43. Changes
43
CHANGES
Mara
My stomach tightened when I heard my front door open at eight on the dot.
Ford was here. He came into the living room carrying a large canvas grocery bag.
I didn’t like this stupid script. His screenwriter had totally messed it up. We needed to talk about it, but I also didn’t want things to get confrontational between us right away.
“You’re feeding me again?” I asked, hoping he’d brought more of that chocolate cake. That would certainly put us on better footing.
He pulled me into his arms, and I melted into him. Having him hold me felt like coming home after a long time away. Nice way to start things off.
He held me close, letting me know he’d missed this too, but Zephyr’s insistent barking finally made me pull away.
“He missed you, too,” I said.
“Of course, he did. I bring him treats.” Ford leaned over and rummaged around in the canvas bag. “Today I have something new for him.”
I gave the long, thin, brown thing a suspicious look. “Dare I ask what that is?”
“A bully stick. The guy at the pet store recommended it. He says dogs love them.”
I let out a snort of laughter. “Seriously?”
Ford raised one eyebrow.
“Did he tell you what they are?” At Ford's blank expression, I shot him a devilish grin. “They’re bull penises.”
Ford’s grip on the dog treat failed, and the bully stick fell directly in front of Zephyr, who snatched it and ran off.
Ford looked appalled. “Seriously? A bull penis?”
I let out another chuckle. “At least nothing goes to waste.”
“I suppose that’s to be commended.” He looked doubtful.
“What else do you have in that bag?” I asked.
“I hope my next attempt at bribery doesn’t have any unsettling ingredients.”
“We shall see.”
With a flourish, he reached into the canvas bag and pulled out a small rectangular box. He kept most of it concealed with his hand and then slowly lowered it, like a curtain dropping, to reveal a very familiar dark-brown and white box with a blue logo.
I snatched it from his hand. “You got me Sno-caps?” I said, giving a squeal of joy. “How did you know?”
“You may have mentioned them.” He looked inordinately pleased with himself. I couldn’t blame him.
I tore open one end of the box. “No unsettling ingredients in here. They’re just chocolate chips covered with nonpareils.”
“Sounds good,” he said, reaching for the box.
I yanked it away. “Ah-ah-ah. I’m not sharing. I just remembered they contain the most disgusting stuff. You’d hate them. Honestly.”
He ignored me and grabbed the box, pouring some Sno-caps into his hand.
“Hey!”
He tossed them into his mouth. “Delicious,” he said as he munched. “I think you just lied to me.”
I snatched the box back from him. “The rest of those are mine. No takebacks.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “All yours, Miss Stellar. They’re a peace offering.”
That brought my irritation with his script roaring back. “I can see why you thought you needed one. I’m not liking your script,” I said, folding my arms tightly across my waist.
His lips thinned. “I was afraid you might not.”
“Was there any question? This new opening scene never even existed in Chance’s story.” I grabbed the script from the coffee table. “It doesn’t make sense,” I said, flipping to the new scene. “In the comic, Jude turns on Christian in the opening scene, and the betrayal hits him hard. It’s the main reason Christian becomes Ghost.” I thrust the script out to him, jabbing at the page with my finger. “But in your version, they’re goofing around while Jude helps him move into a new apartment.” I frowned at him in exasperation and confusion. “That never happened.”
The muscle in his jaw tensed. “Did you read the entire thing?”
“Of course not.” I pressed my lips together in a frown and then dropped the script back onto the table. “Not after that. How could you change something so fundamental?”
Ford dragged his hand through his hair. “I was afraid you’d react this way. That’s why I asked you to read all of it.” He took my hand and pulled me toward the sofa. “Sit with me. I don’t want us to be adversaries.”
“Apparently we are.” I sat down anyway, but I kept my back stiff and my arms crossed. I didn’t want things to be this way between us, but he’d misled me. I’d trusted him, and he’d let me down. Again.
“I’m perfectly aware that Jude’s betrayal is a key part of Ghost’s backstory. The problem is, if I don’t show an existing close bond between him and Jude, then his reaction to Jude’s betrayal comes out of nowhere.”
I shook my head, keeping my chin down. “Chance made the reader feel the pain of the betrayal. I don’t understand why you’d want to change that.”
Ford ducked his head to look into my eyes. “You have to understand that movies and comics need to tell stories in different ways. Yes, they both use images, but graphic novels are similar to books in that they provide the reader with a character’s internal monologue. They can do that by using thought bubbles. Movies can’t replicate that. Some directors choose to use voiceovers, but I don’t like them. I find them intrusive. I prefer showing moviegoers rather than telling them. After all, films are a visual medium. Changing the opening scene and establishing the close relationship between those two characters fixes the problem neatly and elegantly.”
I heard him, but I still didn’t like it. “I don’t think Chance would approve.” But then I hesitated. Did I really know that? He’d run loads of things past me when he’d been working on the plot, and he’d incorporated quite a few of my suggestions. Did I really know he wouldn’t have agreed with Ford?
Then again, I wasn’t the only person who loved Ghost exactly the way it was written. “Did I ever mention that Chance won the Russ Manning Promising Newcomer Award for his first Ghost comic?”
Ford raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? I’m impressed.”
“I don’t like the idea of you changing an award-winning story and adding scenes. It smacks of disrespect.”
Ford dragged his fingers through his hair. “I don’t see it that way. I’m using a storytelling device. I’m trying to convey the closeness of Christian and Jude’s relationship in the most natural way possible for the film medium.”
He peered into my eyes, and it felt as though he could read all of my fears—of having someone lie to me again—of being manipulated.
He took my hand. “Do me a favor. Read the entire script, and then take some time to consider why I wanted to make a few changes.”
I hesitated. How would reading the rest of it make a difference? The opening scene was an affront. If he’d changed much more, I’d only be more furious. When I looked into his eyes and saw how much this meant to him though, I relented.
I gave him a tight, reluctant nod. “I suppose I can do that.”
“How about I leave you alone for a while so you can read?” he asked, rising to his feet. “I’ll take Zephyr on a long walk.”
Zephyr came bounding out from behind the chair at the mention of the words, “Zephyr,” and “walk,” in the same sentence.
His suggestion made sense. I owed him that much. “Fine. I can do that.”
Once the apartment was empty, I turned back to the script. Forty-five minutes later, I was done.
I sat staring at the cover page, not sure what to say to Ford.
What would Chance have thought?
The rest of the changes in the script were minor, but to me, they stood out like a mustache on the Mona Lisa. Well, maybe not quite that egregious. More like red polish on Mona’s fingernails.
I sighed, tossed the script onto the coffee table, and grabbed my wine glass. I should read Chance’s original comic again to see what Ford was talking about with that “thought-bubble” comment.
A couple of minutes later, Ford came in. Zephyr scampered over to greet me as if he hadn’t seen me in days.
“Hi, buddy-boy,” I said, smiling indulgently at my dog. “I missed you, too.”
Ford approached hesitantly. “Did you finish it?”
I nodded and opened my mouth to tell him about my concerns, but Ford held up a hand to cut me off.
“I’d like you to wait a day or two before we talk. Keep the script. It’s your copy. Once you’ve had a chance to think things through, we’ll discuss it.”
The knot of tension in my belly eased. I wasn’t ready to fight over this tonight—not when we’d already been through so much. I needed the space to breathe, to relax. The last thing we needed was more conflict. With the whole Chris Pitt mess still fresh, we needed to reestablish our connection. “I can do that.”
I curled up on the sofa, tucking my feet beneath me.
Ford sat next to me. “Let me say one thing, then we’ll set the topic of the script aside for tonight. I strive for perfection when it comes to my movies. There’s no way I’d intentionally choose to create an inferior film. I hope you’ll keep that in mind when you consider my changes.”
“I can do that.” I relaxed back on the couch and let out a sigh along with a bundle of tension.
“Chris’s screen test is tomorrow.” Ford smiled as he lifted his crossed fingers. “Here’s hoping it’s as great as I think it will be. Want to meet me at my dad’s place tomorrow night to watch it with us?”
“Sure. Superstitious much?” I grinned at his crossed fingers.
He shrugged and dropped his hand. “Maybe. I work in an industry where too many things can derail a project that took years to plan. The stars need to align for a film to be a success. I can be a control freak when it comes to my work.”
“I’ll keep your freakiness in mind.” I waggled my eyebrows at him, teasingly.
He waggled his eyebrows right back at me. “Would you like to see more examples of my freakiness?”
My eyes widened as a frisson of excitement shivered up my spine. Sudden images of letting him have power over my body flashed through my mind, like comic book frames. Maybe giving up a tiny bit of control might be interesting… all in good fun.
A slow smile crept over my lips, and I let my eyes drift down his body. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding, we’re not talking about movies, right?”
His eyes seemed to darken, and the smile he gave me made my breath hitch in anticipation. “I’m talking about us. Now,” he murmured.
“In the bedroom?” I managed to ask.
“Precisely.” His husky voice sent a wave of desire crashing over me.
He stood, grabbed both my hands, and pulled me from the couch into his arms. Something primal flickered between us. “I’m suddenly in the mood to flex my directorial muscles,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.
I pressed my hips against his as I peered up at him. I widened my eyes owlishly and then gave my eyelashes a playful flutter. “This is going to be fun.”