Chapter 8
MICAH
Iwoke up Sunday morning with a knot in my stomach that had nothing to do with the whiskey I’d consumed the night before. Which had been my attempt to blot out the day.
It hadn’t worked and now I had a raging hangover on top of the stress that clung to me like a wet blanket.
All night one thought kept running through my head. Over and over. Like someone pressing their thumb against a bruise.
Grace Stone was a disaster.
I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom and tried to convince myself that yesterday hadn’t been as bad as I remembered. Maybe I was being too hard on her. With a few days of practice, she’d be fine.
But I couldn’t lie to myself. Not about this.
My entire career was on the line. I believed in second chances, but could I stick with that idea when I risked tanking a film?
It wasn’t just my reputation on the line.
The other actors I’d signed would have a big goose egg on their IMDb profile.
That kind of thing stuck with someone for their entire career.
And they’d blame me.
I wasn’t blind. I’d seen the struggle. She’d been stiff, wooden, completely devoid of the spark that had made me cast her in the first place.
And Jack had noticed. They’d all noticed.
I could see it in the way Buzz had carefully avoided making eye contact with me after the third scene.
Lisa had tried to compensate, giving Grace more to play off of.
What the hell had I been thinking?
Dad’s voice echoed in my head. You’re taking a massive risk. An unknown actress with no film credits.
Maybe he’d been right. Maybe I should have listened to experience instead of following my gut.
I got out of bed and headed downstairs, needing coffee and clarity in equal measure. The ocean stretched out beyond my windows, calm and indifferent to my crisis. I sipped my coffee and watched the waves, hoping they would settle me like they normally did.
There was no settling me.
I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t figure out what my next move should be. Recast? But we started shooting in less than two weeks. There was no time. Push back production? The studio would never approve the budget increase. Try to coach Grace through it? But what if she couldn’t get there?
This movie was supposed to prove I could deliver a commercial hit. I wanted the big box office. The red carpets and press junkets. I got a studio with a decent budget. Great script and a headliner.
I’d bet everything on an actress who couldn’t make it through a table read.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and stared out at the water, feeling the weight of every decision I’d made over the past month pressing down on me.
I needed help. I needed someone who understood what I was going through. Someone who’d been in the industry long enough to have perspective.
I needed my mother.
An hour later, I pulled up to my parents’ house. The gate code hadn’t changed in twenty years, and I let myself in without calling ahead. Mom would be around. She’d become a homebody the last decade or so. Said she spent most of her life traveling the world going from one location to another.
I found her in the sunroom, reading a script with her morning tea. She looked up as I entered, and her face immediately shifted to concern. It was the mom telepathy. I had read once mothers actually had their children’s DNA in their body.
Didn’t know if it was true but watching her put aside her tea and script like she was going to fight a lion barehanded for me, I believed it.
“Micah. What’s wrong?”
I dropped into the chair across from her. “I think I made a mistake.”
She seemed somewhat relieved there wasn’t any imminent danger and gave me her full attention. “What kind of mistake?”
“The kind that could tank my entire movie.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “You know the actress I cast? Grace Stone?”
“The one you were so excited about at dinner. The one with the magic quality.”
“Yeah. Well, turns out that magic only shows up in auditions.”
I told her about the table read. About Grace’s stiff delivery, her inability to connect with the material, the way she’d clutched the script like a security blanket. And the worst part—Jack’s barely concealed contempt and his suggestion that I recast.
Mom listened without interrupting, her expression thoughtful.
“And now I don’t know what to do,” I finished. “We have to get this fixed before our first day of filming. She’s number one on the call sheet. I can’t recast. But I also can’t put her on camera like this. She’ll be eaten alive.”
“You’re panicking,” Mom said gently.
“Of course I’m panicking. My entire movie is riding on an actress who can’t deliver.”
“She delivered in the audition, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but?—”
“So the talent is there. She’s just not accessing it right now.” Mom picked up her tea, taking a slow sip. “Do you know what the difference is between a good director and a great one?”
I waited.
“A great director doesn’t just capture performances. They create the conditions for those performances to happen.” She set down her cup. “Part of being in charge is making sure your actors can do their jobs. That means understanding what they need and helping them get there.”
“I gave her a pep talk. I told her she could do it.”
“Micah.” Mom’s voice was patient. “Pep talks are nice, but they don’t solve the underlying problem. She’s overwhelmed. She needs more than encouragement—she needs actual help.”
I slumped back in my chair. “What kind of help?”
“Work with her. One-on-one. Take the time to help her break down the scenes, understand the character, find her footing.” Mom leaned forward.
“I had a director do that with me once. Early in my career. I was cast in a role that was completely outside my comfort zone, and I was drowning. The director could have replaced me, but instead, he spent hours with me every day before shooting, working through each scene individually until it clicked.”
“You?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “You’ve always been so confident on screen.”
“Because someone took the time to help me build that confidence.” She smiled. “You cast Grace for a reason. Trust that instinct but also give her the tools she needs to deliver what you saw in that audition.”
I ran my hands through my hair, considering. It made sense. Of course it made sense. But it also meant admitting that I’d thrown Grace into the deep end without a life preserver.
I felt like an asshole.
“What if she can’t get there?” I asked quietly. “What if I work with her and she’s still not good enough?”
“Then at least you’ll know you did everything you could.” Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen. You saw something special in her. Help her see it too.”
“Has Dad ever had these problems?”
She laughed. “Oh, Micah! Come now. Do you really think every actor that graces that silver screen just showed up on day one sparkling like a new diamond?”
That made me feel a little better. “Yeah?”
“Good directors make the movie. A good director directs the actors.”
I sat there for a moment, letting her words sink in. She was right. I’d been so focused on my own panic, on the pressure from the studio and Jack’s complaints, that I’d forgotten the most important part of my job.
Leading. Directing. Actually helping my actors succeed. It wasn’t just about getting my name on the screen. I was the captain of the ship.
“Any tips on how to help her dig in?”
She smiled. “That’s up to the two of you to figure out.
I once did a film, oh goodness, it must have been after Callum was born.
The director took all of us to an amusement park.
We spent the day terrified together on roller coasters.
Eating junk food. Getting to know each other.
Getting used to being around one another. ”
“You think I should take them all to Disneyland?”
She laughed. “No. I’m saying it’s your job to figure out what will work for your actress. Maybe it isn’t her that has the problem. Maybe it’s the others.”
I thought about it and decided it was definitely Grace. The others had the experience. They knew how to meld with the rest of the cast. Grace was the one that needed the extra help to find her lane.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” She picked up her script again. “Now go fix your movie. I’m already working with Cleo on a dress for the premiere.”
I laughed. “You might be jumping the gun.”
“Not at all. I know you’ll get it there.”
I drove home with a clearer head than I’d had in twenty-four hours. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I knew what I needed to do.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up Grace’s contact information I put in after the debacle yesterday. It wasn’t weird for me to have her number in my phone. I had Jack’s and plenty of other actors.
It rang three times before she answered, sounding like I’d woken her up.
“Hello?” Her voice was cautious, probably because she didn’t recognize the number.
“Grace, it’s Micah. Micah Blackwell.”
A pause. “Oh. Hi.”
I could hear the nervousness in those two syllables. She probably thought I was calling to fire her.
“Listen, I know yesterday was rough,” I said. “But I think I know how we can fix it. Can you meet me at the studio in a couple hours? There’s something I want to try.”
Another pause, longer this time. “The studio?”
“Yeah. Just you and me. No pressure, no audience. I want to work through some of the scenes with you, help you find what you had in the audition.”
“You want to… work with me? Personally?”
“That’s what directors do,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Look, I cast you because I believed in you. I still believe in you. But I also recognize that I threw you into a situation that was overwhelming. So let’s take a step back and build your confidence before we get on set.”
Silence. I could almost hear her thinking, weighing whether this was a genuine offer or some kind of test.
“Okay,” she finally said. “What time?”
“Two o’clock. I’ll text you the address.”
“Okay. Thank you, Micah.”
“See you at two.”
I ended the call and sent up a silent prayer to the film gods. This could work. It had to work.
Because if it didn’t, I had no idea what Plan B looked like.