Jeremy Likes Rae’s Script
“Rae, you are a top-notch writer.” Jeremy’s praise almost made me pee on myself. “I take it this guy isn’t the protagonist since he’s murdered on page 10.”
“No, I want the audience to adore him and to get them excited about how he will save this neighborhood. And then, just then, when they’re fully vested and full of hope, I want to kill him.”
Some people chuckled or snickered. Not Jeremy. Instead, he sat quietly studying me like magi witnessing the baby king. “Why?”
“So they’ll know how we feel. Every time the black community produces a messiah who inspires our highest ideals and makes us feel like anything is possible, he’s murdered. I want the audience to feel our hope and then our loss of hope.”
“Tell me about yourself.” It was a question he only asked when he saw promise in someone. I had fantasized about what I’d say if he asked me, but at that moment, I froze.
“As a writer, you mean?”
“Sure.”
“Well, this is my third screenplay. I recently directed my first one. It’s making the festival circuit now.”
“Oh, really? What’s the name of it?”
“Spirit’s Rise.”
He gasped, along with about four other people in the room. “That’s you?”
“Yes, sir, have you seen it?”
“Not yet, but it’s getting a lot of buzz.”
“No fair,” said the guy who hadn’t presented yet. “We’re supposed to be emerging, not established.”
“I am emerging. I’ve only made one movie, and I made it by myself, completely self-financed.”
When asked what my budget was and where I got the money, I gave an honest answer. “Three million dollars and my savings account.”
In hindsight, I can see how it may have sounded haughty. Instantly, perceptions of me were split: Some people wanted to ask me for money, others wanted to kick my ass.
“I repeat. No fair,” said the crab, “She’s a professional with millions of dollars in her savings account. You wanna know how much I have in my savings account? That’s a trick question because I don’t have a savings account.”
“Don’t hate, congratulate,” Jeremy defended. (For a middle-aged white man, he could be kinda hip at times.) “Well, I’m very impressed. If your filmmaking is as good as your writing, it’s no surprise so many people are talking about your work.”
* * *
After class, I badly wanted to speak to Jeremy, but he was surrounded by fans, which were basically everyone in the room. Intuitively, I knew this wasn’t the right time to divulge my deepest desires. I wanted to be special to him. If I’d waited in line, I’d risk him thinking I was just another groupie. He’d forget me before he reached the parking lot, and my dream would be forever denied.
I didn’t leave right away, though. I had studied Jeremy’s interviews and bios almost as intensely as his work, but I had never witnessed him in the flesh. I stood just beyond his eye line, gazing, analyzing his body language, watching his sexy lips move, being mesmerized by his voice and every syllable it uttered—not in a stalker way (I hope) but in an “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful” kind of way.
After several minutes, a woman came seemingly from nowhere and stood by him like she was in charge. Was she a publicist? Assistant? Significant other? I didn’t know, but her no-nonsense we-gotta-get-outta-here vibe informed me that my long-hoped-for meeting with my mentor was coming to a close. He didn’t see me as he said his thank-yous and goodbyes before being womanhandled out of the building.
So he wouldn’t think I was following him, I waited a respectable amount of time before going to my car. When I reached my door, I heard his voice call my name. I turned and saw my Jeremy jogging up to me, beaming, “Hey, I just wanted to tell you again that you’re a fantastic writer, and I’m really looking forward to seeing Spirit’s Rise.”
Then he hugged me. HE HUGGED ME!!! I could not have written a better dream.
“Thank you so much. That means the absolute world to me.” I inhaled hard and gathered the courage to continue. “Please forgive me for being forward, but this is my one shot. I am your student and your fan, and I’m also interested in you, you know, as a man. And I don’t know your relationship status, and I don’t want to intrude on anything you may have going on. Um, this is where I’m supposed to ask you out, I think, but, honestly, I’d rather invite you in because I … I … Oh, I’ll just say it. I want you to myself, away from prying eyes and paparazzi. So, would you like to come over to my place sometime?”