Page 22 of Second Act
“You can type it up tomorrow. We are finished.” It had taken five weeks, and Andy thought it was the best script he’d ever written. He had twenty years more maturity to bring to the process now, greater insight and deeper emotions. “Dash had better get us a first-class cast and director, I don’t want to waste this on a bunch of novices.” But he already knew they had a fine actress in Marilyn Gray as their star. She was an extraordinary actress, and although she was young, in her mid-thirties, there was tremendous range to her performances, and a wide variety of roles to her credit. And Dash was in negotiations with a brilliant director who loved the script so far. Henry Mason, the director, was expensive but well worth it if he agreed to do the film.
Andy was excited and needed time to wind down. It was an incredible feeling, knowing that they’d finished. He could hardly wait for Dash to read it.
“Thank you for working so hard,” Violet said, looking at him gratefully. “The script is even better than what I wrote.”
“No, it’s just different. It’s what you wrote with all the visuals to go with it. I hope we get the director we want to pull all that emotion out of the actors.” What Andy knew of the real story had given the script more color and poignancy, and he had written someterrifying scenes too. It was much harder to do than anything he’d written before, because he cared so much about it, and wanted Violet to love it. And she did. She was too wound up to just go home and go to bed too. Andy opened a bottle of wine, and they sat in the kitchen, celebrating.
He’d had three glasses of wine by the time they finished talking about the script, and she’d had two. “I’m not sure I should drive you home,” he said. “And I don’t trust you on your bicycle.” She wasn’t sure she did either. She had a slight buzz from the wine, exhilaration, and fatigue. “Do you want to stay here tonight, in one of the guest rooms?” She hadn’t been upstairs or slept there since she lived there, and he was afraid it might be a bad déjà vu for her, but an accident on her bicycle would be too.
“I guess I could,” she said hesitantly. The alternatives didn’t seem wise to her either. “It’s been a long time. I have to get past it,” she said bravely. The worst had happened at the castle Gabriel owned, and that had been taken away from him too, just as the house in Winchelsea Beach was. The castle had sold quickly. Everything he owned had been purchased with money he had cheated people out of. His victims had gotten some money back, but pathetically little.
Andy and Violet left their glasses and the wine bottle in the kitchen, with barely a drop left in it, and left everything as it was in their respective offices, the library and dining room, and walked up the stairs together, with a feeling of elation, having finished the script.
“I’ll sleep in the yellow room,” she said with a yawn. It was the room next to his. And he headed to his dressing room to brush histeeth and undress, and gave a start when he saw her standing in the doorway, looking embarrassed. Her hair was loose and tangled. And he had his shirt off and was just wearing his jeans.
“Can I borrow a pajama top?” she asked shyly, and he put his toothbrush down and smiled at her.
“You could if I owned one. How about a shirt?” He took a perfectly ironed blue Hermès shirt off a rack and handed it to her. She looked so fragile as he stood looking at her, he didn’t want to frighten her or take advantage of her. She felt odd being upstairs with him, in what had once been her bedroom. “Are you going to be okay, Vi?” She nodded and without even meaning to, he put his arms around her and kissed her. He couldn’t stop himself. He had known for over a month that he was in love with her, and had done everything he could not to show her. She was nineteen years younger and had been through so much, but she was kissing him back, with her delicate hands touching his chest, which sent shivers through him.
“I’m sorry, Vi,” he said in a hoarse voice when they stopped kissing.
“I love you,” she said simply, and reached up to kiss him again. It was more than he could resist, and he followed her to the bedroom next to his and closed the door behind them. They were on the bed together an instant later, their clothes on the floor in a heap, their hunger for each other insatiable. It didn’t matter who they were or where they’d been or what they’d done, their bodies and souls merged instantly and they lay as one, swept away on the tides of the passion that had been drawing them together since they’d met. Inexorably, unavoidably, irresistibly, it had been the only possible outcome right from the beginning. Andy felt as though he had comehere to meet her, and she had come back to this house of sorrow to find love and joy again.
They were both breathless when their lovemaking ended, and she clung to him as he held her.
“Are you okay?” he whispered in the room lit by moonlight, and she smiled and nodded. “I love you. Are you okay with this?” He didn’t want to upset her, but she was smiling in the moonlight.
“I love you too. This is the way I wanted the story to end.” She couldn’t stop smiling as he held her.
“Me too. I thought I was too old for you, and I didn’t want to take advantage of you,” he whispered.
“You didn’t.” She giggled. “I didn’t really need the shirt, I sleep naked.” He laughed out loud then.
“You little minx. And you got me drunk!” They both laughed then, and neither of them was drunk as he pulled her closer and they made love again. The script was finished, and their story had just begun, whatever their jobs, or lack of them, or histories. Their time had come.
Chapter 11
Violet wore Andy’s shirt with her jeans the next morning, and they both looked like guilty children when Mrs. MacInnes showed up for work. She made no comment, but there was just the smallest hint of a smile on her lips when she asked them what they wanted for breakfast. She could figure out what had happened before she saw the yellow bedroom, and the bed in the master suite Andy hadn’t slept in. He had thought of opening it and rumpling the sheets a little before they went downstairs and decided not to bother. They were both single adults and free to do what they wanted. And Violet had the distinct impression that Mrs. MacInnes was happy for them. The housekeeper had hated Gabriel when she worked for him and Violet, and thought that Andy was a fine man, and would be good to Violet. She knew firsthand that Violet had been to hell and back.
—
Andy called Dash after breakfast and told him he’d finished the script.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you’re fast.”
“It looks a mess. I made some of the changes by hand, but I can send it to you digitally.”
“That would be great.”
Violet sent it to him a few minutes later, and Dash called them two hours later, stunned.
“You nailed it, Andy. It’s the best damn script I’ve seen in years. You’ve been wasting your time in that fancy office of yours at Global. You should go back to screenwriting. It’s fantastic. We’re in. We are all in. I’ve got a list of possibilities for the cast. I’ll send it to you and we can talk about it. The director told me yesterday he’ll do it and wants approval of the cast, which I said we’d give him. I’ll start making calls as soon as you approve the list. I want to start shooting at the end of August. We should be able to get all the cast contracts signed in the next few weeks. Everyone on the list is available.” It was happening. They had done it. Violet’s movie was going to be made.
Violet went home to change clothes after breakfast, and she came back in a pretty blue cotton flowered summer dress.
“We have to go to London, you know,” Andy said to her, and she looked panicked. He kissed her as soon as she walked in the door. “And by the way, I love your dress.” She looked young and feminine, and she’d worn her hair down, which he liked best, but had never dared say to her before. A whole new vista had opened up in front of them after the night before.
“Why do we have to go to London?”
