Amara Bellamy isten minutes early to our one-on-one meeting.
I love her already.
We rush through the hellos, and I can’t help it—five minutes in, I’m fangirling. She’s the one person who can make me feel small and starstruck, even though I’m here, too, with my name on the poster. She exudes confidence in her red power suit and matching nails. She’s nothing like other directors I’ve met.
The late afternoon sun filters through the director’s tent, the cool breeze carrying the scent of sandalwood as she moves. The headlines have been perfect lately—Sinclair Goes Rogue—andwith the reporters gone back to LA, the set has become quiet, turning back into a sanctuary.
We decided to keep our return to the redwoods under wraps, allowing us time to rebuild the movie in peace.
Amara’s laptop clicks open, her Hobonichi Techo journal already marked with colorful tabs and notes.
“Before we bring in the producers,” she says, her pen hovering over fresh paper, “I want to explore your interest in directing. This movie could be a sort of apprenticeship, if you want it, since you’ve been on set this entire time. On the call, you seemed to have a clear vision of where you want the movie to go. I thought we could help each other.”
My throat tightens with unexpected emotion. Sure, I mentioned my interest in directing on our original call, but with the timeline being so tight, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But she’s right here, offering to make it real.
“I would be honored,” I say, pinching myself under the table.
“I’ve carefully reviewed Felix’s footage.” She taps on her laptop’s mouse pad three times, bringing it to life. “The good news is we can keep a significant portion of the establishing shots, character introductions, and dialogue scenes. It’s mainly the action sequences and character development scenes that need reshooting to properly capture Robyn’s essence. With our current schedule, we can absolutely complete everything within the original timeline. What do you think about this approach?”
“Oh, thank the heavens!” I throw up my hands. “That sounds perfect.”
Her shoulders slacken, like she was up all night figuring out how to tell me that she hated Felix’s cut.
“I knew I liked you.” She wiggles her manicured fingers together. “Also, I’m so sorry, but I can’t stop staring at your arms. They look insane!”
“Thank you. It’s great to be strong for a change.” I rub a hand over my bicep.
“Robyn will need your strength, especially since I’m bringing on a female trainer for you since Nick left with Felix. Unless you’d rather have Dante train you?”
“I love training with Dante,” I admit, “but having female trainers would be great too. Sometimes guys don’t quite—”
“Understand how women’s bodies work?
“Exactly!” Though Dante, my traitorous mind reminds me, seems to understand my body just fine. I clear my throat and my thoughts. “I’d love a female trainer, and it would be nice to run choreography with the crew and stunt team before we start filming. It’ll give us a week to sync up before the other actors return to set.”
“Wasn’t that happening before?” Amara’s brow furrows.
“Felix had different ideas aboutauthenticity,” I explain.
“Usually, I run all the choreography at the table read before we start filming. But since we won’t be starting from square one, we’ll do run-throughs in the gym on Sundays—to make sure everything looks good before we continue shooting on Mondays.”
“That’s excellent,” I agree.
I lean back, calculating. “Barely two weeks after our original wrap date with Felix. Can we really do it?”
“Oh, we’re doing it,” she says. “My team’s the best, and since you’re backing this financially, we’re giving you everything we’ve got.”
I’ll miss my weekly Sunday outings with Dante, but this movie is my first priority.
She snaps back into business mode as she opens up a file called “costume sketches.” And goodness, they are beautiful.
My eyes widen. A structured green tunic that allows for movement, tactical pants with real pockets, and boots made forrunning and fighting. The leather armor suit for combat scenes looks powerful without being exploitative. Finally, clothing designed for action, not the male gaze.
Hours fly by as we plot action sequences, hair and makeup, and character arcs. The sexy, clumsy Robyn of Felix’s vision dissolves, replaced by a fighter who knows her worth. Every training schedule, every choreography note, every minor script revision aligns with this new truth.
“Do you have any scenes you’re concerned about?” she asks when she notices my lingering gaze on the underwater sequence storyboards. “What made you nervous about filming with Felix?”
I hesitate, then exhale. With her, I feel safe enough to be honest. “To be fully transparent, I’m afraid of diving underwater. But I’ve been working on it, and I want to do it myself—no stunt double. But wearing armor makes it more terrifying, especially the thought of struggling to breach the surface. And I don’t want to do it the way Felix suggested, with that unnecessarily revealing costume.”
