Chapter 4 Dave
“Does anyone else want to volunteer to read their pages in class today?” Mr. Radnor looks pointedly at the 20 of us surrounding him in the stadium-seating classroom. He’s wearing a linen blazer over a white t-shirt and his gray-blond hair is slicked back into a ponytail.
This, right here, is what I’m working for: the chance to learn from one of the all-time great screenwriters. This is why I’m not walking into The Rough Cut tomorrow and quitting. Though maybe I should. Nothing would make me happier than to never see Kris again. Blocking his account on the app wasn’t enough. I’d like to block his whole existence from my life.
I wish he was just annoying. That I could manage. But now I’ve seen another side of him. The look he gave me when he was standing in the doorway? Pure, raw, sexual promise. Absolute filth. And my stupid body responded, hard. Now, every time I look at him, I’m going to remember that look, and God help me, I’m going to want him again.
I need a brain eraser. I need to focus on this class. Send thoughts and prayers! Anything would be better than fantasizing about getting railed by my awful co-worker. He can’t even make a decent latte. My eyes swing back on my increasingly irate idol standing at the front of the class. Focus Dave .
“I’ll ask one more time. Any volunteers?” asks Mr. Radnor.
I sink down in my seat, but it’s hard to hide with the stadium seats. I am not ready to share my work with the class. I know in my bones he’s going to shred me to pieces just like he did last time.
“Mr. Schwartz, you’ve been quiet lately. Why don’t you read us the revised first page of your script?”
That’s it, I'm dead. I get to my feet slowly, as if the extra seconds will delay the inevitable.
“Are you sure, Mr. Radnor, I mean, Gil? I don’t know that I’ve solved all the problems you pointed out in the last meeting.”
“Do you have something new to share or not?” He fixes his pale eyes on me, and I want to disappear into oblivion.
“I have something new.”
“Good. You know, Mr. Schwartz. You’ve got to be brave about sharing your work. Are you going to tell a film exec that you’re scared to talk about your movie? No! You’ve got to have confidence.”
“Alright. But the last time we met, you told me my script sounded like it was written by a five-year-old.”
“Thick skin, Schwartz, thick skin.”
“Alright.”
My hands are shaking slightly as I pull out the page, printed out just like Mr. Radnor had specified. The guy’s kind of old-school and insists we put everything on paper before we turn it in. I clear my throat.
“Interior ship bay, day. JAXON STONE, 35, strides down the space station corridor towards The Courageous, a 30-ft long, state-of-the-art Starcruiser class spaceship. Waiting for him is DR. CHRISTINE STANTON, 26, the perfect girl next door.”
“Stop right there, Schwartz.”
I shut my mouth and look to see what the problem is. Mr. Radnor is smiling. That means he’s about to rip me in half. He always smiles as he demolishes people’s work. My stomach sinks.
“Tell me, who did you have in mind when you were writing this ‘perfect girl next door’ character?” He uses air quotes for added sarcasm.
I clear my throat to give myself a moment to think. I haven’t considered casting that much at this point, so I just try to think of actresses around the right age.
“Uh, Zendaya or Florence Pugh?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling you.”
“Because those two are nothing alike. And they're also in high demand. Do you think this role as Dr. Girl Next Door would be interesting to them?”
“Yes? Assuming it’s an exciting story.”
“Well, that’s an optimistic characterization of your work. But besides that, does the doctor role offer the actress a chance to shine? Is there anything interesting for them to do? Might they win an award for this role?”
“Maybe?”
“Mr. Schwartz, before you pitch your script to anyone, you must be able to explain how the finished film will excite audiences, elevate the stars’ careers, and land the producers lots of money, or at the least some prestige. Why would anyone want to participate in the making of your film? Figure out the answer. Writing throwaway characters like this doesn’t excite anyone about your film and marks you as a rank amateur. Write something meaningful. Something with a point of view. It doesn’t matter what it is, but it must be interesting.”
I feel my cheeks flame red as he speaks. I have no answer for him. He’s right. I am an amateur. That’s why I’m taking this damn class. I want to sink down into the center of the earth. Instead, I nod as stoically as possible.
“Thank you, sir.” I bend my knees to sit back down but he raises his hand.
“Call me Gil. And I didn’t say you should stop. Please continue reading.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and begin reading again.
“Christine: We’ve run a full diagnostic. The ship is ready to go. She’s a real beauty, isn’t she? Jaxon: She is. Before they can continue, CHIP (23), a fresh-faced cadet runs up to Jaxon. Chip: Isn’t she amazing, sir? We’ve installed the latest navigation, shields, and bio-regulation technology. She’s going to be the finest ship in the fleet. The finest in the galaxy! Jaxon smiles fondly at Chip. Jaxon: With a recommendation like that, I’m sure nothing can stop us. Dr. Christine turns away, concern clouding her features–”
“Alright, that’s enough Mr. Schwartz. Next time, let’s work on giving your audience a reason to keep watching.”
“I was about to get to a good part. Well, maybe you could call it a better part,” I say before I can stop myself.
He chuckles.
“It’s hard to imagine it could get any worse. Alright, let’s move on to the next creative genius.”
I lower myself to my seat and shove the paper into my backpack. My cheeks are hot, and my heart is thudding in my chest. What a fucking disaster. Why did I ever think I could do this as a career? Just because I had a few ideas in my head? I can barely process my embarrassment as the next student gets to her feet and starts reading.
I should have just sucked it up and become a doctor like my family wanted. So, what if I hated it? So, what if I would have made a lousy doctor? At least I would have been something my family could be proud of. Even a middling doctor is better than a failed screenwriter. It’s not too late to ask for their forgiveness and re-enroll in med school. I can go back to how everything was. But can I? I feel like all these dreams I’ve let myself have are too big to stuff back into the box of my old life.
“Thank you, Ms. Kaleh. That was certainly something. Now, we’re going to watch the first thirty minutes of Full Metal Jacket . Let’s see if Stanley Kubrik can show us how to do it right.”