as they are,” Taylor said now, flaring her nostrils.

At this, David threw his copy of the script on the ground. “They said you were difficult, but this is something else,” he said.

One of the assistant directors bustled up, asking, “What seems to be the problem?” She was eager to fix this. She was eager to make this work, whatever it was. They’d flown everyone over to Tokyo. They’d come this far.

But Taylor was shivery with rage. She needed to make them all understand.

“We wouldn’t be here without me,” she said.

“We all would be here,” David said, moving his finger in a dramatic circle. “But in the place of you would be some other washed-up actress. Maybe Margorie Malallen or Rhonda Sikes or Paula Bern. It would be some other previously beloved television actress who couldn’t make it in the big leagues. We’re riding the coattails of nostalgia, baby. Don’t pretend you’re not along for that very same ride.”

Taylor gaped at him, aghast. The assistant director looked like she might faint.

Finally, Taylor looked at the assistant director and said, “I think he should be asked to leave set?”

Taylor could feel all pairs of eyes on her, watching her spiral. She knew she needed to pull it together. She knew she needed to go to her private room, take a bath, and call Jason. She imagined what Jason would say: Honey, these people can’t understand what you’ve been through. Honey, they’re just ants on our journey. She tried to smile about that, but it felt false. And Jason’s voice felt at a great distance, even in her imagination.

And then, David the scriptwriter exploded with rage.

“They said you were difficult to work with. They said you were delusional,” he said. “But I can’t sit by and watch you waste our time. Is this script the next Godfather? Is it Dog Day Afternoon? Absolutely not. Is it going to help me feed my children back in Los Angeles? Yes. That’s all that matters to me. Now, I know you don’t have a lot to care about. I know you never had children, and I know you had a messed-up career and childhood. I know your husband cheats on you and cheats on you and cheats on you, and I know you refuse to acknowledge it.”

At this, Taylor’s jaw went slack. David continued his barrage, but Taylor could no longer hear him. Your husband cheats on you and cheats on you. What did he mean? Jason had never cheated on her. Taylor and Jason were one of Hollywood’s most beloved couples. He wouldn’t do that to her, not after everything she’d been through, not after everything they’d been through together. He wouldn’t embarrass her like that.

Stanley looked stricken, his face gray. The assistant director couldn’t look at her any longer, and many on-set people were muttering to one another. Taylor knew she had to stand up for herself.

“I don’t know why you’d disrespect me like that,” Taylor said to David.

“About what? About your career? About your talent?” David looked haughty. “Oh, don’t tell me it’s about Jason? Come on. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

Taylor filled her lungs. “I’m going to leave the set now. Let me know when your scriptwriter gets a grip,” she said, turning on her heel and marching past the camera.