Falling in Love by Stephen Bradlee

Author:Stephen Bradlee [Bradlee, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Biographical, Women's Fiction, Contemporary Women, Contemporary Fiction
Amazon: B008VJM1HC
Publisher: Stephen Bradlee
Published: 2014-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

MIDLOGUE

Sherry broke down crying. She crumbled on my sofa, her head clutched in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. After a long while, she stopped, still covering her face. Finally, she wiped her eyes with a tissue from a packet that she had had the foresight to bring. She hadn’t just talked into a tape recorder. She had been reliving her sordid past. Her beautiful face was now twisted in pain.

She desperately needed a break and probably some sleep. I feared the consequences of her continuing.

Most of my projects had involved a lot of emotion and pain. I had doctored scripts for panicked producers and directors who had starting shoot dates but no scripts. I had ghosted celebrity autobiographies for despondent, desperate stars. No one ever wrote their memoir when they were on top. Autobiographies were excuses to explain why they weren’t working and usually frantic attempts to revive their careers. But I had never before experienced this kind of anguish.

Sherry agreed to a break and we dined on Chinese takeout in my back garden. Despite claiming to be famished, Sherry just pushed her Sesame Chicken around her plate with her chop sticks, completely lost in thought. She didn’t want polite conversation. She didn’t want any conversation. Occasionally a tear slithered down her cheek, marking another moment of past agony.

I wanted to know how Sherry’s story ended. What if we didn’t finish on time and there was no ending? I couldn’t create one. Sherry’s story deserved a real ending. Her words would have to reside in my unfinished-projects drawer, waiting for her return, if ever.

I asked softly, “If we don’t get it all this weekend, can you stay an extra day?”

“No,” she replied. “Monday morning, I have to be on a plane. Period.”

Silence enveloped us again. Sheltered from the blaring streets by townhouses and highrises, we heard only the soft hum of air conditioners.

I tried small talk and asked about her relationship with Candice. “We sat beside each other on a plane once,” she replied without looking up. “When we discovered we had Anonymous groups in common, we became phone friends.” That was all she had to say.

Finally, I said, “We have to talk about business.”

Sherry finally looked up, her aquamarine eyes stared at me. She shook her head. “If you think this is about money, you haven’t been listening. I’m not doing this to get things but to get rid of them. I don’t want anything except to be, well, ‘anonymous.’”

I shook my head. “You have to be paid something and the typical token dollar seems a travesty.”

Sherry hesitated a moment and then replied, “Candice says that you know about offshore accounts.”

I nodded. I had once worked for a star who so desperately wanted to claim that the book was written alone that I was paid through an offshore account.

“If the book makes any money, give a portion to charity, mainly ‘Anonymous’ groups. Put the rest of it in some overseas account and give the account number to Candice. Maybe someday I’ll be happy to have it.

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