Love and Other Hollywood Endings

One

ONE

EXT. THE VASTNESS OF SPACE—ETERNAL NIGHT.

PAN across an unfamiliar star field to a bright orange-and-white planet. The camera tilts down, zooming in at a million miles a second, piercing the atmosphere until we see:

EXT. THE DESERT WASTELAND OF KARTH—DAY

The Quantum Wraith is no more. The once-proud spacecraft, a sleek corvette that sliced through the heavens controlled by the Maro Empyreal, now lies in shards scattered among the tall cacti and sharp red rocks of the hostile planet Karth.

The wreckage glints in the hot golden rays of the sun. piece, larger than the rest, still smolders—the former cockpit of the Wraith . Amid the gray smoke, a hatch suddenly pops open and a human figure emerges, coughing, sputtering, their movements slow with pain but also with urgency as they free themselves from the wreckage. They attempt to stand on the roof of the cockpit, but their left leg gives out and they tumble to the harsh sand below. Their face hidden by the full visor of their helmet, they look up at the cockpit looming above them, and then they start scrambling away from the wreck, using their hands, elbows and knees as best they can, their movements frantic. The reason for the haste becomes evident when the smoke appearing in the background begins to build, turning black and oily. Then flames lick at the hatch—

KAPOW!

The remains of the cockpit ignite. The human throws their arms over their head to protect themselves from the flames and debris (to be added in post-production). When the imminent danger is past, the human rolls over onto their back, pushing a button that retracts the full visor.

The camera pans in to reveal LYS AMARGA, the pilot of the Quantum Wraith . She’s alive. For now. Because Lys, wincing, presses her hand to her side, then holds her palm to her eyes, and we see the bright blood dripping between her fingers.

LYS: Still beats prison—

“O h, shit, I said the wrong word again, didn’t I?”

“Cut!” The command came immediately.

Xavier Duval took his gaze off the video monitor and exited his folding chair. His barked order caused an entire village of people, who previously had been silent and frozen in place, to go into quick but practiced action. The large Arriflex camera, suspended on a long metal gimbal programmed to follow Lys’s escape from the crashed ship, returned to its original starting position. The scenery crew jumped in to examine the still smoking escape pod, ensuring that the expensive prop was still in good working order and could be used for the next take. Walkie-talkies buzzed as different departments checked on what they needed to do to prepare to repeat the scene again. The set up was a complicated one, with many moving parts that had to coordinate with flawless rhythm, but Xavier was determined to capture the scene in one continuous take without any edits.

He ignored the commotion swirling around him and strode across the packed sand toward the set, accustomed to the heat of Arizona’s Sonoran Desert by now. He had eyes for one person only: his leading actress, Contessina Sato. This had been the seventh take. The first two takes were cut short when the smoke didn’t appear. The third take was stopped when the helmet visor wouldn’t retract. But the last four were scrapped because Contessina flubbed her line. And since The Quantum Wraith was based on a cult comic book that had a rabid fan following, Lys needed to say, “detention hold”—a key setting in the comic—not “prison.” As the screenwriter and director of the film, Xavier had carefully considered every word in the script.

Contessina slowly rose to her feet, assisted by her makeup artist, who also helped remove Lys’s helmet. She took a long sip of water from the bottle held for her by a production assistant before meeting Xavier’s gaze. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll be good to go again whenever you’re ready. And the Friday beers are on me.”

Xavier regarded her. His leading actress looked tired and defeated. He was hard-pressed to find the spark that had lit the camera on fire during her screen test. “The crew would appreciate not holding the usual raffle to buy drinks. What’s going on?”

She sniffed, and to his horror, tears appeared in the corners of her eyes.

“Are you okay? Is it the armor?” He’d worked with the costume department to design garments that would look like scavenged pieces of metal haphazardly pieced together to create battle suits but were crafted of layers of moisture-wicking material to ensure the actors would stay as cool and as comfortable as possible under the desert sun.

“I’m fine. Costume is fine.” She visually composed herself. “I just… I was distracted. Won’t happen again.”

Xavier caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye and managed to sidestep in time to avoid a collision with Tori, Contessina’s personal assistant. She held out a cell phone to Contessina with one hand while clutching her side with the other. “It’s your wife,” she said between gasps of air.

Contessina grabbed the phone. “Sorry,” she said to Xavier before turning away to give herself a semblance of privacy. “Juliana? How are you doing? Are the police still there?”

Police? Xavier turned to Tori. “What’s going on?”

Tori was still struggling to bring her breathing under control. She glanced at Contessina, who gave Tori a nod over her shoulder before returning to her phone conversation. “There was an intruder at Conti’s home. Scared Juliana. And the guy was rambling about this movie, so we’re pretty sure it’s tied to the hate campaign—”

“Wait. Hate campaign?”

Tori exchanged glances with Contessina. “Y’know. A bunch of angry people on the internet. They’re mostly harmless if very loud comic book fans—”

“What are you talking about?” He was genuinely drawing a blank.

Tori stared back at him. “The terminally online people who are upset Contessina is playing Lys? Because Lys is a blonde with a 40D chest in the comics?”

For the past eight months, Xavier had lived, breathed, slept and ate The Quantum Wraith . The film had occupied his every waking thought and nearly all his dreams. When he closed his eyes, he saw space battles and scrappy warriors and aliens battling to establish their place in a universe that sought to steal their individuality and subject them to a bland sameness. His walls were covered in storyboards, his only form of entertainment was watching reels of work from the VFX studios auditioning to add the final digital effects. He thought he knew every aspect of the production inside and out, forward and back.

He knew the original comic book had a loyal following. But angry fans organizing online? A wholly foreign concept. But then, he didn’t use social media, as he found keeping up with the lives of strangers via two lines of text and a carefully edited photo to be a waste of time and energy. His producer, Pauley Robbins, and their shared assistant used the film’s official account to post cheerful updates that revealed nothing about the actual filming, hoping to keep the story a surprise for as long as possible.

Contessina glanced up from her phone conversation, holding up her index finger in the universal sign to wait a minute. “Yes, love, I’m still here… Are you sure? Because I can— But are you— Okay. No, I said okay. Why won’t you believe me— Fine. I love you.” Contessina handed the phone to Tori. “Thanks. It’s been a rough day, but it’s almost over. Why don’t you take the rest of it off?”

Tori shook her head. “You need me.”

“I need to go home—” Contessina pressed her lips together, then turned to face Xavier. “I don’t suppose we can change the schedule so I can go to LA for a few days.” Her tone was flat, her expression resigned to the negative answer she anticipated. “Juliana can’t leave her patients to come here.”

Xavier held his expression still. Contessina was asking the impossible. Nearly every scene slated to be filmed while the crew was in Arizona featured Lys, and they’d already blown past the original schedule two weeks ago. He and Pauley had tried to account for as many things going wrong on location as possible and built in extra time to accommodate them. But the reality of filming in a semi-remote location full of sand, dust, heat, bright sun and high temperatures exceeded even his usual pessimistic outlook.

He needed this film to work, to be considered a financial and artistic success. He would accept no alternative. He couldn’t. His future, and the future of the people closest to him, depended on it. While he knew ultimately the audience reaction was out of his hands, he was determined to control what he put on the screen, to ensure the film met his high standards.

That was one of the reasons why he pursued directing. Life was chaotic and rarely responded as he wished. People left without warning, or wouldn’t respond as he wished. But the world on-screen? He was in charge of every aspect. “The schedule…” he began slowly.

“I know. Sorry I asked. I’ll get my head together. I promise.” Contessina tried to smile, but it was the worst acting he’d seen from her yet. “It’s been…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze became distant. “I miss Juliana.”

“I understand. Your home was broken into.” As far as he was concerned, as an actress Contessina should realize relationships were usually collateral damage when pursuing success in the film industry. That was a lesson he learned early in his career and never had to repeat. Especially when it came to actors. Or a smart, perceptive would-be screenwriter, but that was a particular regret he had long tried to submerge. An intruder, however, was a criminal matter. “Does the studio know?” he continued.

She nodded, her shoulders hunching forward, appearing almost to collapse into herself. “Yes. And Monument offered to provide protection, but Juliana says she would feel like she was living in a prison. We had a big fight right before I left for location so I’m worried this will…” She shook her head as if to clear her brain, and then drained the water bottle. “Never mind. I apologize for bringing my personal life to work.” Her smile was determined, but her eyes remained distant. “The set is well guarded. I’m fine.”

She didn’t seem fine. He glanced over his shoulder. A large knot of crew members was gathered under the canvas awning that protected the video monitors and other electronic equipment from the elements. Jay Watkins, his trusted cinematographer and longtime collaborator, caught his attention and signaled, asking if they were going to attempt another take. Xavier shook his head slightly. Even if Contessina were one hundred percent ready to film another take, the sun was no longer in the right position in the sky.

Another day lost on the schedule. He had a sinking feeling he would lose more. But Contessina needed to be at the top of her acting game, needed to sparkle and seduce on-screen. The story required audiences to fall in love with Lys, which would make the terrible choices Lys had to make hurt that much more.

And her desire to make sure her family was okay after a traumatic incident? He understood that. Intimately.

“The schedule’s tight,” he said, taking out his phone and sending a quick text to his producer. “But I’ll talk to Pauley, see if we can rearrange it so there is time for you to go to LA. For a day or two. Not a week.”

Color started to return to her cheeks. “Honest? You would do that?”

“What, am I that big of monster that I wouldn’t?” He was joking, but Contessina’s mouth opened and closed a few times.

“No?” The word came out as a question.

Xavier filed away her reaction for later. He knew he had a reputation for…ensuring the production adhered to his vision. On the other hand, having a unique, singular vision for his films and a track record of executing precisely on that was what landed him the assignment to direct The Quantum Wraith the first place. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.” Moisture started to well in her eyes and she rapidly blinked. “I just… I really love being Lys. I don’t want to jeopardize anything.”

“We’re not replacing you.” He checked his phone. Still nothing from Pauley. Strange. Pauley was glued to his devices. Xavier usually received instantaneous responses to his text.

He shrugged it off. They were all under more pressure than even the usual metric ton of stress and duress that came with making a multi-million-dollar movie with a crew of three hundred or so. Monument hadn’t wanted them to film on location, especially not in a relatively remote corner of Arizona’s Sonoran Desert. The studio was extra unhappy when Xavier insisted on hiring conservation workers familiar with the area and representatives from the local Native American nations to ensure the production treated the land with respect and didn’t harm the delicate ecosystem. No doubt Pauley was on another of his marathon phone calls with the executives in California.

He turned back to Contessina. “I’m breaking you for the day. Get changed and relax, start your Friday evening. I’ll call you if I can work out something regarding the schedule.”

“Thank you!” She threw her arms around him. “Thank you so much!”

The exuberant hug took him by surprise. He knew the actress was a hugger. But he didn’t invite physical contact, and the people in his vicinity knew not to provide it. He patted her on her shoulder…once.

She let go, her trademark bright smile back. “Talk to you soon,” she said, and walked toward the trailer that housed Wardrobe.

Xavier exhaled and slowly turned to the group waiting for him under the awning. Jay had correctly interpreted the headshake and passed on the command to stop for the day. The crew was swinging into motion like the well-oiled machine they were. Lights were in the process of being taken down, the generators shut off in sequence as they were no longer needed. The big set pieces were covered with protective tarps while the smaller pieces and props were gathered to be locked up safely overnight. But there were still some people waiting to speak with Xavier directly, including—he squinted—the unit production manager? What did Luisa Solera need that couldn’t wait until he was in his office?

He wasn’t kept in suspense for long. Luisa barely let him confer with his first assistant director, who took over answering general questions from the crew for him, before she pounced. “We have a problem.”

“And the sky is blue. What’s up?”

“Have you seen or spoken to Pauley today?”

The weird nagging feeling at the back of his skull when Pauley didn’t immediately respond to his text returned and intensified. “No. But—”

“We can’t locate him.”

“What?” He glanced around to see if anyone had overheard Luisa, but everyone seemed deep in focus on their own tasks. He pulled her deeper into video village and away from prying ears, ensuring his walkie was still switched off and wasn’t broadcasting their conversation to the crew. “What do you mean, you can’t locate him?”

“He’s missing.” Luisa threw her arms wide. “He’s not anywhere to be found. We’ve looked everywhere. Called his cell, called his home. I even called his brother.”

“Did someone check his cabin?” The key cast and crew were staying at the Pronghorn Ranch, a former celebrity hangout during the heyday of making Westerns, but its owners had failed to keep up with the times and the property fell into obscurity. Recently renovated to be a dude ranch, the production team was able to rent the entire estate, including the acres of land on which they were now filming. Pauley had prime accommodations, a one-bedroom freestanding cabin with an uninterrupted view of the red rock mountains in the distance.

“Housekeeping went in. He wasn’t there. They said it looked like his bed hadn’t been slept in.”

“Have you spoken to Hera?” he asked, referring to the assistant he and Pauley shared. Before Luisa could answer, he had his phone out to call Pauley’s cell, foregoing texting. The line didn’t ring and went straight to voice mail, which was full, so Xavier couldn’t leave a message.

Luisa’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “No one in the office has seen Hera, either. She’s also not in her room or answering her phone. And her car is gone. But that’s not out of the ordinary. She’s usually off running errands and doesn’t respond until she returns.”

“I see why you left air-conditioning to come to set.” He tried calling again although he knew his effort would be futile. This was his first film with Pauley, who had been suggested to him as a producer by Monument. They weren’t friends—Xavier rarely went out for beers with anyone, much less work colleagues, after learning his lesson about getting too close when he was an adjunct professor at Los Angeles University’s film school—but he thought he and Pauley worked well together. And Pauley had a good résumé. When Xavier asked around, he’d only heard good things.

Had something terrible happen to Pauley? Maybe he and Hera were involved in an accident and couldn’t use their phones. Maybe they were comatose in the hospital. But as soon as the thoughts formed, Xavier discarded them. The hospital would have called. He knew that from firsthand experience.

He turned to Luisa. “I’m sure he’s fine. He probably has a meeting off-site and took Hera with him. Let me know when either of them shows up.”

Luisa chewed her lower lip. “There’s something else.”

“The intruder at Contessina’s house in LA? Which reminds me, we need to beef up security at the ranch.”

Luisa shook her head. “I don’t know anything about an intruder. I’m talking about the caterers.”

“Caterers?” Of all the things he thought Luisa might say, that was nowhere near the list.

“They said they haven’t been paid since the shoot started. So, I took a look.”

“And?”

“Electronic checks were distributed and deposited. But not by the caterers.” Her skin took on a sickly glow. “By a company whose name I don’t recognize. I’m having the accountant do an audit to see if anything else is off.”

“Good.” The word came out sharper than he intended. He gave Luisa what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Maybe this was a one-off oversight.”

She hugged her arms close. “Maybe. But Pauley was the one who cut the check.”

Xavier wasn’t often flabbergasted, but Luisa’s statement floored him. “Why? We have people who do that. That’s not his job.”

She raised her chin. “He asked to take over payments to vendors. And he hired me, he signs my pay slips. If he tells me he wants to turn the desert blue, I don’t ask why. I ask how many gallons of paint he needs.”

“Right.” Film sets were notoriously hierarchical. And Luisa and Pauley were tight, having worked together on three previous films. But he was starting to feel the same queasiness he saw on her face.

“Pauley said the new studio suit will be here soon. The audit is good practice in case whoever it is asks to see the numbers.”

“What new suit?” The throbbing pressure in his head that made its appearance during his conversation with Contessina continued to build. If there had been a change in the studio management assigned to liaison with his film, Pauley should have told him. Immediately. The working relationship he’d thought was so smooth now appeared to have major potholes. Big ones. Derailing ones, even.

“Chester Bronson is out at Monument. It happened yesterday. Pretty unexpected.” She threw him a glance. “Didn’t you know?”

Xavier apparently didn’t know a lot of things he should. “Did Pauley say when to expect the visit?”

“No. But he wasn’t too happy someone new had been assigned. He and Chester were very tight.” She pulled on her ear, a habit Xavier recognized meant she was deep in thought. “Come to think of it, I didn’t see Pauley again after he got the news about Chester. He called Hera into his office and they shut the door, and then I left for the day. But I didn’t think anything of it.” She glanced at him. “Do you think—I mean, I don’t, or rather I don’t want to, but—it’s strange we can’t find him now.”

“ Strange is one word.” Allowing Pauley to handle all the communication with the studio might have been a grave tactical error. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Keep trying his phone and Hera’s.”

“I will.” She twisted the wedding band on her left ring finger. “I’ll look in Pauley’s office, maybe ask Housekeeping to let me into his cabin. See if anything is…missing.”

“Good idea. I can check Hera’s desk when I’m in the production office—” His phone buzzed. Xavier glanced down, and the black cloud that seemed to have gathering on the horizon lifted. Relief never felt sweeter. “Never mind. Pauley just texted.”

Luisa crowded over his right shoulder to look at the screen with him. He clicked on the message.

Sorry, man. The film would have been great. You’re talented, you’ll get another project. Hera and I wish you all the best. You’ll understand some day. It’s Hollywood, Jake.

He stared at the phone, tracing the words with his eyes, trying to make them line up in ways that would make sense. But in the end, there was only one conclusion he could logically draw. Pauley and Hera had ditched the production. And they took money earmarked for the film’s budget with them.

Once again, people he’d relied on chose to abandon him. Control of his own destiny was slipping away from him. And he was powerless to stop the slide, no matter how much he had meticulously planned and guarded against such a thing happening.

Luisa spoke first. “What the hell does he mean?”

Xavier dragged his gaze from the text. “He’s paraphrasing a quote from the movie Chinatown .”

“No, I got the last line. What does he mean, ‘the film would have been great’?”

“It means we don’t need to worry if something bad happened to them. They’re alive and well.” Xavier turned his phone screen off. “Right. No one is to know about this for now. We’ll tell everyone Pauley had to go to Los Angeles and Hera went with him. And I want the results of the accountant’s audit as soon as you have them.”

Luisa’s face was green. He softened his tone. “Hey. This could all just be an elaborate prank by Pauley.”

“You think so?” She sounded skeptical, but something like hope blossomed in her gaze.

“Sure.” No, he did not. But if he’d learned anything from his previous directorial experiences, keeping morale high on the set was a must. “And whatever happens, do not tell Chester’s replacement anything until we have a better handle on what’s going on. We’re a happy family in front of the studio.”

“Got it. Don’t tell the new suit.”

A sound like a throat clearing came from behind his left shoulder. “Don’t tell the new suit what?”

Xavier wheeled around. And his heart stopped.

Sutton Spencer stood before him. For a second, Xavier wondered if his memory had conjured her, because what else did this day need but a reminder of the first time his life had been forcibly turned inside out. And why relationships were doomed to futility in this business.

He blinked, but Sutton was still there, solid, three dimensional. So, not a mirage. The ten years since he’d seen her last had not been good to her—they’d been sensational. At age twenty-one, Sutton had been pretty. Wide gray-green eyes and round cheeks that flushed with emotion as she discussed her favorite films and an expansive halo of red-gold curls that flew about her head as she nodded or shook her head in response to other people’s opinions. Smart. Convinced of her own convictions, as only a newly minted college graduate could be. But also hopeful and idealistic, as only a new graduate would be.

Charming. Challenging. And utterly desirable.

The curls were gone, replaced by controlled waves that fell to her shoulder. Her face was thinner, more angular. He assumed her eyes were the same, but they were hidden under sunglasses. Even so, he could feel the assessing stare she gave him before she turned to Luisa, holding out her right hand for a handshake.

“Hi. I’m Sutton. I’m the new suit.”