Now Wilhelmina
Now WILHELMINA
M y heart zips up into my throat at the sight of him, here. “Dax, what’re you—why are you—how did you—?”
Everything I want to say, every question, apology and accusation goes into the blender inside my skull.
“I’m sure I’m the last person you want to see right now,” he says, hanging back a respectful distance. “But I’d like to talk, if that’s okay.”
I’m literally stunned. Did he teleport? Fly his little Lego starship across the country to come after me? I want to throw up and cry and laugh simultaneously.
Goosebumps prickle along my arms.
I get up and brush off my jeans, avoiding his eyes. My hand works its way into my hair, pushing it off my face and pinning it hard behind my ear. “I don’t—I don’t really want to...”
“Yeah, I figured,” says Dax gently. “So, I’ll talk, okay?” He takes a deep breath. “The other night? I drank too much trying to keep up with Max Perry—who, by the way, must be, like, made of scotch at this point. Like, I’m pretty sure he ordered a barrel, and drank most of it himself.”
Affection for Dax starts creeping. First up from my stomach where it flutters to life, then crawling up along my ribs towards my mouth. “He looks like a barrel, so that tracks.”
Daxon laughs. “Oh, totally. Totally barrel-shaped.”
My lip twitches up and then falls back into a measured frown just as quickly. I study Dax’s hand where it hangs at his side. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to hear it from Katrina in a freaking bathroom?”
His fingers flex and contract. He’s serious. Unsmiling now. “I think, at the time, it was because I didn’t want you to hate me. But thinking about it now, it was because I was so in love with you and the idea of hurting you and then admitting to it out loud was...”
“I don’t hate you,” I tell him quietly, filling the silence he’s left. “I could never hate you.”
I’m surprised by how much Dax’s face goes soft with relief. Even his shoulders relax a little, as the weight lifts. Did he really think...
“Wil, I wish I could go back and do everything differently. I would tell you that I wanted to go to Yale. Before I got in, or even applied, I would’ve told you. And I would’ve said that you should come with me. I would’ve insisted. And we would’ve let the show, let Marnie and Dougie go, together, the way it should’ve been.”
It’s funny. A second ago, my heart was flat, barely beating.
But it’s so loud now that someone could hear it from the back row.
My eyes fill with tears, and when I let out a laugh, they fall.
“If we’re time-traveling here, can we go back and lock Katrina in a bathroom on the day she met my dad?”
Dax throws me a slow, building smile that crinkles at his eyes and flips my stomach. He licks his lip. “I Jell-O’d her car.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“Her vintage Aston Martin is currently full of strawberry Jell-O. Well, by now, it’s definitely melted so it’s full of strawberry... goop?”
Oh my god. I squint at him. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
Daxon’s smile grows wide and boyish and excited, and the blood in my body rushes to my face. “It took forever. My hands are stained.” He holds up his palms, and sure enough they’re vaguely pink.
“Oh shit, you committed -committed.” I laugh again and it feels good.
Dax laughs, too. “I go all-in, Wilhelmina.” There’s a long few seconds of silence between us. Not awkward, really, but not completely comfortable yet. “Listen, I told Greg that I’d try and convince you not to walk away from this. To come back and finish the movie. And I do want that to happen. I want you to come back and do this with me—with us—but I don’t want you to think that’s the only reason why I’m here.”
The quiet in 7B is pressing and the weight of it is heavy. It sits between us for a little while until I can cook up the right thing to say.
What do I want?
I don’t want to be known as a quitter or as unreliable or flaky. And as much as Marnie made me, as much as finding her here on this stage turned me from a hyperactive child to a performer, I don’t want to be defined by one character.
I would so much rather be myself.
Lila is the best bet for getting there.
“You Jell-O pranked for me?” I ask him fondly.
He lets out a sigh, soft and easy. He gets bashful. “I’d Jell-O kill for you, Chase.”
We laugh. We laugh so hard. And it’s the most beautiful sound after so much fear and guilt. I hold my hand out to him and Daxon walks to me and takes it.
“Let’s finish it.”
“Yeah?” He’s grinning.
“Yeah.” I’m grinning back at him. We stand there for a long moment, holding each other. I press my face into his chest and breathe in the smell of home. “But we have to do something first.”
Dax loosens his grip so he can look down into my face. I tip my chin up, meeting his eyes, and he stares back, quizzical.
“What’s that?”
I untangle my arms from around him and then reach for his hand. Tug him along after me downstage towards the front row. Inadvertently, I hit a mark taped to the floor. It’s like a second has passed since I was here last. But also a hundred years. Dax stands next to me, and we breathe in the familiarity of 7B.
“I love you, Marnie. Thank you for what you gave me. Goodbye.”
I can feel Daxon’s eyes on me, but I’m staring out into the dark audience seats one last time, taking in the stage lights above our heads, the way the air smells in here. Like a dream that came true.
“Thanks, Dougie, you smug little asshole, for everything. It’s not you, it’s me.”
My hips pivot towards Dax, our hands still clasped.
“Okay,” I say, “I’m ready.”
TO THE STARS – OFFICIAL SCRIPT
EXT. BATTLEFIELD – NIGHT – 1944
The night air is quiet after a day of nonstop bullet-fire and the screams of young men leaving this world. Smoke rises weakly from the trenches dug through the French countryside. Voices are hushed. Cries are stifled.
There are small signs of life here and there: Two men crouch over a pot of coffee. Another nearby smokes a cigarette to the stub with a shaking hand, crying silently as he reads a letter from home.
INT. AMERICAN MEDICAL TENT – NIGHT
We follow at the shoulder of a nurse walking the length of cots lined against the side of the tent, each holding a man more badly wounded than the last. She stops at a new arrival. We pan up to reveal that the nurse is...
LILA, now in her early twenties, still beautiful, still with an air of upper-class elegance despite showing the wear of wartime.
LILA
(to another nurse beside her)
They just keep coming, don’t they? Let’s clean and wrap that foot. We’ll check it again tomorrow at first light. Is this the only new one?
NURSE
One more came in earlier. Bullet wound to the shoulder.
LILA walks across the length of the tent. She’s consulting a chart of notes for each patient, her eyes tired, her mind somewhere else. She stops at the foot of the new soldier’s bed and she lowers the notes. We see her face change from sobriety to recognition.
LILA
Nick?