CHAPTER FOUR SAWYER
C HAPTER F OUR
SAWYER
Roarick: Almost there. You owe me.
I stare down at the text from my brother and bounce my knee up and down.
I’ve been restless ever since I looked at the headlines on Page Six.
I told myself not to.
That the media’s contorted narrative was just going to paint me in a bad light and do nothing but infuriate me.
So, I stayed away.
Instead of doomscrolling, I took a walk around Strawberry Lake.
I marveled at the giant, vaguely phallic rock formations that sandwich the town. Gray granite crests with smooth, sheer faces and rounded tops that make climbing almost impossible. Any attempt would be asking for trouble.
I fed a duck a piece of bread out of the kindness of my heart, only to have him demonically chase me around before I was able to find a branch to shoo him away with. He put up a decent fight, making it clear he’s the alpha of the lake. Given the snap of his beak, I took him seriously.
After that, I’d had enough nature for the day and retreated to my cabin, where I opened the crossword puzzle book I purchased at the Pine Pantry and solved three puzzles—only checked the answer key five times.
.. per puzzle—and when I couldn’t take it anymore, I opened the browser on my phone.
At first, I told myself it was to check the latest acquisitions, see what’s selling around Hollywood, but then.
.. somehow, I wound up searching my name.
And there it was. Plain as day. A picture of me, sporting devil horns as I flipped off the bride and groom, who of course wore the faces of two people inserted into a horror flick.
There I was, spitting satanic fire at the soon-to-be betrothed, while the “innocent” bride, sheathed in white, stared back in utter horror.
If I was an outsider looking in, I’d immediately think, Wow, that guy is actually the worst .
Worst best man ever.
Man of honor? More like man closely related to Lucifer.
Clear as day, there is no doubt that the picture is damning.
But the article that followed?
Brutal.
They used words like jealous. Green with envy. Jaundiced with greed for the spotlight.
Jaundiced?
They couldn’t have found a better word?
The negative headlines and devil horns are bad enough, but to use jaundiced? That’s just a kick to the dick while a man is down.
My phone rings, and I half expect it to be Roarick, telling me he’s here, but when I see my agent’s name scroll across the screen, I can physically feel my scrotum crawl up inside my body.
Fuck.
Knowing Andy, he’s not going to stop calling me until I answer, so might as well get it over with.
“Hey, Andy,” I answer, taking a seat on the bed.
“Sawyer. How are you doing, man?” Sarcasm drips from his voice, heavy and thick. Yup, I’m about to get an earful from him.
“Do you even have to ask? I think you’ve read how I’m doing.”
“I’d like to hear it from you, actually.”
“Considering I didn’t have to finish listening to Annalisa’s bogus vows, pretty good, thanks.”
“Sawyer.” His stern voice booms through the phone, and I wince. “Do you realize the kind of damage you’ve done?”
“Damage? I wouldn’t call it damage. It seems like Annalisa is getting more publicity and media attention than she ever imagined. My guess is she’s booked on every news outlet to tell the story for the next month.”
“I mean damage to your career—you’re the one I care about, not them,” he practically yells. I knew he’d be upset, but not this upset.
“Oh.” I scratch the side of my head. “Well, hopefully not much damage.”
He sighs. “I’ve already received calls from Movieflix’s execs. They are not happy. How can they possibly have their top screenwriter, the man who writes the most poetic romances ever to hit the screen, destroy a wedding in real life? It goes against everything you write about.”
Very valid point, and once again... damning.
“Hey, I offered them those thrillers to diversify—it’s not my fault they didn’t want those pitches. This whole debacle would have been great advertisement for an upcoming thriller, suspense film. ‘Groomsman goes on murdering spree at wedding.’ Tell me that doesn’t sell fast.”
“It does!” Andy shouts. “But you’re not known for thrillers, Sawyer. You’re known for romance, for intricate, small-town stories that touch the heart. That’s what people want from you, and this little stunt you pulled is not sitting well with them.”
Yes, it is what people want from me. Prior to Annalisa cheating on me, I’d take an article I found while scrolling through the news, a human interest piece on, let’s say.
.. a sibling reunion, and twist the narrative into a story line that interweaves three story arcs about each sibling finding love in their own lives.
It would be zany and heartfelt, a movie that would leave viewers weeping with joy.
But the deceit in my life has torn down my lovey-dovey, romantic heart. These days, I’m ready to kill off the bride and groom within the first scene, making sure they never get their happily ever after.
Does that mean I’ll never write romances again? Of course not; they’re my bread and butter. But excuse me while I take a fucking minute to gather myself.
“Please,” I groan. “This has to be helping in some way. There’s no doubt the media attention Annalisa and Simon are receiving is great for their movie.”
“Yes, but media is catching wind that you’re the one who wrote the screenplay, and Movieflix is having a hard time spinning the story to make their best screenwriter not look like a bitter curmudgeon. They need to maintain credibility with your movies, but your temper tantrum is not helping.”
“It wasn’t a temper tantrum,” I say. “I just... hell, Andy, I couldn’t take it anymore.
From the very beginning, I was told to suck it up, to not care about the fact that my girlfriend cheated on me with my best friend.
.. in the public eye. I was supposed to act okay with it.
I was told to put on a smile and be the charming best man.
And I did that. I tried. I pushed away all the hurt and anger for the good of the movie.
But standing up there, listening to her lies, I couldn’t take it anymore.
And I snapped. Do I regret it? Maybe a little, but I’m also glad I finally stood up for myself. ”
Andy lets out a sigh. “It wasn’t the time to stand up for yourself, Sawyer.”
Growing frustrated, I stand from the bed and start to pace the length of the cabin.
“Andy, you have children, so tell me this—if one of them was hurt, if their heart was broken, if the person they thought they were going to end up marrying cheated on them, would you be able to just sit back and tell them to suck it up?”
He’s silent, and I know I’ve struck a chord—if anything, Andy’s a family man.
We met in a coffee shop on Venice Beach.
I was attempting to write a screenplay while working my odd construction jobs to pay the bills.
Andy found me scribbling in my notebook on an off day, writing down notes of all the people who walked by, consuming different character traits, the way couples interacted, the way they touched each other, the looks in their eyes, making note of every interaction I saw so I could better understand the bond between two people.
Andy said while I was watching them, he was watching me, fascinated with how I studied human nature.
After an hour, he came up to me and asked if I was a writer.
We got to chatting and developed a solid relationship from there.
We worked on some movie ideas I had, and he guided me to a few classes that helped me hone my craft.
Then... we sold my first screenplay. We’ve worked together ever since.
I know him like a brother. Which means he should know me just as well.
“Set aside the business for a second,” I say to him quietly. “And look at the situation as a father, as a brother... as a friend. I didn’t do this to fuck over anyone, I just... hell, Andy. I lost it.”
“Yeah... I know,” he says softly. “I could see you starting to snap going into the wedding weekend. I thought you were going to be able to hold it together, though.”
“Clearly I didn’t,” I say with an exhausted chuckle. “Fuck, how bad is it?”
“Bad.”
“Does the studio care that I was the one who was cheated on?”
“I hate to say it, but they’re going to protect the actors first. Though they did acknowledge this hasn’t been easy on you.”
“Oh, that’s kind,” I say sarcastically. “So, what now?”
“Well, you’re still under contract with them.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“And they’re not walking away from that. They gave you a fat chunk of change, and they won’t let you just sulk away. You’ll have to meet the demands of their contract.”
“Of course not. What do they want?”
“They’re formulating a plan now and will be in touch, but until then, they want a pitch from you—and not a thriller.
They want what they paid for. If you can’t deliver, then there are going to be severe consequences.
Not just monetary consequences, but career-changing ones.
Movieflix holds the market right now—you’re in a cushy position, and they know it.
So, if you want to continue to work with them, you’ll need to blow them away. ”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say, stomach dropping. “Can’t they offer some sympathy or understanding for what I’ve been through? You know, since they basically made me put my feelings to the side and act like nothing traumatic happened to me.”
“I think they would’ve been willing to do that, but now that you’ve caused this shitstorm, that option is off the table.”
Fuck.
I’ve worked so hard to foster this relationship with Movieflix.
I’ve done everything they’ve ever asked of me—meeting deadlines, working with up-and-coming screenwriters as a mentor, and setting aside my feelings for the betterment of the company—and they’re willing to just toss me to the side? As if none of that matters?