Take Two Read online

  He laughed and shook his head. “Craziest thing.”

  He launched into a story about how the other side came dressed with the backs of their shirts dyed yellow, and how his team had acted out a skit that ended up being mostly bloopers, especially after one of the girls got tongue-twisted and began fighting for the wrong side. Bailey enjoyed the story, loved the way it felt to sit here sheltered from the rain on the steps of the college theater with Tim warm beside her. She thought about the conversation Andi was having inside, and a pang of guilt pierced her heart. She had no right to be bothered by Cody’s friendship with Andi. Neither of them meant to hurt anyone. Besides, for now it seemed possible that Tim was part of God’s plans for her. That meant maybe Cody was part of God’s plans for Andi. If that ended up being the case, Bailey could do nothing but embrace the situation. She was happy and content, and maybe this was only the beginning for her and Tim. Cody was simply a part of her past.

  If she could only convince her heart.

  Because no matter what logic said, she couldn’t shake the hurt in her heart over losing him. Or the fear she lived with every day — that a part of her would always love Cody Coleman, the boy who’d played football for her father and lived with their family through his hardest years.

  The once-in-a-lifetime guy she had fallen for when she was too young to know any better.

  Three

  THE RENTED SANTA MONICA STUDIO EDITING room was half the size of a single-wide trailer, with fewer frills. But that didn’t matter to Keith. He and Chase sat in front of a computer control panel, their eyes glued to the spectacular images on the large screen overhead. Never mind the stuffy room. The picture drew them in so they were no longer in Santa Monica, but in Bloomington, Indiana, where The Last Letter had been filmed.

  The editing equipment was state of the art, available for rent only in the Los Angeles area and provided by the earlier investment funds from Ben Adams. For the past few weeks Keith and Chase had spent Tuesday through Thursday working nearly around the clock to edit their film. Constantly during that time, they were reminded that a production team could capture tremendous acting on film, but the magic — the real magic — happened here.

  In a ten-by-ten editing room.

  “Mark that.” Keith hit a button on the control panel, pushed back, and stood. He stretched and rubbed his weary eyes. “Dinner?”

  Chase squinted up at the plastic black-and-white clock, the only decor in the room. “Seven thirty.” He released a slow burst of stale air and hit another few buttons. The screen overhead went dark. “When did we eat lunch?”

  “We didn’t.”

  “Right.” Chase chuckled, then yawned. “Late breakfast.” He rose and rubbed the back of his neck. “The hours run together.”

  It was mid-November, and temperatures in Santa Monica hovered in the seventies, even at this hour. What little they’d seen of the day had been warm and blue and beautiful. Typical Southern California beach weather. Keith flipped off the light and locked the door behind them. Down a series of hallways and a flight of stairs and they were outside, a block away from Santa Monica’s Third Street Promenade.

  Keith drew a long breath. “The breeze feels good.”

  “It’s called real life.” Chase slipped his hands into his back pockets, his pace slow and thoughtful. “I keep forgetting it’s out here.”

  They both laughed this time. Their editing hours were crazy — work through midnight, walk back to the Georgian Hotel on Ocean Boulevard, climb the stairs to the second-floor two-bedroom suite they were sharing, and crash for five, maybe six, hours. Then back at it by seven in the morning. With the price they were paying for the editing room, they had to keep this pace. Besides, they had a deadline. Kendall had entered the film in a number of independent film festivals, and if any of them bit, they’d need a finished product by the end of the year.

  On top of that, they had a first-look deal with a major studio — something that guaranteed a DVD release, based on the actors the film had attracted. The problem with that deal was that the studio might not want a theatrical release. Putting a movie on the big screen cost millions, and rumor had it the studio was struggling. If the film didn’t make it to the theaters, there was a chance Chase and Keith wouldn’t recoup the money they’d spent making it. The investors would be repaid, but the producers would suffer the greatest financial loss.

  So the pressure was on in a number of ways.

  “The thing is —” Chase tilted his face toward the dusk sky overhead. “— even with all the madness, I love it.” He looked straight at Keith. “I mean I absolutely love it.”

  Keith smiled. He loved that Chase shared his enthusiasm. “I never imagined …”

  “I know.” Chase stopped for a red light. “It’s like we’re sitting on this amazing movie, and no one has any idea.”

  They walked north. In this part of the city, Third Street was blocked off, allowing tourists and locals the chance to shop and ogle at the artists stationed up and down the Promenade. Up ahead a man stood in the middle of the street, a makeshift spotlight shining up on him. Head to toe the guy was silver. Tinfoil around his clothes, silver spray paint covering his arms, hands, and face. He played a flute. Next to him, a cheap portable table held a glass jar containing a handful of bills.

  “Makes you wonder.” Keith watched a few seconds longer. “The guy just woke up one day and decided he wasn’t happy flipping burgers?”

  “At least he’s out here.” Chase grinned and started walking again. “Doing something.”

  “Using his talent.” Keith picked up his pace. “Pizza work for you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  They ordered by the slice — two each — at a small dive just off Third and ate the first piece back out on Third Street at a tiny worn-out table with uneven legs. The breeze was cooler, the sidewalk fringed with street people, everything they owned on their backs or smashed into a shopping cart. The salty ocean air pulsed with heavy rap music from a couple street dancers at the other end of the block, the sound blending with the occasional honking horn and rumbling truck heading east on Santa Monica Boulevard.

  Conversation was too hard against the noise, so they boxed up their second slices. Back in their rented editing room, they finished the pizza as Keith reviewed their notes from the earlier session. It was eight o’clock. Four hours until they could call it a night.

  Keith grabbed two cans of Diet Coke from the small refrigerator in the back corner of the room and handed one to Chase. “Okay.” He popped the top of his can and took a swig. “I want this scene less than two minutes total. We’re still at five and change. I have an idea, but let’s look at it again.” He sat down in front of the console.

  Chase took the chair next to him and hit the Play button. Three seconds from the front of a clip, two from the back, a camera angle deleted. A half hour disappeared, every cut piece saved in a digital file in case they needed it again. When the scene was down to two minutes, fifteen seconds, Chase rubbed his eyes. “That’s better. Let’s move on.”

  Before Keith could advance the film, his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the caller ID. The area code was Los Angeles, otherwise he wouldn’t have answered it. “Hello?”

  “Keith Ellison? Barry Gaynor here. Los Angeles Film Festival.”

  “Yes, Mr. Gaynor.” His heart slammed into double rhythm. The deadline for entering the LA Film Festival was December 5, weeks away. Entry in the competition was one of the reasons they were hurrying with the edit. “This is Keith. How can I help you?”

  “Well,” the man chuckled. “First off, call me Barry.” He allowed a dramatic pause, then dropped his voice a notch. “Don’t usually make these calls, but I had to this time.”

  Chase stopped fiddling with the control panel. He turned and watched the conversation, his brows raised. “LA Film Festival?” he mouthed.

  Keith nodded.

  “Anyway …” The laughter faded from Barry’s voice. “I hear from my good friend
Kendall Adams you’ve got yourself a hit film.”

  “Kendall called them,” Keith mouthed to Chase. He swallowed hard and tried to focus. “We were happy with it. Everyone gave it their best.”

  “That’s what I hear. Kendall can’t stop talking about it.”

  “We’re editing now, my coproducer and I.”

  “Good. Think you’ll be finished by the fifth?”

  Keith allowed a smile. “That’s the goal.”

  “So you’re entering our festival, right? Kendall promised me.”

  “Yes. Definitely.”

  “When you submit it, send it to my attention.” There was a smile in Barry’s voice. “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Definitely. Will do.” They made small talk for another minute and the conversation was over.

  Keith had cautioned himself not to get overly thrilled at any stage along the way of movie making. Too many things could go wrong. But as he set his phone down he had to work to keep from shouting out loud.

  “What’d he say?”

  “Kendall’s the real deal. I guess she’s friends with the guy who heads up the festival. You won’t believe this.” Keith stared at his friend and released a single laugh. “He called to make sure we were submitting.”

  “Because of Kendall?” Chase leaned back in his seat. “That could be huge. I mean, that doesn’t happen.”

  Keith’s heart settled down some. “Except with God. He might be using Kendall, but none of this happens without Him.” He nodded at the oversized screen above them. “Let’s get back at it.”

  They worked until after midnight, then walked back to the hotel. Fewer street people were out, but they were offered cocaine from a guy in a trench coat, and halfway to the Georgian they passed a pair of interested call girls. Keith and Chase never made eye contact.

  “Have you thought about where this could go? I mean with Ben Adams behind us, and if we get picked up by a few of the festivals?” Keith tempered his voice. The wind off the ocean was stronger now, and he had to talk loud to be heard.

  “I try not to.” Chase shrugged. “I mean, it’s exciting. But almost none of it’s in ink.”

  The conversation faded until they’d climbed the green-painted steps to the hotel and walked up to their suite on the second floor. “You aren’t convinced it’s going to happen, are you?” Keith tossed his things on the small table near the television set.

  “I believe in contracts.” Chase flopped onto the sofa with a long sigh. “Look, I’m not trying to be difficult. Kendall’s full of great ideas. The LA festival director wants us to submit our film. Stephanie Fitzgerald wants us to produce Unlocked. Brandon Paul wants to star in it. I’m having a blast, and everything sounds great … but none of it’s in ink. We still have a long road ahead.”

  “Reminds me of something I heard a director say once.”

  “What’s that?”

  Keith smiled. “’Movies very badly do not want to be made. It’s the nature of the business.’”

  “Exactly.”

  “Either way we have a great film.”

  Chase took a paperback from his bag and tossed it onto the coffee table. Unlocked: A Novel, by Stephanie Fitzgerald. “See?” He grinned at Keith. “I think it could happen. With God all things are possible, right?”

  “You’re gonna love the book.” Unlocked centered around an autistic boy miraculously changed by the power of music, a boy whose life changed everyone around him — especially his older teenaged brother. It was a story destined for the big screen. Keith had finished the book a week ago. “The whole time, I could see Brandon Paul as the boy’s older brother.”

  “It’d be huge.” Chase smiled, but he didn’t look excited. “All we need is an option from the author, an A-list screenplay, a meeting with Brandon Paul’s agent — vice president of the top talent agency in town — and about ten million in the bank.”

  “Right.”

  “Makes teaching jungle tribes about Jesus look like a picnic.”

  Keith laughed and fell into a chair adjacent to the sofa. “Same God.”

  He took the remote and flipped on the TV. On the way to ESPN a news story caught his eye and he stopped clicking. Ten high school kids caught on camera playing drinking games.

  “This one’s for YouTube,” one of them shouted out as the shots were poured.

  “Yeah, YouTube!” One of the guys grabbed a glass and raised it high. “Winner’s gonna be famous.”

  The anchor cut in and explained that before the end of that night one of the kids had died, and another stopped breathing and suffered brain damage. When the first two teens passed out — with one kid’s video camera still rolling — the other teens merely laughed and clanked their shot glasses toward the forms on the floor.

  Keith pictured Andi, his precious daughter, getting drunk at a frat party last quarter, and he felt suddenly sick to his stomach. He clicked the Power button and turned to Chase. “Knocks the wind out of you.”

  Chase was still staring at the dark TV screen. After a few seconds he leaned back in his seat and exhaled hard. “Saddest story I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “Makes me think of Andi.” Silence fell heavy between them, the story, the reality of it, hitting its mark. Andi still hadn’t shared all the details of her drunken night, but what if that had been her? Stepping up to the challenge of her peers, downing one shot glass after another? The boys who had fallen to the floor didn’t look like particularly bad kids. Just kids. Teens giving in to the culture around them.

  “Sometimes I need to remember —” Chase leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. There was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “— that’s our audience, those kids. That’s why we’re doing this.”

  “It’s why we’ll be back at it tomorrow, why we have to stay with it and believe God’s doing something big.”

  “You’re right.” The clouds of doubt cleared from Chase’s eyes. “It’s why we believe in Kendall Adams and Brandon Paul and every other detail along the way.”

  “Exactly.” They were quiet again, and Keith turned his eyes to the window and the sheer curtains dancing in the ocean breeze. The pictures wouldn’t leave his head. The teens gathered around someone’s kitchen, the vodka bottles lining the counter. The shot glasses and the laughter. All the laughter, as if they were bullet proof. As if they wouldn’t be attending a funeral a few days later.

  What about the parents? How helpless had they felt seeing the video, watching their kids pass out, watching them collapse to the floor, desperately wanting a second chance to somehow be there, to call for an ambulance? How did any of them feel now?

  Suddenly the images in Keith’s mind changed, and he wasn’t seeing the shot glasses or the liquor bottles or the dying teenagers.

  He was seeing his daughter, bright-eyed and innocent, telling a circle of jungle women about the love of Jesus Christ. And he was seeing her as she was now — experimenting with drinking and guys and choices that went far outside the realms of her up-bringing and faith.

  That was it, really. The kids in the video were no different from Andi and every other young person. They faced temptations that came at them from every side. Pornography and homosexuality, drinking and drugs, and anything goes. A disdain for faith, and an overall hedonistic lure that had a way of changing even the most grounded kids. That’s where the power of film could make a difference. The right movie could give a generation of young people a reason to stand firm, to believe again in the rewards of living right and holding fast to God’s truth. That’s all Andi needed right now. It’s all any kids in this generation needed.

  A reason to stand.

  Keith could hardly wait for morning.

  Four

  KELLY RYAN SHUT THE BEDROOM DOOR where her girls were finally napping and walked silently down the hallway of their small ranch house to the kitchen. The girls had been up late last night, hoping for a call from their daddy.

  A call that never came.

  T
wo weeks remained before Thanksgiving, and again Chase and Keith were off in Los Angeles editing, working practically around the clock to finish the movie before the festival deadlines.

  Kelly entered the kitchen and grabbed a handful of M&Ms from a bowl on the counter. She popped a couple in her mouth, and then a few more, so they’d last. Then she gave up and finished off the rest all at once.

  Lately she’d been more overwhelmed than she wanted to admit. The M&Ms were proof. It was only two o’clock and she’d nearly finished off half a bag. Between that, the overdue electric bill, and the laundry piled taller than Macy on the living room sofa, rest was nowhere in sight.

  Back in Indonesia, Kelly had eaten fish and vegetables, whole grains and beans, and little else. She’d been lean and full of energy, ready to handle whatever crisis or task the day brought. But with Chase gone, she felt frustrated and forgotten. Last night was like so many of those before it. She and the girls ate leftover macaroni and cheese and then stayed up waiting for Chase’s call. When contact didn’t come, Kelly faced a barrage of questions.

  “But why, Mommy?” Molly’s brow lowered. Not much slipped past her. “Doesn’t he have his cell phone?”

  “Yes, baby.” Kelly had felt so weary she thought about crawling into bed next to her oldest daughter and forgetting the work that waited for her in the kitchen. “I’m sure he wanted to call.”

  Macy listened to every word, and the combination of the late night and the ache of missing her father finally caused her to burst into tears.

  “I want my Daaaaddy.”

  “Okay, okay.” Kelly lifted the covers up over Molly and then moved to Macy and did the same. She sat on the edge of Macy’s bed. “Let’s quiet down. Everything’s going to be all right.” She rubbed her hand over Macy’s back, comforting her. “Let’s pray and ask God to help Daddy get his work done quickly.”