At first, acting was an escape, enabling me to be someone else and pretend that everything was okay. But it was also an active form of revenge—I wanted to haunt Sam. I loved the idea of him seeing me on his television and knowing that I wasn’t his, that I would never be his again. I fantasized that he saw me and saw that he hadn’t broken me; I was stronger without him. I’d imagine his regret, his guilt, his heartbreak.
For a few seconds, the fantasy would be as good as a high. But then the director would call cut and reality would crash down.
But it didn’t take long to realize I loved acting. I loved photo shoots. I loved the travel and the promo. I loved becoming someone else. And Sam was the only one who knew how much I’d wanted acting to be my life.
Ironically, my escape into various roles helped me get over him, but the distance from Sam also gave me time to truly appreciate what Nana gave me by taking me to London. She pulled me out of my small life; she made my world expand. Without London, I would never have become an actress. This is the life I wanted, but not at all on my terms.
I scan my script and revert to old habits, surreptitiously wrapping a loose string from my sweater around my finger and pulling it so tight it sends a shock of pain through my system. It’s enough to have me straightening in my seat, some of the static clearing from my ears so I can focus as the reading begins.
Because the movie begins when Ellen is a teenager, the younger cast starts the read. I look great for thirty-two, but not even Charlie’s makeup can get me to pass for sixteen.
We follow along for about twenty pages as a young Ellen Meyer and her first husband, Daniel Reed, begin a secret affair and move to Minneapolis where Daniel begins school and Ellen works odd jobs to keep them afloat. The two young actors recite their lines with only a few stumbles, and we see Daniel’s infidelity, and Ellen moving to the family farm when she is only twenty-six.
We shuffle pages, everyone takes a few minutes to get some water, and when we reconvene, the silence in the room feels like it vibrates along my bones.
EXT. MEYER FAMILY FARM, FRONT PORCH—DAY
1956 Iowa. Rolling green hills and farmland surround a two-story farmhouse. A handsome but down-on-his-luck salesman RICHARD DONNELLY (28, a physically imposing black man with wide eyes and a nervous smile) knocks on the front door. His shoes are worn but his suit is clean and pressed, his hair is short and neat beneath the brim of his hat.
When no one answers, he looks back over the scenery—there isn’t another house for miles. It’s hot. He’s tired and hungry. He hears a woman’s scream followed by loud swearing from around the back of the house. He jumps off the porch and races toward it.
EXT. MEYER FAMILY FARM, BACK PORCH—DAY
ELLEN MEYER (26), beautiful but wearing a wet dress and apron, stands with her arms submerged in the tub of a broken washing machine. She is surrounded by baskets of laundry and an empty clothesline. An open toolbox lies at her feet.
ELLEN
God dammit! Piece of—
Richard races around the corner and stops when he sees her.
RICHARD
Ma’am . . . Are you okay?
Ellen turns. She places a dripping hand on her hip, curious, but not intimidated.
ELLEN
Who are you and what are you doing on my farm?
RICHARD
Richard Donnelly. I’m here to see about selling you some feed for those cows.
He motions toward the front of the house.
RICHARD (cont’d)
Nobody answered the door and I heard someone shouting.
She turns back to the washing machine.
ELLEN
Well as you can see, Richard Donnelly, I’m busy wrestling this stupid machine. And I don’t need more feed.
RICHARD
Yes, ma’am. Can I help you? I mean you’re—
She turns back to glare at him.
ELLEN
What? A woman?
He tries to hide a smile.
RICHARD
Actually, I was going to say “soaking wet.”
She looks down and tries not to smile, too.
ELLEN
I’m fine. I’ve fixed this thing a dozen times before. I can do it again.
“Okay, so far this is . . . good,” Gwen says hesitantly, and we look up at her. “Nick, I like the vulnerability, and you’re really getting Richard’s charm.”
She turns to me, my stomach drops, and it feels like the entire room holds its breath. We all know what’s coming. I know when I’m nailing it, and right now I’m about as unnatural and tense as I’ve ever been.
“Tate, I want you to try to capture how disarmed Ellen is right here. In the past years, she’s become a city girl. Now she finds herself back on the farm, having to take care of everything, including her father. She’s ferociously independent. She’s a feminist before her time. She’s learned the hard way that she doesn’t need anyone’s help, she doesn’t trust men, she certainly doesn’t want to be charmed by Richard, but she reacts before she can stop herself. Let’s really feel that.”
My face heats under the attention of the room. Dad is seated just to my left; his presence is like a pulsing light beside me. Sam’s too, just down at the other end of the table. It’s taking every bit of restraint I have to not lift my head and look at him.
I nod and read the scene again. It doesn’t really feel any better the second time. My dialogue is forced, rushed in some places and wooden in others. But it’s just a table read . . . so Gwen lets it continue.
Ellen turns away and begins tightening a bolt.
RICHARD
My father owned a repair shop in Charlotte. I used to work there during the summers. These machines have really come a long way since then, but they can be temperamental.
I really wouldn’t mind . . .
Ellen ignores him. She sets down the wrench and presses the power button. She waits as the machine rumbles to life, pleased UNTIL it begins spraying water everywhere, soaking them both. A beat of silence.
ELLEN
What about this scenario doesn’t look under control to you?
“Tate, let’s try that line again.” Gwen nudges her glasses down her nose so she can peer over the rims at me. The action makes me feel twelve years old again, getting a lecture from Nana on how to set the café tables right. “She’s freshly divorced, standing in the backyard of her childhood home, her father has budding dementia, and her washing machine essentially exploded all over her. To her, the situation is ridiculous.”
Someone shifts at the far end of Gwen’s table, and I blink over before I can stop myself. Sam is sitting there with his eyes down, arms folded across his chest.
My mouth is dry, but I worry my hands will shake if I reach for my water. Stalling for time—hoping to get my breathing under control—I say, “We want her to be able to laugh at herself a little.”
Gwen nods, encouraging. “Exactly. This really is an if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry moment.”
She has no way of knowing this, but Gwen has just crystallized the emotion down to exactly what I needed to hear. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.
I can certainly relate to that.
ELLEN
What about this scenario doesn’t look under control to you?
They laugh at the absurdity. With a resigned sigh, Ellen realizes she could probably use another hand.
ELLEN (cont’d)
Could you hand me those pliers over there? And hold this?
Richard takes off his hat and rolls up his sleeves, then eagerly does what she asks.
ELLEN (cont’d)
I don’t know why we even keep this thing. Probably faster to wash it all by hand anyway.
They work together in silence for a moment.
ELLEN (cont’d)
I don’t recall seeing you around.
RICHARD
No, ma’am. I just got into town yesterday. I work for Whitmore Feed and was just making my rounds.
That’s why I was at your door.
Thought I’d be okay on foot, but your farm is a bit farther from town than I thought.
ELLEN
You walked all the way from town?
RICHARD
Yes, ma’am. I don’t mind.
ELLEN
You don’t have to call me ma’am.
I’m Ellen Meyer.
They shake wet hands over the washing tub.
RICHARD
Pleased to meet you, Ellen.
ELLEN
Likewise, Richard.
Richard motions to the fields behind them.
RICHARD
Beautiful place you have here.
ELLEN
Thank you. Grew up here. My dad still thinks he runs the place but . . . he doesn’t.
The rest of it goes unsaid. Richard moves to adjust a hose and then takes a step back.
RICHARD
Try it now.
Warily, she turns it on. It works and water begins filling the tub.
ELLEN
You did it.
RICHARD
Actually, you did. I just tightened a hose. You’d’ve found it if I hadn’t interrupted you. I can see the other repairs you’ve done in there. Mighty impressive.
She blushes, not accustomed to the recognition.
ELLEN
Thank you. (beat)
I can’t send you home drenched through to your skin. Why don’t you grab a towel over there and I’ll bring you some lunch?
“Good job, everyone.” Gwen pushes back from the table, standing. “Let’s take twenty.”
I stand, stretching and working to put on a brave face. I can blush on command, and have put on a good show of Ellen flushing at the idea of a handsome Richard soaking wet in her yard, but the heat on my cheeks lingers in earnest as the reality sets in that I’ve just bungled my first—albeit unofficial—performance on Milkweed.
I wasn’t good, and everyone knows it. The lines I fell in love with seem to drag with my delivery. The chemistry that crackled during my screen test with Nick is nowhere to be found. This is my movie—my dream role—and I’m letting my head get in the way.
When I step outside, the crisp air feels immediately easier to pull in deeply. Inside the room, at the table, I couldn’t quite catch my breath, and my delivery suffered, my words coming out tight and clipped. Neon-yellow leaves crunch beneath my boots as I round the corner to the empty side of the porch. I can see the pond from here, the rows of corn that sway in the breeze, and a field of pumpkins warming in the fading sun. Footsteps sound on the boards behind me, and I turn to see Marco standing there.