Chapter 27
The box was delivered by a very cute FedEx guy around eleven in the morning. It was about the size of a ream of paper, and
as Victoria stared at it, she wondered who it was from. She hadn’t ordered anything online.
She carefully set it on the kitchen table, then took three steps back, suddenly knowing exactly what it was. Her mother’s
notes on her screenplay. Ava had gone old-school, printing it out and marking it up by hand. Probably on every page, she thought
grimly. Ripping it apart and telling her how incredibly bad it all was.
“You can’t hurt me,” she murmured, ignoring the sense of dread that had her backing away from the table and the fact that
feeling dread meant that her mother could indeed hurt her a lot.
She spent the next two days ignoring the box. She lived her life—such as it was—and continued to rip apart her story and put
it back together in a totally new way. She went to the gym, where she carefully worked on gaining back the strength in her
left leg. She confirmed that she and her dad would be golfing on Saturday and arranged to hang out with Shannon and Aaron
for brunch on Sunday. But Friday, after she got out of the shower and dressed, she found herself standing by the box, accepting
it was time.
After girding her loins, aka getting a cup of coffee, she sat at the table and lifted the lid. Inside was a lengthy, typed cover letter.
Victoria,
By now you know your father gave me this work to read. When we were first together, he would ask me to look over projects
he was thinking of producing. At the time I didn’t know much about the business, but I took a few classes, and I think I have
a basic understanding of story and flow.
Your project is unexpected and visual. The dialogue is funny, insightful and, at times, biting. I laughed, I cried, I wanted
to bitch-slap Jake more than once. Margarite is delightful—a heroine we want to root for. You should be proud of what you’ve
created here.
I do have a few suggestions which you are free to ignore.
“And I will,” Victoria said, although she kept reading.
I see what you’re doing with the arc of the story. It seems to me something is off in the pacing. I can’t help thinking that
the relationship with Jake isn’t the entire story. That there should be something that comes after. Maybe it’s the fact that
the ending is so close to the breakup. It’s not the usual upbeat rom-com we’re all used to. Is it possible the breakup is
more the midpoint of the story?
“Shit! No. You don’t get to be that insightful. I’ve been working on this for a year, Mom. A year! And you figure out the problem in fifteen seconds? How fair is that?”
She flung the letter onto the table and got up, prepared to stalk out of the room. Only she realized she wanted to know what
else her mother had to say. She scooped up the page and held in a groan.
Not that I have any suggestions for what comes next. You’re the creative one, so I’m sure, if you agree with me, you’ll have
some ideas.
My other big thought is that Margarite needs to be more fully developed emotionally. You’re telling us what’s happening to
her, but we’re not able to feel it. Emotions are messy, and we need to experience them with her.
“Have you been talking to my critique group? I’m amazed you didn’t say I have to bleed on the page.”
Her mother went on to praise how she used the setting as a character and that there were several secondary characters who
stood out to her, including Danny.
If you want to talk to me about this, I would welcome that. If not, we’ll pretend this never happened.
All my love. Mom.
Victoria let the page flutter to the table. She flipped through the printed screenplay, reading her mother’s notes in the
margins. As she had in her letter, Ava spotted flaws, praised the good parts and offered surprisingly helpful suggestions.
It took her a couple of hours to read through everything, which meant her mother had spent three or four times that amount
of time on her critique.
“No wonder Dad loves you so much,” she said when she was done. “You really did save his business.”
She retreated to her office where she opened her laptop and pulled up the program she was using to replace the physical note
cards with something she could expand on and manipulate more easily on her computer. After scanning the screen, she saw several
places where she could incorporate her mother’s changes into the work and make it stronger. She set the timer on her phone
and started typing.
When her phone went off at three, she saved what she had and shut down the laptop. At that time of day, on a Friday, it took nearly an hour to get to Bel Air. She parked in the large circular driveway and walked up to the front door where she used her key to let herself in.
“Mom? It’s me.”
“In the family room.”
She walked through the house to the open, airy room that overlooked the backyard. She found her mother sitting on a sofa,
one of her memory boxes open in front of her.
Victoria stared in disbelief. All the warm, fuzzy feelings that had been building drained away, leaving her furious.
“Really, Mom? You can’t let it go, can you? Shannon, Shannon, Shannon. What is it with you and tall, skinny blondes who will
never be your daughter?”
Ava looked at her. “You do enjoy jumping to conclusions. I don’t have the Shannon box anymore. I gave it to Cindy, minus the
diary. That I put in recycling where hopefully it will be turned into a tote bag or a shipping box.” She waved a photograph.
“This is one of your boxes, from when you were three or four. Definitely in your Never Still phase, or era as you would say.”
Victoria ignored the sense of feeling foolish. “Oh, sorry. I thought, well, you know.”
Ava patted the sofa. “Come see for yourself.”
Victoria settled next to her. Ava passed over several pictures.
“Why are so many of them blurry?”
“You were never still. Why walk when you can run, jump or skip?”
Her mother handed her more. Victoria winced as she saw her very naked self out in the yard, playing with a ball, her pile
of clothes on the lawn. There were more naked photos—her at an imaginary tea party, or playing soccer or jumping off a coffee
table.
“When did I start wearing clothes again?”
“Sometime after you turned four. But for those eighteen months or so, your father and I stuck pretty close to home. Other families weren’t very forgiving when you led their children astray.” Ava smiled at her. “You always did set the tone.”
“I’m not a follower.”
“You’re not.”
“I read your notes,” Victoria said, shuffling through birthday party announcements and family Christmas cards where, thankfully,
she managed to stay dressed for the photo shoot. Although based on her expression, there was clearly rebellion on her mind.
Ava didn’t say anything, but Victoria felt her stiffen.
“You were right,” she said, putting down the papers and angling toward her mother. “The story structure was off. I realized
a few weeks ago that the breakup is the midpoint, not the end. Margarite is pregnant.”
“By Jake? Shouldn’t she be on birth control?”
Victoria grinned. “Not everyone is as responsible as me.”
“Apparently not. You should talk to her about her life choices. So what happens now?”
“I’m still figuring that out. I think she gets together with Danny.”
“The stunt guy.” Ava paused. “Oh, I can see how that would work. He’s secretly in love with her. That could be fun. How does
she feel about him?”
“So far they’re just friends, but I think they have potential.”
“She’s not going to make it easy. She’s determined to protect herself emotionally, which can be a problem in a relationship.
Vulnerability is required for connection.”
Victoria hoped they were still talking about Margarite and not anyone else. “I’m trying to figure out how to bleed on the
page. It’s not easy.”
“You’ll get there,” Ava said confidently. “You’re incredibly talented.” She offered another picture. “Halloween when you were
four.”
Victoria frowned at the image. “Was I one of the Village People?”
“Just a construction worker. I tried to get you to wear a princess costume. You can imagine how well that went.”
“I was a handful.”
“Yes, you were, but you were also the daughter I was meant to have.”
A comment that surprised Victoria. “Why would you say that?”
“You’re friends with Shannon. I’m sure she’s lovely, but I think we both know I would have crushed her personality. You’re
strong enough to stand up to me.”
“And you call me on my shit.”
“I do. Although you have less now than you used to.” Ava frowned. “I’m not sure the shit analogy is working in this context.”
“But it’s nice that you went along with it.”
Her mother put the box on the coffee table, then faced her. “I worry you do things in your life to punish me or get back at
me. It’s fine if you end up happy, but what if you’re missing out on things that would be wonderful, simply because I might
approve?”
Victoria dropped her gaze to her lap. “I don’t do that.”
“We both know that’s not true, and it makes me sad. You’re my daughter, and everything about you is precious to me. I wish
I could make you believe that.”
Victoria thought about all the time and effort her mother had put into her notes on the screenplay and how, when she’d been
injured, her mom had insisted on taking care of her. At every crisis, Ava had been there, whether Victoria wanted her or not.
She suspected her mom had been the one to come up with the idea of gymnastics as a way to channel her energy but had arranged
for Milton to suggest it because that way Victoria wouldn’t automatically say no.
“According to Dad one of the reasons we butt heads is because we’re too much alike.”
Her mother smiled. “I think he might be right. Although you only have my very best qualities. The rest come from your birth
parents.”
Victoria grinned. “Sure, Mom. Keep telling yourself that.”
Ava reached out and touched her cheek. “About your scar,” she began.