Sewanee snorted. It was involuntary.
Adaku glared at her. “And when I stumble upon them with my tribe, she almost kills me. Bowie knife to the throat. But then we ally–”
“Let me guess: She dies in the final battle?”
Adaku’s hands turned into fists, taking the reins on her patience. “Swan. There’s so much meat on this bone. It’s such a good death. They hang her!”
“They hang her? Jesus–”
“She goes out like the true warrior she is.” Adaku leaned in. “And as they’re raising her up real slow, real torturously, because they’re dickwads, she and my character? They make eye contact. And there’s this beautiful camaraderie, this, like, witnessing. This, ‘I will make this right if it’s the last thing I do, you will not die in vain’ thing. And I’d have tears streaming down my face and you’d have one tear rolling down your cheek–’cause you have that freakish ability to time your tears–combined with this steely go-ahead-you-shitheads-kill-me defiance on your face. And then your life force . . . just . . . fades out. I mean, come on!” Adaku spread her hands over the table, at this imagined spread of opportunity. “It’s your role. I can do this.”
“What do you mean you can do this?”
“Star power, babe! It’s what we’ve been fighting for since our Tony’s pizza days and now I’ve got it.”
Sewanee tried to squash the jolt of excitement that shot through her. “Okay. Okay. What’s her backstory?”
“She was kidnapped and forced to work in a brothel. And she refused to do what they told her to. A queen from the jump.”
Sewanee paused. “So, they punished her.”
Adaku paused, too. “Right. But because she was so–”
“She’s disfigured.”
Adaku took another pause. “Yes, but that’s not the point.”
“No, my ability to time my tears is the point.” She balled up her napkin, tossed it gently onto the table. “Come on, A, at least be honest.”
Adaku huffed. “You know what?” Sat back, huffed again. “Honestly? Sometimes you really piss me off. You want to think the only thing anybody sees is that scar, go for it. But meanwhile, there’s a chance for us to do something together. To make something happen together. And you are perfect for the part because of everything you are, and everything you’ve survived, and sorry, but yes, that has a lot to do with that scar.”
Adaku stopped there as the food arrived. She dug into her salad with leashed frustration. Sewanee picked at hers for a few moments before saying, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just wish–”
“And I just wish you’d deal with it already,” Adaku rushed out, in loving exasperation. “Because it’s holding you back and it kills me to watch you–”
Sewanee held up a hand. “I know.” She encircled Adaku’s wrist. “I’m sorry.” She widened her eye for emphasis.
Adaku sighed and lifted her wrist to her lips, kissed the top of Sewanee’s lingering hand. “Me too. I’m hangry all the time now. This training’s turned me into a roided-out gym dick.”
Sewanee chuckled and Adaku dug back into her salad. Sewanee took a bite and a sip of water. “So. How real is this? Me doing this?”
Adaku swallowed. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll check in with the studio. I know they haven’t found anyone yet. I can’t guarantee they’d make a straight offer. Even I had to audition. But it’ll be a formality. They’re going to fall in love with you.”
*
February 27
BROCK:
Heads up: in one of my sections, Claire asks what Alessandro wants out of their lovemaking and he says, “I want to change your voice.” And then at the end, he references that he did at some point and how it was the hottest accomplishment of his life or some such. So maybe find a place to change your voice in one of your sections?
SEWANEE:
You want me to change my voice?
BROCK:
IDK. Maybe just something that gives a little heat to Claire’s typical cool/calm/collected thing.
SEWANEE:
You really want that?
BROCK:
No. Not necessarily. I’m just spit-balling.
SEWANEE:
Well, is there a specific spit-ball you have in mind?
BROCK:
You know, whatever. Something a little wild. Maybe.
SEWANEE:
Wild? Really.
BROCK:
Ok, not wild.
Maybe just wanton.
SEWANEE: