text: She was in charge of something, she just wasn’t quite sure what. She had showed up to the set, or stage, whatever it was called - it was neither in fact, it was an air hangar, she thought - and already there were people working. Some were very young, in their twenties. They carried things, mostly. Boxes, thick extension cords, tripods. There were people in their thirties who carried things sometimes but mostly they spoke into walkie talkies. Then there were the people in their fifties and sixties. They neither carried things nor spoke into walkie talkies. If someone wanted to reach them, one of the young people was sent over to deliver them the information. Bill, Jas’ boyfriend, was one of the older people. Whenever Bill looked over at Jas, he would smile his big bright, man-made smile. Though Jas did not feel the same way that Bill did, his smile always did make her loved. When Bill had come up with the idea of making this movie, Jas emphatically encouraged it. Bill had been the guy behind the guy his whole career and though he had won an Oscar for it, he still wasn’t the one that got the real recognition. The Vanity Fair profiles, the calls from A-list actors, the full-time assistant. Bill was a visual effects producer. He would often go on afternoon-length rants about how little this director or that director actually knew about movie making. They had directed some indie film and a studio figured that meant they could manage a blockbuster. Now it was Bill’s job to be the one to actually direct the movie. “You should absolutely make a movie,” Jas said. “You think?” “How much will it cost?” “I don’t know. I need to do a budget. But I can make it cheap. I’ll do the effects myself, after all.” “What do you want it to be about?” “I want to make a World War II movie. That way it’ll have planes and action but I can also make it about my dad.” It took Jas a while to figure out exactly what it was that they were making. It was a sizzle reel, Bill kept saying, but she should think of it more like a trailer. Just enough shots and scenes to make a studio want to make it into a full-length movie. At first Jas just supported Bill emotionally. She would go over to his place right after work and drink tea near him while he wrote. Start coming onto him when she could tell that he was burning out and needed to take a break. She was so proud of him, she would whisper. Eventually though, he started handing her printed off sheets of paper for her to read while she drank tea. At first she had no clue what to say. They were scenes that Bill had told her about, but they were from all different parts of the story. They made no sense without knowing what had come right before that scene, she would say. “Remember that this is just supposed to be the best parts of the movie?” “Yeah,” Jas muttered. “So all I need to know is if you think it’s exciting.” “I just feel like even though there’s a lot of action, all the names they’re using and the things they’re talking about won’t make any sense to an audience.” Bill scoffed. “The only audience that will ever see this is a bunch of suits and they wouldn’t be able to identify a story if a story slapped its dick across their faces.” “That’s gross.” “So what? It’s true,” Bill said while turning back to his computer. Jas wanted to be more helpful than she was but she didn’t know how so she called her friend Jeff who was a producer. “I want to help him, but I don’t even know where to start.” “Is he writing you a role for you?” Jeff asked. “No. It’s a war movie. Also I don’t even want to be an actress.” “What? Really? I always thought you did.” “No.” Jas frowned down into her coffee. “I want to help him like, make it. I don’t know.” “Offer to help him produce it.” “Jeff I genuinely have no clue what that means. Every time I ask you what you do, you never make any sense.” “For you, producing would just mean helping out in whatever ways you’re capable of.” “What if I’m not capable of helping? He asks for notes on his script and I have no clue what to say.” “Well that’s a perfect starting place. Get good at giving notes. Go read a screenwriting book.” “What books?” “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll get my assistant to send you some. She wants to be a writer.” Jas remembered Jeff’s assistant being in her mid-twenties. And she already knows that she wants to be a writer? Later, Jas received a package at her small mid-city apartment with a hand-written note from Jeff. It read, **For next year’s Best Picture Winner.** She threw the card away. Inside the package was a stack of books, all of them about screenwriting, including one with a cute cat on the front hanging from a rope. Jas read through all of them in one weekend. Though she got down on herself about a lot of things, one thing she always had was her ability to read fast. Teachers had always complimented her on that through elementary school. By the weekend, she had taken a half notebook full of notes down from the books, compiled all the pages that Bill had given her, and applied what she had learned to a list of improvements for the script. After reading all those books, so technical and not at the same time, she felt like she wanted to just re-write the pages of script herself but she stopped herself from going that far. She texted Bill and asked if they could hang out the next day. She added kissing face emojis to the text for good measure. After they had made love the next day, Jas sat up and said that she had a surprise for him. Completely unsure of what to expect, Bill sat up as well. He watched Jas’ body closely as she leaned over the side of the bed and pulled up her satchel. She pulled out her stack of papers and flipped to the back where she had her script notes. Immediately Bill’s eyes went wide and his muscles tensed. His anxiety only rose as she went through her notes. “I don’t need notes this in depth, Jas.” “Okay but I feel like the stronger you start this project, the higher chance it has of succeeding down the line. Or something.” Bill’s face fell into the sullen look it so often did. “When you say things like this, it makes me feel like you don’t believe in me.” “No, I want to help. I thought I was helping.” That night they slept in bed together but even in his sleep, Bill slipped away from Jas. As a result, she slept on her back most of the night. “I’m going to quit my job and help you make this sizzle reel full time.” “You shouldn’t do that.” “I can get a job easily once you’re done. But I believe in your movie. It’s going to be a huge success.” Jas lifted Bill’s head and gave him a light kiss. “I believe in you, baby.” Jas quit her job making coffee and threw herself fully into the project. She asked Bill if he wanted to hire Jeff to help make the movie. He declined. Instead, Bill hired some of his friends and his friends’ sons. None of them were producers, but they knew people who could get them low rates for equipment or a guy who had a real World War II plane. And so by the time that they reached the point of actually shooting the sizzle reel, which they were doing in an airplane hangar, Jas had not done much. Occupying half of the hangar where they were shooting was a giant green screen hung from the rafters. It wrapped behind the plane. Sitting inside the plane was one of those actors that looked vaguely like one of those superhero actors but whom would never be cast in one of those roles. Sometimes Jas would go up to Bill while he was directing the action and she would get a peck on the cheek without a glance in her direction. She offered to help the young people carry things or do other manual labor but they all saw her as one of the thirty-somethings who was past carrying things, leaving her feeling rather impotent. At the end of the shoot, which only lasted two days, Jas was the first person that Bill went up to and thanked. He gave her a big kiss and said “Thank you for believing in me.” One of the production assistants who had sucked up to Jas the entire shoot reminded her again that he’s available for any work and that if Jas was producing anything else, she should reach out to him. She took the production assistant’s flimsy business card and thanked him for his hard work. Jas drove the car home while Bill slept in the driver’s seat. The whole time she asked herself the same question she did every night. What am I going to do? What am I going to do? Though to the outside observer, this question seems like it makes sense, it made no sense to Jas why she asked herself this question. It was just a string of words in order. When she was a child, she would ask herself similarly insignificant questions like, “So you like to tell stories, huh?” When they pulled into Bill’s apartment’s parking garage, Jas woke Bill gently and got him up to the apartment. They slept together in bed that night and Bill held Jas closely. “Thank you for believing in me,” he repeated one more time before he fell asleep. This night, however, it was Jas to be the one to slip away from Bill’s grasp.