55. Will
WILL
“Another?” Nandi held the pitcher of margaritas over my empty glass.
I shook my head. I hated waiting, especially for bad news. It didn’t help that Enrique, Andy, and Ryan were splashing around in the pool like they were on spring break.
“They’re going to love it. How could they not? Even the rough cut Michelle put together is amazing. And the final scene is just . . .” Nandi trailed off, dabbing at her eyes. “See, I’m crying just thinking about it.”
We’d shot the musical number a few times, and it had gone well.
Then Michelle had had the idea to include Ryan, even though James hadn’t been there when his father died.
Ryan had entered on the second chorus, and though the harmonies had been far from perfect, the imperfection had made it even better.
We’d all agreed the first take was the best because it was raw and messy and unrehearsed.
I smiled and nodded, wishing I believed Nandi. I picked up my phone and was surprised to see only a minute had passed since I’d last checked.
The ball shot from the pool and narrowly missed my father, who was asleep on a lounge chair. “Sorry, Robert,” Enrique called.
My father opened his eyes and smiled, then drifted back to sleep.
Half an hour later, Mom came out. She’d been on the phone with the studio executives for the past two hours, and now she made a beeline for the margaritas. Not a good sign.
I sat forward in my chair. “That bad, eh?”
“I’m just going to be blunt,” she said, as if that were a novelty.
I was glad Andy had taken Dad up to his room so he didn’t have to witness this.
“They were very impressed with the footage, but they don’t think they can turn a profit with you starring, not with your reputation the way it is.
They’re not even convinced the Academy will go for it as an awards contender, even with the narrative that it’s Robert’s last chance to win an Oscar.
Plus, Derek is still under contract, and replacing him won’t be cheap. ”
I slumped. Still, I managed a small nod.
“They want you to do an interview,” Mom said.
I stared blankly back at her.
“Like late night?” Ryan asked, clearly just as confused.
Mom shook her head, her hair uncharacteristically messy, like she’d just come up from the beach. “No, not like late night. Probably Dateline, or maybe 20/20. We’ll have to see who bites.”
They’d all fucking bite. I’d be like a puppy swimming across the crocodile-infested Nile.
“Fuck,” Enrique said, which pretty much summed it up.