Chapter 9 #2
“Speaking of the online auction,” Dr. Wynn pipes up, puffing up with pride, “I’ve been authorized to reveal the final tally of how much money was collected for the Seafolly Fund.
I’m pleased to announce it raised a grand total of…
” He pauses for dramatic effect, and judging by the look on his face, I think he’s annoyed the audience didn’t get the hint and automatically launch into a drumroll. “One point two million dollars!”
He waits for the raucous applause to die down before continuing.
“We want to thank everyone on stage for their generous contributions, especially Ryder, whose offer to reenact Holden and Melody’s romantic plane scene with a chartered flight over Seafolly was the highest earning item, with a winning bid of five hundred thousand dollars! ”
This time there’s no hiding my reaction, my eyes popping wide as dinner plates.
The plane scene? The one that almost had to be scrapped due to his fear of flying?
The one that had him rocking in the fetal position, crying like a little girl?
That’s the scene Ryder’s choosing to relive? I’m beyond confused.
“But I have a fun little surprise for everyone,” Dr. Wynn continues with a devious smile he aims right at me, and I tense, instinctively knowing that this surprise will neither be small nor fun.
“Just this morning, we were notified that the winning bidder is willing to double her donation if…” he pauses again, surveying the crowd to ensure they’re sufficiently captivated by his teaser.
This guy’s theatrics are really starting to grind my gears.
When he whips his gaze back and flashes me a finger gun, dread rips through me like I’ve been shot with a live round.
“…Scarlett agrees to participate as well!”
The roar of approval from the ecstatic audience explodes in my ears at the same rate my body turns to stone. My face freezes like I’ve overdosed on Botox and fillers. This cavernous room is closing in on me, the screams ringing in my ears, and I feel the tenuous grip on my composure slipping away.
Desperate for commiseration, I chance a glance at Ryder, but no help is forthcoming.
He looks as gleeful as the rest of them, a jubilant grin stretching ear to ear.
He’s a fat cat next to an empty birdcage, feathers littering the bottom.
Last night’s warning echoes in my head like a nagging earworm: “This week is my chance to get answers to the questions I’ve had for years, and I don’t plan on wasting it. ”
Did Ryder have something to do with this? Has he been pulling strings behind the scenes, trying to back me into a corner? The thought makes me sweaty, panic spiking my blood. So much for staying out of each other’s way.
Dr. Wynn is sensing my less-than-enthused vibes. “So Scarlett, what do you say?” he prods meaningfully, his game show grin growing a little more forced. “A cool one million dollars toward rebuilding efforts!” He’s laying it on so thick, he might need a trowel.
“All you have to do is say yes,” Ryder singsongs, and he’ll be lucky if he makes it out of here alive.
I take a deep breath and scan the audience, my gaze eventually landing on a middle-aged woman a few rows back who’s watching me through narrowed eyes.
She’s wondering what they all are: why I’m hesitating, what could possibly be stopping me from jumping at the chance to re-create a romantic scene with their fictional dream man.
Unresolved feelings, perhaps? When her head slants disapprovingly, I know my time for stalling is up.
“Anything for Seafolly,” I say through gritted teeth, following it up with a double thumbs-up in lieu of further speech I can’t seem to find at the moment.
I don’t have to look Ryder’s way to know he’s grinning like he just won the lottery.
His smug satisfaction fogs the air between us thicker than the muggy Charleston humidity.
The conversation pivots to our upcoming films, and once Nate and Jase finish sharing about their current projects, the spotlight swings back to me—only this time, I don’t mind. Finally, something I want to talk about.
“You may have heard about my next film, the story of actress-turned-spy Elise Rhodes,” and I’m interrupted by eager applause from the audience.
“I’ve been searching for a project like this for years.
Female-led films can be hard to get off the ground, but we’ve assembled a talented team and everyone is committed to getting it right.
I’ll have my hands full with producing and acting, but I’m up for the challenge.
It’s such a passion project for me, and I can’t wait to start shooting. ”
“What about you, Ryder?” Dr. Wynn asks. “Any upcoming projects to plug?”
I twist toward him and see he’s watching me with interest, head tilted, his expression…proud? The latent heat in his eyes strikes a match in my chest.
“Wow. Hard to follow that, isn’t it?” he says to the crowd, spurring more wild applause, and I flush, a little embarrassed. Did I get carried away?
With one last smile at me, he turns back toward Dr. Wynn. “I don’t have any upcoming projects in the near term.” He pauses. “Actually, I’ve decided to take a bit of a break from acting.”
A chorus of muted gasps and hushed What?!s ripple through the auditorium, and frankly, I’m as stunned by this news as everyone else is.
For the past ten years, Ryder’s worked nonstop, zipping from one role to the next like a man who’s allergic to rest. Every actor lives in fear that the next job could be their last, so there’s immense pressure to strike while the iron is hot.
We’re all too aware that success is fleeting, that we’re just one box office flop away from failure, that obscurity lurks right around the corner.
Ryder is no exception. He’s known for his unrelenting work ethic, always ensuring his next project is lined up before the last one’s wrapped.
He’s had his pick of the best roles and he’s chosen wisely, shifting seamlessly between genres and packing his résumé in a way that’s the envy of every working actor today—and he’s never shown any signs of slowing down.
Ryder taking a break is a shocking development. What could be behind it?
Dr. Wynn looks on the verge of hyperventilation. “It looks like we’ve got some breaking news here! Ryder Perry is stepping away from acting?!”
Ryder holds up his hands. “I’m not retiring forever or anything!
Everyone can settle down,” he jokes, but judging by the nervous chuckles from the audience, I can tell—his fans are traumatized.
Women across the globe are drowning in despair.
He’ll return home next week to a mountain of flowers, stuffed animals, and lit candles piled high outside his front gate.
“Just taking a break is all.” He aims another smile my way.
“Though I might reconsider if there was a part for me in Scarlett’s movie. Didn’t she make it sound incredible?”
My face bakes at the unexpected praise. Despite what most people would assume by my profession, I’m not all that comfortable being the center of attention—and I’m definitely not prepared for flattery from Ryder, of all people.
The same reporter indicates he has a follow-up question.
“After the success of The Lost Letter, there’s been a lot of speculation over the years about why you two never worked together again, especially considering the strong chemistry you shared on-screen.
” Uh-oh, here we go. Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long.
“That is, until Nate gave a rather infamous interview where he let it slip that you two didn’t get along that well during filming.
I think a lot of people would love to get your perspectives on that. ”
There’s a simultaneous creak as every member of the audience collectively leans forward in their seats. It’s so pin-drop quiet in here, I’m surprised they can’t hear my internal screaming.
Ryder reaches for Nate’s neck and pretend-strangles him. “I think I speak for Scarlett when I say we’re just so thrilled Nate chose to share that particular detail. There’s nothing we’d rather get asked about in every single interview we’ve done since.”
It’s the understatement of a lifetime. It’s the question I—we—can’t seem to get away from no matter how hard we try.
What happened between you and Ryder? It’ll probably end up on my gravestone.
The best (worst?) part is that every reporter acts like they’re the first one to dream up the question, like some random hack from Hollywood Gossip Weekly will be the one who’ll get me to crack and spill the tea after all these years.
Nate hangs his head in shame. “I’m so sorry,” he tells us with a grimace. “Really wish I could get that one back.”
I paint on a smile, breezy and unruffled, and recite my stock answer.
“This story’s been blown out of proportion.
Ryder and I got along just fine during filming.
Tempers can run hot on movie sets, especially when you’re trying to balance the opinions of a group of people who all care so much.
The Lost Letter was my first big film, and I was very nervous and focused on giving the best performance I could.
Sometimes there are just different approaches on how to get there. ”