Miller Boatwright’s office called and said he wanted to meet her to discuss the nuances of the role. She remembered how, an hour before the meeting, he’d called her directly to say he couldn’t make it into the office and asked her to meet him at a small apartment he kept near the lot when he was too tired to drive to his Topanga Canyon home.
She remembered showing up and accepting the champagne he offered, having several glasses, as well as a few lines of coke, before they sat down to dive into the character. She remembered him sitting close on the loveseat and suggesting they rehearse the scene where Rosie and Dave first kiss. She’d been uncomfortable but reluctantly agreed. She remembered how, at the big moment, she veered away to kiss him on the cheek and he said simply, “You can do better than that.” She declined to go further.
It had snowballed quickly after that. Her agent called the next afternoon to say the producers were having second thoughts and considering another actress. By the following day, the offer was formally pulled. She saw in the trades the next week that the part had gone to a young ingénue named Corinne Weatherly.
She thought about saying something, maybe even taking legal action. But there was no one else there in the apartment that day. It was her word against his. And he hadn’t ever truly forced her to do anything. He could plausibly claim that they were just acting out the scene, one that happened to have a kiss.
He’d never threatened that she would lose the job if she didn’t comply. And foolishly, she’d assumed that since she had the role “locked up,” she was impervious to this kind of thing. She was wrong.
Boatwright moaned softly as he adjusted positions on the cabinet and tried to get his bearings. As he shifted his weight, she resolved to say nothing yet, confident that his confusion and fear would be heightened if she dragged out this part, before actually engaging him. But somehow, staring at his entitled, unconscious face, all the years of bottled up rage overflowed. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop herself. She heard the words spilling out.
“That was the worst day,” she muttered. “I really struggled after that. The cocaine use increased. I was bitter and angry, borderline suicidal at one point. I heard rumors that Corinne had been willing to make the kind of ethical concessions to get the role that I hadn’t been.”
She stopped talking. The next part was too painful to say out loud. She could hardly bear to even think about it.
When the film was a hit and Corinne was nominated for a Golden Globe, she had actually tried to kill herself. She took twenty sleeping pills, got into her bathtub, and started to drift off. It was only the huge leak in her crappy apartment, and the bathtub water seeping into her downstairs neighbor’s bathroom, which saved her. The neighbor got the super, who unlocked her door and found her, unconscious, her head about to slide into the tub.
Boatwright groaned again. The sound snapped her out of her reverie. She realized that she’d been grinding her teeth as she recalled the incident. Though he wasn’t conscious, she resumed speaking. She considered it almost like a rehearsal, practicing her lines before the live performance she knew was imminent.
“After I was released from the hospital, I checked into rehab and committed myself to therapy. Aren’t you proud of me, Miller?”
She glanced over at him to see if he was listening. He deserved to hear this part. His eyes were closed but she sensed that the passion of her words would somehow get through.
“I left town for six months, hiking in the Colorado Rockies. When I came back I had a renewed sense of purpose and a new name. I officially changed it to Callie. Hemphill was my mother’s maiden name. And considering that I hadn’t spoken to my abusive bastard of a father in eight years, it felt good to be rid of his name. It was like I was a new person. Are you getting all this, Miller? There will be a test later.”
At the sound of his name, Boatwright murmured something unintelligible. That was good enough for Callie. He was getting it.
“So where were we? Oh yes, I went back from my dyed blonde hair to my natural brown, got a new agent, and carved out a fresh career for myself. For