30. A Breakout Moment
30
A brEAKOUT MOMENT
Ford
The calm from my day with Mara still clung to me like the last rays of a sunset as I climbed the stairs to my home office. But by the time I opened the door, reality had settled back in—heavy, unavoidable. The kind of weight I’d been trying to shake for weeks. My office, with its half-empty bookshelves and bare walls, felt too much like a blank slate—waiting for me to make the right move. Or the wrong one.
I kept an eye on the clock, and at seven, I called McCormick.
“Ford, good timing,” McCormick’s gravelly voice crackled through the line, followed by the unmistakable drag of a cigarette. “It’s too damn quiet here. I hate holidays. Makes me feel like I’m wasting time.”
I chuckled, but even that felt forced. “Maybe you should take a vacation. Iceland’s nice this time of year, I hear.”
“I’m not built for relaxation,” McCormick replied, voice laced with impatience. “I like working. Keeps me from thinking too much. So, where are we with Superman ? You ready to sign?”
I waited a beat. “That’s why I called,” I began, taking a steadying breath. “I’m going to have to pass on this one. I’ve thought it over, and I’m just...not the right person for this project.” The words felt like pulling a pin out of a grenade—controlled, but dangerous. “You need someone who’s passionate about it. And that’s not me.”
“Well, hell, Ford,” McCormick’s voice dropped an octave. “I was afraid of that. Are you sure? Really sure? This is Superman . Anything I can do to change your mind?” The cigarette crackled again, and I could practically see him pacing on the other end of the line, looking for a way in. “This kind of project doesn’t come around every day.”
“Sorry. No. It’s simply not the right project for me.”
“What are you gonna do instead, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I felt a surge of pride. “I’m making a movie with Ross Film Productions.”
“Going with your dad.” He didn’t sound surprised. “Makes sense. He could use a win.”
I picked up on the subtext behind that comment and a knot formed in my stomach. “You hearing things? About Dad?”
“Eh. Just some gossip. Might be true, might not.” He drew on his cigarette again. “He’s canceling meetings. Pushing off appointments. Rumor mill says he’s sick again—trying to keep it quiet, like last time.”
The knot in my gut tightened. Last time. Those words echoed in my head, bringing with them a flood of memories I didn’t want to revisit. Dad had brushed it off before, and now this?
“That’s...not what I’ve seen,” I said carefully, my voice steady despite the sudden cold in my veins. “He’s working. A lot, actually.” But even as I said it, the lingering doubt gnawed at me. Was I missing something? “I’ve been here for a couple of months now, and he’s busy working all the time. No sign of a problem.” At least, nothing I could put my finger on.
“That’s good to hear, and all,” McCormick said, “but it’s not as if you’d tell me if there was one, right?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” I insisted.
“Let me give you some unsolicited advice,” McCormick said. “Even if you don’t sign on with me,” McCormick pressed, his voice taking on a harder edge, “you’ve gotta make a splash, Ford. This is your moment. You’re hot right now. That Sundance win’s fresh—people are paying attention. But if you let this slip, you risk becoming just another director who had potential.” He paused, letting his words sink in like a gut punch. “Help your dad if you want, but don’t let him drag you under. Don’t blow this chance.”
As the call ended, McCormick’s words lingered in the air like smoke. I stared at the phone, my thoughts a tangle of conflicting loyalties. I had to make this movie work—for me, for my future—but now, doubts about Dad gnawed at the edges of everything. Was he hiding something from me? Or was I just too close to see it?
One thing was clear: I had to succeed, and I had to make sure my dad was okay. Failure wasn’t an option, not on either front. But damn if it didn’t feel like I was standing on a razor’s edge.