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“Thanks for pointing that out.” He set the ball on his desk. “I have to make this film, Georgie. Me and nobody else. You need to convince her I’ve turned into Husband of the Year.”
“You haven’t.”
“Pretend.”
“You’re asking me for help?” Again the big-eyed Orphan Annie thing, but Georgie had always been a team player, and he figured she’d help him…after she gave him a hard time.
She put a finger to her cheek. “If I suck up to Rory for you, what do I get in return?”
“Hot sex and my undying gratitude.”
She pretended to think it over. “Nope. Not good enough.”
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“I’ll let Meg stay in the guesthouse.”
“Meg’s already staying in the guesthouse.”
“Let me put it another way. I won’t hit on her while she’s staying in the guesthouse.”
“You won’t hit on her anyway. You treat her like she’s twelve.” She finally got down to business. “I want to read the script before I meet Rory this afternoon. Hand it over.”
“I told you I’d let you see it.”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me you’d let me read it.”
“You noticed that.”
She held out her hand.
He hesitated. “You don’t exactly have the best judgment when it comes to scripts. You’re the one who made Summer in the City.”
“Pretty People, too, another stinker. And Cake Walk, which you haven’t seen yet, and which I recommend you don’t.” She wiggled her hand at him. “That’s all in the past. You’re looking at a whole new Georgie York. Give it up.”
She was no longer the pushover she’d once been, so he didn’t have much choice. He pulled the bound script from his middle desk drawer, the one she’d searched three weeks ago only to find a broken telephone. She snatched it from him before he could change his mind, gave him a cheery wave, and left.
He hated asking anybody for help, especially Georgie, and he slumped in his chair to brood. When that got him nowhere, he turned back to his computer. As good as the script had been, it still needed work, and he’d been tinkering with one scene or another from the beginning. He could imagine what Georgie would say if she learned that a high school dropout was monkeying around with Sarah Carter’s words. Or…even worse, how she’d laugh if she discovered he’d finished a script of his own.
Except she wouldn’t laugh. Unlike him, she didn’t have a cruel bone in her body, and he could even imagine her mustering up a few well-intentioned words of encouragement.
The idea stuck in his craw. He didn’t need phony encouragement from anybody, especially Georgie. He’d raised himself, screwed up his life by himself, and now he was digging out the same way. By himself.
Georgie couldn’t read fast enough, and she finished the script in two hours. It was just as amazing as the book. An incredible opportunity…and not only for Bram.
Tree House told the story of Danny Grimes, a man who’d been falsely imprisoned for sexually abusing a child. Released on a technicality, he’s forced by his father’s terminal illness to return home and face both the town and the ruthless female prosecutor, now a state senator, who hid DNA evidence to ensure his conviction. Danny’s self-imposed isolation is threatened by his suspicions that the child next door is being abused by her father. The script was powerful and heart wrenching, filled with fascinating and complex characters, none of whom were exactly what they seemed to be.
She found Bram swimming laps in the pool. She stood on the edge near the waterfall and shifted impatiently from one leg to the other, waiting for him to stop. He saw her, but he continued cutting through the water. She picked up the leaf skimmer and whapped him on the head.
“Hey!” Water flew as he spun around.
She took a deep breath. “I want to play Helene.”
“Good luck with that.” He dove under and swam for the ladder on the opposite side of the pool.
She dropped the leaf skimmer, her heart thumping with excitement. By the time she’d finished the first scene, she’d known she had to play the coldly ambitious prosecutor. This was exactly the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Playing Helene would cut through years of typecasting and give her the challenge she so desperately wanted. She strode toward the ladder. “The script is brilliant. Bone chilling, intricate, thoughtful. Everything you said it was. I have to play Helene. I mean it.”
Water sluiced down his body as he climbed out of the pool. “In case you haven’t been paying attention, I’m having a small problem getting the movie financed, so casting Helene is the last thing on my mind.”
