Chapter Seven
November 26, 2002
Jen was running out of ways to put it off. She had settled Andie and Jack into their rooms. Finished her reading. She'd gone shopping with Andie. Grams had banished her from the kitchen. It was time.
She sat down to read on her bed. Propped up against the headboard with loads of pillows. Time passed quickly. She could tell, objectively, that it was good. But the emotions that it brought out in her were invariably different from those that would be evoked from an audience. It brought her sadness, pain, pity, and anger. She was about half way through...
Cue door opening. Shot of Tasha's father entering the apartment and
placing a briefcase by the door. Follow him walking down the hallway into
the living area. He's taking off his suit coat.
Tasha's father: Carol, Tasha, I'm home.
(No answer).
Tasha's father: Hello?
He continues through the living area, up the stairs. Cue 15-year-old Tasha and Dan (her boyfriend) laughing and talking. Tasha's father follows the sound. Camera cut to the bedroom door, open about six inches. Follow the door as Tasha's father pushes it open. Pan up from the floor to the bed, wide shot to see all of the bedroom. The bedroom is decorated lavishly so as to impress upon the audience that it is not Tasha's room. Tasha and Dan are laying in the bed, naked. The signs that they have been having sex obvious.
Tasha (stammering): Daddy? I didn't realize... Why are you...
Tasha's father (astonished at first, then angry): Tasha! What is this! What are you doing? In my bed!!!
Tasha: Daddy, I can explain...
Tasha's father (coolly): There's nothing to explain. You're a whore, pure and simple. I've been able to ignore the other boys, the gossip that reaches my associates, your complete disrespect for me and your mother. This is it. There's nothing left for me to say to you and there's certainly nothing left that I want to here from you. I want you out of my house. That's final.
Tasha's father retreats, slamming the bedroom door. Keep camera on Tasha's face to see the shock. She flinches when the door is slammed.
Jen could feel her heart constrict and her hands shake in anger. That day was so long ago, but the picture in her memory was made even more vivid by Dawson's interpretation. Her father. Her own father thought she was a whore. Probably still did, seeing as how he didn't know her. Had never known her. She took the script and placed it into the envelope. She knew that she had read enough. Enough to have her relive those experiences. And enough to know how Dawson saw her life. She stood, looking at herself in the mirror. She could feel the shame and hatred wash through her.
Jen knew she had to cool off and decided a walk would help. She grabbed her jacket, throwing it on as she took the stairs at a run. Outside she felt the cold air slap against her hot face. She looked to her right at the Leery house and felt a pang in her chest cavity. How could he think those things? She started off toward the dock with the intention of sitting and staring at the water until she had calmed down some. It was then that she caught sight of Dawson in the very place she was heading.
Dawson turned from the end of the dock and walked slowly back. His gaze lifted from his feet and he saw Jen. He brightened before he saw her expression and her determined walk. She's angry, was all that he could think. He was scared knowing that it was something he had written that upset her so. He saw her crimson cheeks and hard eyes and remained frozen on the dock. What else could he do?
"Jen," Dawson began, but was cut off.
"Dawson," Jen's voice was low and even. "I trusted you."
"Jen, you can still trust me. No one else will ever see the script, I promise."
He took a tentative step forward, but stopped when he saw her spine stiffen and her eyes darken.
"Promise? Well, that's just grand. You promise." She snorted in disbelief. "I recall you promising that you wouldn't write it to begin with." Her glare was unforgiving.
"I'm sorry, Jen. I know I said that I would respect your wishes, but I just couldn't. Your story overpowered me. It was as if I couldn't not write it." His eyes plead with hers for understanding.
Jen's posture softened momentarily until she remembered the anger she felt. Anger she needed to express.
"That's a lovely sentiment, Dawson. It's flattering to know that my past, my painful, embarrassing past, fascinates you so. Can't you leave well enough alone?"
Jen's voice began with a bitter sarcasm and escalated to distress. Dawson let Jen's words wash over him, staring at her. Refusing to let himself turn away from her icy eyes or angry voice.
"It's been made crystal clear to me what people think of my life. My parents. Grams. And now you. You're still that narrow minded 15-year-old boy who can only see the world in black and white!"
As she continued, Dawson could only stare at her. Eyes wide. His body tense, but unmoving. She trailed off, her anger spent. Looking at him she waited for his response. His denial of blame. Indignation at her accusations. But Dawson remained, firmly planted to his spot, not speaking.
When Jen turned to go, he shook his head as if to wake from a dream. He placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her, but when she looked over her shoulder at him her eyes had him backing away. She stopped, nonetheless, refusing to turn and face him she looked over her shoulder at him.
"Jen," he began quietly. "You didn't read the whole thing, did you?" He said it with both accusation and hope in his voice.
She turned slowly to face him.
"I read enough." Her anger was still apparent.
"Jen, please. I know that I've broken your trust, and I'm sorry. But, please, if you trust me at all, even in the smallest sense." His voice betrayed him, shaking with fear. He swallowed before continuing. "Finish reading it."
***
"Joey? It's me."
"Hey Dawson, I just got in an hour ago. How're things?"
"I'm all right. Listen, I just called to ask a favor."
"Is everything okay?" Joey asked, concern evident in her voice.
"No, but now is not the time to get into. The favor?"
"Yes, of course. How can I help?"
"You're going out to dinner with everyone tonight, right?"
"Planned on it, but if you want me to come over or something..."
Dawson cut her off. "No, nothing like that. Just send along my regrets. I won't be there."
"But, why, Dawson?"
"As I said, now is not the time. I'd just appreciate it if you let everyone know that something came up and I won't be there."
"Not a problem. Please, if there's anything I can do."
"Thanks. Have a good time tonight."
Dawson hung up quickly, not wanting to avoid any more of Joey's questions. There wasn't anything he could do to fill the time. Nervous energy was eating at him, but there was no way to be proactive in this particular conflict. He knew that he had to wait for Jen to come to him. If she came to him. All he had was hope.
Knowing he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else. He gave up and read the screenplay. Again. Though most of it was already committed to memory, the process of reading the words off the page and once again searching for any weakness at least gave him some sort of focus.
Cue camera pan through Tasha and Derek's apartment, moving toward Tasha's bedroom. It's early morning and the sunlight is beginning to filter through the bedroom windows. We see Eric and Tasha asleep on the bed. Both completely dressed except their shoes. Eric is lying on his back and Tasha on her side facing Eric. Eric's eyes open suddenly. He stares at the ceiling and we hear his deep breathing. The camera angle switches to show Eric and Tasha from above. As the camera zooms to Eric's face it shows that he is pale and is covered by a layer of sweat.
Eric (outburst): Tasha!
He turns his head to face her and breathes a sigh of relief.
Eric (quietly to himself): Dream. It was just a dream.
He turns his face back towards the ceiling and takes a moment to calm himself. He moves his whole body to lay on his side facing Tasha holding his head up with one arm. He looks at her for a moment. The camera angle moves back to the side of the bed, again facing Eric. We see his breathing return to normal and color return to his face. He reaches out with his free hand to brush the hair back from her face. His hand lingers at her cheek. A sharp intake of breath comes from Tasha an instant before she opens her eyes.
Tasha: Morning.
She smiles at Eric, who quickly moves his hand away from her face.
Eric: Morning.
Eric is visibly uncomfortable.
Tasha: Are you okay?
She props her head up with an elbow on the mattress. Eric clears his throat.
Eric: Sure.
Tasha: Well you don't look okay. If something was wrong you'd talk to me about it, right?
Eric doesn't answer.
Tasha: I guess that's a negative.
She sits up and sighs.
Eric: Tasha, it's not that. I just had a strange dream. Even more so considering where I woke up this morning.
Tasha: You sure that you don't want to talk about it?
Eric: I'm sure. Maybe later?
Tasha smiles at his suggestion.
Tasha: Yeah. Later is a good time to talk about a lot of things.
Eric sighs through a timid smile. He closes his eyes and moves to lay on his back. Tasha continues to look at him for a moment, and then curls up again and closes her eyes.
Dawson couldn't help but wonder what might be different if he hadn't run out that morning. It was meaningless to consider, but maybe he and Jen would be at that dinner tonight. Friends as always. Maybe she would never have confided in him. Perhaps they would have drifted apart. There was no way to tell, but Dawson knew that it was impossible to control his mind when it wandered down this sort of path.
He stood abruptly in an effort to clear his perspective. He was drawn to the window. It was dark out, but Grams' porch light was on. Dawson shifted his line of sight to look out at the sky line. Stars were just beginning to show. Stars. Somehow stars had come to signify Jen over the past year and a half. Everything in his life seemed to circle back to her. Her sardonic wit and sarcastic laugh. Her unwavering faith in those she trusted. Her small, slender frame and heart shaped face. Oh God, he hoped that he hadn't thrown that away.
Soon enough. I'll find out soon enough, was the echo in his head. He held onto this thought and paced the length of his bedroom before returning to his seat in from of the computer.