Chapter 1 #2
“No, I’m not. What exactly is your problem, Aaron? After that audition even you admitted that she was great. Now you’re backpedaling. What’s going on?”
Aaron didn’t respond immediately. He reflected that while he had agreed that Camille was great, he had felt an uneasiness—quiet at first, but persistent.
It had sharpened a few nights later when he was flipping channels.
There she was—this hypnotically beautiful woman, commanding a fantasy series with elaborate cinematography, political intrigue, moral ambiguity, violence…
and moral darkness. He knew the narrative: she’d left the show because she had become a Christian.
Yet, he wasn’t sure that was the real reason.
What about the rumors about the relationship with her married producer?
The relationship that, according to the rumor mills, had for some reason gone south.
Some people were saying that was the real reason she walked out on the show.
“Why does she want to do this film, Ray? This is not a Hollywood blockbuster.”
Ray folded his arms. “She’s stepping away from secular roles. She wants to do faith-based work.”
“So she says,” Aaron said.
Ray’s gaze sharpened. “Yeah. So? You think she’s lying?”
“I think,” Aaron said carefully, “that people rarely abandon multimillion-dollar contracts for purely spiritual reasons.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Ray shot back.
Aaron knew that Ray was referring to how he had walked away from John Gray.
He knew it had been surprising to many—in fact he had been called foolish for walking away.
The film had done so well at the box office the studio had offered him a contract for two more in the series.
But by that time, he had found God—or maybe it was truer to say that God had found him—and even though the figures they were throwing around tempted him, the conviction he felt to honor God with his film choices had been stronger.
“She’s not me. And there weren’t serious consequences for me walking away.”
Ray’s expression hardened. “You’re referring to the lawsuit.”
“I am,” Aaron said. “She walked off a show mid-season and now the producer is threatening to sue her into the ground. That’s not a small thing, Ray.
That’s publicity we don’t need. It raises questions about her dependability.
What’s going to stop her from walking away from this role if something happens she doesn’t like. ”
“That’s crazy, Aaron. She walked away from Shadow Peak because she found God. And actually, what you just said makes her claim more compelling than ever. Why would you walk away from a show paying millions—where they are threatening to sue you—if it wasn’t because of moral convictions?” Ray asked.
Aaron had to admit that he had a point. Yet he wasn’t willing to concede his feeling that while faith was part of her walking away, it wasn’t the entire story.
Silence settled between them, dense and uncomfortable.
Ray pushed off the desk. “Even if you’re right—and that’s a big if—it doesn’t change the reality. The studio is already nervous. You’re an excellent director, Aaron, but you’re not yet a guarantee. They want insurance. Camille is insurance.”
“So we compromise the integrity of the film to appease the studio?”
“We keep the film alive,” Ray said. “Without her, they’ve already floated reconsidering you as director.”
The words landed exactly as Ray intended.
Aaron’s jaw flexed. “Even after I got my father to agree to play Mordecai, they’re still not satisfied.”
Ray sighed. “Robert has wide appeal. But let’s face it—Camille’s fan base is astronomical.”
Aaron stood, pacing now, agitation breaking through his restraint. “She’s associated with a series known for debauchery. That matters. Christian audiences will notice. They will ask why we passed over women who have been faithfully serving in this space for years for this Johnny come lately.”
Ray didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quieter. “I’ve seen those actresses. All of them. Some are good. Some are very good. Camille is… sensational.”
Aaron stopped pacing. “She’s sensational alright,” he said.
Ray waited.
“She brings an air of seduction to the role,” Aaron continued. “It’s subtle, but it’s there.”
Ray smiled faintly. “Does she? Funny. I didn’t notice.”
Aaron shook his head. “Sure you didn’t. Esther needs dignity, reverence, restraint. Not allure.”
Ray tilted his head. “Well, I trust the director would know how to shape that. Channel it. Refine it. If he’s competent.”
The challenge hung in the air, unmistakable.
Aaron looked away. He had one more reason.
The real one. The one he would not name.
The reason his stomach had tightened the first time he’d seen Camille’s audition.
She could be a snare to him. But he would not say it. He would not dignify it with breath.
Ray watched him for a long moment, then spoke with finality. “I value your opinion, Aaron. Truly. But I’ve made my decision. I’ve seen every actress who came through that door. Camille Carlucci is the one who stayed with me long after the audition. She’s the one I believe can carry this film.”
Aaron’s shoulders slumped—just slightly.
“She’s getting the role,” Ray continued. “With or without your blessing.”
There was silence again.
This time, heavier.
Aaron nodded once, stiffly. “Then I hope,” he said, voice controlled, “that you’re right.”
Ray picked up his phone. “So do I.”
And as Aaron walked out, he knew with a certainty that unsettled him deeply: this casting decision would cost him something.
He just didn’t yet know what.