Danielle Steel - Bungalow 2

They got down to the notes immediately. There were several scenes Douglas wanted changed, and one Max had a problem with. He said it moved too quickly, and showed none of the deep emotions of the actors in the scene. He wanted her to rewrite it to rip people's hearts out. “Make 'em bleed,” as he put it. And as the morning progressed, she and Douglas got into an argument about one of the characters and the way Tanya had portrayed her. He said the character was boring, and he didn't bother to mince words. “I hate her,” he said bluntly. “Everyone else will, too.”

“She's supposed to be boring.” Tanya defended her work heatedly on that point. “She's a fatally boring woman. I don't think I even mind if you hate her. She's not a nice person. She's tedious, a whiner, and she betrays her best friend. Why the hell would you love her?”

“I don't. But if she's got the balls to screw over her best friend, then she must have some personality in there somewhere. At least give us some of that. You wrote her as though she's dead.” He was almost insulting, and Tanya finally backed off. She would make some changes to the character in question, but she didn't feel right doing everything he said. In the end, Max stepped in and suggested a compromise solution. Still boring, not nice, but maybe a little more fire and visible bitterness and jealousy, so the ultimate betrayal made more sense. Tanya said she could live with that, and she was exhausted by the end of the meeting. It was nearly three o'clock by the time they had gone over everyone's notes, and they hadn't stopped for lunch. Douglas thought eating would be distracting. Tanya could feel her blood sugar dropping and her spirits plummeting by the time they walked out of the meeting.

“Good meeting, everyone,” Douglas said cheerfully as they got up. He was in great spirits, and Max had been nibbling some candy bars and nuts he'd brought with him. He had worked on several movies with Douglas and knew how he worked. Tanya didn't. She felt drained, and her feelings were a little hurt by some of the things Douglas had said. He had packed some tough punches and offered no apology for it. His only interest was in making the best picture possible, whatever it took, and no matter whose teeth he had to rattle to get it. In this case, they had been hers. She wasn't used to his style, or to having to justify her work to that extent and fight for it. The producers of the soaps she wrote for were far more easygoing.

“You okay?” Max asked her as they left the building together. Douglas had run out for an appointment, and they were all meeting back there the next morning to meet with the stars as well. Tanya was beginning to dread it. This was harder than she'd thought, and she still didn't have a handle on what to do with the character Douglas hated so much. She was going to work on it that afternoon and night. It felt like preparing for an exam. His words had been fairly harsh.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. I didn't eat much breakfast. I started to fade about an hour ago.”

“Always bring food when you take meetings with Douglas. He works like a maniac, and he never stops to eat. That's how he stays so thin. To him, lunch is purely a social event. If it's not on his calendar, he doesn't eat. People around him drop like flies,” he teased.

“I'll know for tomorrow,” she said, as he walked her to her limo.

“Oh no, tomorrow is different,” he explained. “Tomorrow we've got stars. Stars have to be fed, on cue, and extremely expensive specially catered meals if possible. Directors and writers don't have to eat. You can beg something to eat from the actors' plates. Maybe they'll throw you some caviar or a chicken leg.” He was exaggerating, of course, but not entirely. “It's always good to have an actor or two at a meeting. I try to request it. That way the rest of us get fed.” She laughed as she listened. It was like being taught the ropes by an upperclassman at school. She was grateful for his help and good humor. “I'll bring Harry tomorrow, too. No one wants to feed an overweight director. They always feed a dog. He looks truly pathetic, and he whines a lot, and drools. I tried it once, the drooling thing, and they asked me to leave the room and threatened to report me to the union, so I just bring him instead.” She laughed out loud at his comments, and he told her not to be discouraged about the rewrite or even Douglas's tough comments. It was standard operating procedure with him, on all movies. Some producers were a lot tougher than Douglas, and demanded rewrites constantly. She was wondering what kind of comments she'd get from the actors, and how carefully they'd actually read the script. The actors on the soaps she wrote for just went on stage and winged it. Everything they did here, for a feature film, was going to be a lot more precise.

She spent seven hours working on the script, addressing all of Douglas's comments, as well as Max's. She ordered scrambled eggs and a salad from room service, and at midnight she was still at work. She called Peter when she finished. She hadn't gotten to call the girls before that, the time just slipped by, and she knew they'd be asleep by then. He was still awake, reading, and waiting for her call. He suspected when he didn't hear from her that she might be writing, so he left her alone and waited to hear from her.

“So how was it?” he asked with interest. He figured she'd had a full day or she'd have called.

“I don't know.” She was tired as she stretched out on her bed to talk to him. “Normal, I guess. Douglas hates one of my characters. I've been rewriting all her scenes all night. I think I've made her worse. He thinks she's too boring. We had a meeting until three o'clock, without stopping for breaks or food. I thought I was going to keel over by the time we finished. I've been working my ass off in the room ever since. And I don't think I've fixed it. We meet with the actors tomorrow for their notes.”

“Sounds grueling,” he said sympathetically, but he knew she had expected it. And she was a workhorse anyway. She never gave up on a problem till she fixed it, in writing or all else. It was one of the many things he admired about her.

“How was your day?” she asked, happy to hear him. She had missed him terribly all day, even when she was working. The week looked like a long stretch ahead. “I missed calling the girls. I was working and didn't see the time. I'll call them tomorrow.”

“They were fine. Alice brought us lasagne, and her famous pound cake. We pigged out. I made the salad. I got off easy tonight.” Which was a good thing, since he had had a long day himself, working with a new client on some tough problems that were surely going to wind up in litigation.

“Did Alice stay for dinner?” Tanya asked casually, and was surprised to hear she had. It was nice of her to bring them food, and she was grateful for it. But admittedly, Tanya had been there for her every second for months when her husband died. “I owe her big time after this. If she keeps it up, I'm going to have to cook for her for the next ten years.”

“I have to admit, it was helpful. And she took Meg to her soccer game. Molly needed the car. Alice saved my life. I couldn't leave work in time, so I called her. She was just leaving the gallery and said it was fine.” Tanya had done the same for her kids many times over the years, but she was grateful anyway. In some ways Alice helping them out assuaged her guilt, but in other ways it made it worse. She liked knowing that someone was picking up the slack for the girls, and helping Peter, but it also made her feel guiltier than ever for not being there to do it herself. She was just going to have to live with it for the duration. And at least Alice was there for them. More than anything it was a lifesaver for Peter, and Tanya was especially grateful for that. He couldn't do it all himself. He had too much to do at work.