“That’s too bad,” I say, unsure what this might have to do with me.
“They weren’t nailing Diane,” he says, referring to the character with the leaking implants. “My producer thinks we need a woman to write it. Make it sexier.”
I wish I could tell you this is the first time my father has referred to his work as sexy.
“That makes sense,” I say. “It might be a nice change of pace. You don’t see a lot of female-written action movies.”
“Yeah, well, I thought maybe you’d want to throw your hat in the ring, since you love the book.”
I do not love the book. I will allow that my father’s novels have a lurid appeal, but they are decidedly not for me. Of course, I would never say that to him. He assumes I think he’s a genius. He assumes that of everyone.
This does not change the fact that I’m stunned. He has always dismissed my work. I assumed he thought I was a bad writer.
“Wow,” I say, unable to help myself. “That’s … thanks for thinking of me, Dad. That could be really cool.”
“Well, never say you didn’t follow in my footsteps for nothing.”
“What would you need from me to pitch?”
“A treatment, to start.”
“Yeah. Okay. No problem. When do you need it?”
“No rush. Things aren’t moving quickly, with the virus. We’re still talking to directors.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll get started right away. I’m excited.”
His wife calls his name, and the phone goes muffled for a second.
“Gotta go, kid. Tennis.”
“Okay. Love you, Dad.”
“Yup. Bye.”
The line goes dead.
I feel a strange tension at the corners of my face.
A smile, you might call it.
My father has made me smile.
I try not to let this feeling get too big, because it’s never good to get your hopes up where Roger Marks is concerned. But I can’t help it. I’m flattered.
He thinks I can write a fucking action movie. Be trusted with his precious Mack Fontaine. Given how highly he thinks of his work, this is no small compliment.
I grab my laptop to email my agent and manager letting them know of this development.
My heart nearly stops when I see the name at the top of my inbox.
Seth.
I haven’t talked to him since he got engaged.
I had to mute him on Instagram, because every time he posted a picture of himself and his beautiful, wholesome, seemingly perfect-for-him-in-every-way fiancée, it made me sad.
And I have enough making me sad.
Still, I click on his email faster than you can say “bad idea.”
From: sethrubes@mail.me
To: mollymarks@netmail.co
Date: Mon, June 22, 2020 at 11:12am
Subject: Whale hello
Hiya Marks.
How are you faring during these dark times? I really hope that you’re okay, and your family is okay.
I was wondering if I could ask for a favor. A friend of mine has a sister studying film at NYU whose summer internship fell through due to Covid. She’s looking for something she can do remotely, and I thought maybe you might want some help from a smart college kid for the summer? I’m pretty sure she’ll do anything you want, even if it’s just proofreading your drafts. No worries whatsoever if you’re not interested—just thought I’d ask.
Let me know how you’re doing. Thinking of you.
-Seth
