Table reading of Sweet Melissa screenplay

Good evening. Thank you for tuning into The Call Sheet. I'm Keith Coogan, Saturday, May 19th, 2012. Thanks for listening in. Tonight we have a special show, something I thought I'd try. It's kind of an experiment, and I'm glad that you all could listen in and be a part of it. We're going to do something that, the closest thing I can think of for the experience you at home, in your cars, running around L.A., would be like a radio play. Something where your mind will kind of fill in the visual story. What we're doing is a table reading of a script. This is a process all scripts go through in production. The cast will sit down and just read through the script, and it gives a great ear to the writer so that he can know if there's some changes or things that need to be cut or moved or whatnot. So tonight, we are going to read a script called Sweet Melissa, written by Gabriel Romero, Gabe, thanks for coming in tonight. Thanks for having me, Keith. Absolutely. Tell us a little bit about Sweet Melissa before we get started. Sweet Melissa is my very first screenplay, feature length screenplay ever written. It was inspired, as most writing is, by Tremendous Pain. No, I went through a great... Horrible Tremendous Pain and Humiliation. Absolutely. I'm sure. I went through a really bad breakup, had a hard time getting out of depression, so I sat down to write a story. Okay. And this is what happened, is this screenplay. So hopefully it works out. That's great. And the genre, if you will, it's a romantic... It's a tragic love story. Tragic love story. Tragic love story. Okay, the theme music now is in my head. Well, we'd love you to introduce our cast, perhaps the roles they'll be playing. I'll let you do that. Well, as you said, I wrote the script, and I will be also reading the role of Will. Gabriel Romero as Will. Yes. Fine. As I'm Frank Sullivan, I will be reading the part of Rick. Thank you. Hi, I'm Brittany Crawford, and I'll be reading the part of Melissa. And I'm Evelyn Edwards, and I'll be reading the role of Linda. I'm Lena Thomas, and I'll be reading the role of Sarah. Hi, I'm Teresa Aiello, and I'm reading a bunch of miscellaneous characters. Hi, I'm Anthony Hanson, and I'm also reading miscellaneous characters. I'm Christopher Carbo, and I'll be reading Michael. Thank you. Just also doing some technical adjustments. All right. Well, let's get right to it. Everybody, sit back, enjoy our reading of Sweet Melissa by Gabriel Romero. I'll be doing this thing where I like read the description stuff, and then they'll, the cast will read it. And then the cast will be reading the dialogue. Here we go. Sweet Melissa. Exterior roadside. It's night. The orange glow from the ember of a cigarette illuminates a face, and he sits hunched over on the side of the road. Behind him, a mangled car stirs and smokes, brushes glass from the shattered windshield out of his hair. This is Michael Rogers. He takes a drag of a cigarette as the camera blurs, and now we're in a diner. It's Michael Rogers. It's morning. Michael is sitting alone at the counter reading a newspaper. He's got a plate of finished breakfast and a half empty cup of coffee. A waitress walks by, offers a refill. Can I warm that up for you, sugar? With a wave of his hand, he passes on the refill without even looking up at her. He, she pulls out his check, sets it down to his cup, and walks off. He opens his wallet, pulls out a $10 bill, drops it on top of the check. He then gets up and walks quietly outside. Outside of the diner, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He puts one to his lips. He takes out a shiny silver lighter from his pocket. A distinctive snap of the lighter, opening and striking, echoes up and down the almost completely empty street. The ember brightens as he pulls in a soothing drag. As he exhales the smoke from his lungs, he looks up and down the street. Traffic is clear this early in the morning, so he crosses to his car, a nice luxury sedan, neat and clean. The only thing visible inside is his briefcase, set flat on the back seat. He gets in his car, rolls down the window. The engine starts and he drives off. We're outside of a news station. It's the same morning and he pulls into the parking lot in front of the station into a spot marked anchor. And right close to the door, he gets out, drops his cigarette on the ground, grabs his briefcase and heads inside. In the news station, he enters, checks in with the security guard. As he makes his way through the hallway, there are people everywhere. A buzz of work fills the air. Everyone is preparing for the morning broadcast. The only approach, Michael, the only approach to the morning broadcast is to get out of the car and get in the car and talk to the security guard. The security guard is somewhat standoffish to most people. As he makes his way through the morning hustle, a man emerges from an office marked News Director. This is Will. Will is Michael's best friend. He is opposite to Michael in most ways. Will is bright and cheerful. He is friendly and interactive with the staff. As they make their way through the hall, they walk and talk. Did you get the piece I sent you on the Anderson Street restoration? Yeah, I got it last night. Oh, it was good. You think you'll have the full draft up before? It's already done. I sent it to Compy 20 minutes before you left. You got it? to copy 20 minutes ago. How are you coming on the jazz festival piece? Rick keeps asking if we're going to have a preliminary write-up for him. I sent you an email on that. Have you decided whether or not you're going to the gallery opening tonight? Yeah. Good. It's about time you started going back out. I think you'll really love this photographer. I stopped by yesterday to do some scouting for the interview tonight. Stuff looks great. I've decided that I'm not going. What? Michael, you need to get out of the house. I go out. When was the last time you went out? They arrive at Michael's office. Seated at the desk just outside of the office is Bonnie, Michael's assistant. She's working furiously on something. Her computer screen is reflected in her glasses. Her long brown hair is up in a makeshift bun held together by a yellow number two pencil. Michael pulls a file out of his briefcase. As she stands, he hands her the file. She places it on her desk. She hands him a coffee mug with the station's call letters. Bonnie, can you put this one back in my hand after I get back from lunch? She goes right back to her typing. Thank you. I go out to breakfast every morning. He goes to his office. He goes to his office, followed by Will. In his office, the room is neat, well organized. There are files and books in stacks neatly on his desk and at the couch on a small table in the corner of the room. Each stack is neat, and each one represents a project that's currently under Michael's purview. There are, however, a few things sprawled on his desk. I mean with other people. I don't like other people. Sarah and I will both be there. Both of you are other people. You really should pay attention when you are having a conversation with someone. He sits at his desk, smirks up at Will, and sifts through the letters in his inbox. Nothing of interest or importance. He puts everything back in the box and logs onto his computer, begins checking his email. Besides, Sarah wants me to meet some old high school friend of hers. Would that be so bad? Expand your circle of friends to three? She, too, is other people. You might even like her. Gives him a cold look. Like her. Seems doubtful. You should try dating again. Why? Don't seem to be any good at it, and what happens when it's time for me to leave? In the unlikely event that things go well, I'll just have to leave her anyway for New York. Did you hear something? Did you get an offer? No, not yet. It's only been a couple of weeks, but it's just a matter of time. And even if I don't get an offer soon, I can't stay here. I'm not happy. You don't say. Will clears a space on the couch and sits down. Do you have a preference, or will any nationwide network serve your escape plan? Any will work. But I've been looking forward to this for the last three years. That's it? Three years? Michael, you've always felt like you belonged on the national stage. It's one of the things I like best about you. My ambition? No. Your ego. It always makes me look so much better standing next to you. Come out to the gallery opening tonight. You'll have fun, and very few people will talk to you. Sarah even said she'd have a bottle of scotch there just for you. And if you don't like her friend, well, just be yourself. She'll leave you alone in short order. Michael stands. He gets a folder and walks out from behind his desk. He makes his way over to the door. Fine, but you get one hour, then I'm leaving. Good. All right, Michael exits. Will follows. And as they go through the hallway, a younger man comes running up behind them. This is Ryan. Ryan is a production assistant. He's carrying a file folder. Michael, I have something for you on the new underground parking garage they're building below Ellis Square. He takes the folder from Ryan. He opens it and begins to read what's inside. What is it? The Planning Commission has approved the underground parking structure to be built at the depth of 75 feet below ground. Are you kidding? No, sir. Did they forget that Ellis Square sits 40 feet above sea level? I guess they plan on reserving the bottom 35 feet for amphibious vehicles. Thank you, Ryan. It's good work. Let me know if there's anything else, especially if it's this ridiculous. Yes, sir. They fall back to walking. They're on their way to the broadcast stage. You see this? This is why I have to get out of town. Why? It's colorful. Where else are you going to find such unique eccentricity? Crazy. You mean where else will I find this brand of crazy? They turn a corner, enter the broadcast stage, a bustle, a pre-show. It's exciting. They part ways. Will makes his way to the control booth where he's handed a pair of headphones. And a clipboard by Ryan. Will flips his sheets, gives him a thumbs up. Michael walks over to the anchor's desk. He pulls out a chair and sits. He's handed a stack of papers, rifles through them. The same thumbs up. Makeup girl comes over and goes to work. She does this. Another woman walks over. She pulls out another ankle's chair. Sits down next to Michael. This is Denise. She's an attractive, professional woman. They do not like each other. As they speak, they don't even look at each other. Have you heard from Allison lately? No. And you haven't called her? I would have, but I'm out of rolled nickels. Just remember, they don't make topical cream for everything. You would know. Okay, everybody, we're on in five, four. And remember, 4A is mine. We'll see whose name is on the prompter. Denise gives him a sideways glance. He looks forward and is ready for the morning broadcast. Three, two... Good morning. I'm Michael Rogers. And I'm Denise Walsh with today's headlines. The drought that has plagued the Lowcountry now reaches its third peak. Record highs in both temperature and humidity have residents running indoors and tourists wishing they had come in March or April. A popular local restaurant suffers from a fire in the middle of the night. Firefighters attribute the burn to old wiring and the dry conditions of late. Another accident at the corner of Johnny Mercer Boulevard and Bryan Woods Road make three in as many weeks. More on those stories and others in moments. But first, we go to Sonia at the Chatham County Courthouse where Terrance Masters was convicted Thursday on charges of armed robbery and aggravated assault. Today, we begin coverage of a sentencing hearing. Sonia? Thank you, Michael. I'm here outside the Chatham County Courthouse. An art gallery in the Starland District. Dusk. Michael standing outside smoking a cigarette, sipping on a soft drink and some fast food drive-through. His change of clothes since work. Something he would not have done if not under threat from his friend Sarah. He's in a nice blue-colored shirt, black slacks. Cup makes a familiar sound as Michael takes the last sip. Chucks into a nearby trash can. Just then, Will comes out of the gallery. Put that thing out and come inside. I'll be in soon. Make sure you meet the photographer. Why? You'll see. And Will goes back inside. Michael's intrigued. He throws his cigarette out. Heads in. The gallery inside looks as if it's in the midst of a remodel. The walls have holes and the floor seems unfinished. The unfinished nature of the space is contrasted nicely by the elegance of the photographs displayed throughout the gallery. The exhibit features a collection of photographic series. There are various locations. Each series begins with a soft black and white photo. As we move through each collection, each picture has more and more color. The final image in each series being full of bright, vibrant colors. People are wandering about the gallery, gazing at the work on the walls. Most are carrying plastic cups. Left of the door is the bar. Michael walks over to it. Scotch, please. Neat. Bartender nods, pulls a bottle out, pours the drink. Michael picks up a plastic cup, wanders around the gallery looking at the pictures. They're good. He finds himself pulled into each one. He walks around. He notices a woman standing in a crowd on the other side of the gallery. She has long brown hair that bounces off her shoulders. Her lime green top pops against her alabaster skin. Her hand... it sounds like porn, doesn't it? Her hand-knitted quilt skirt falls at about mid-calf. She is... incredible. He finds himself spending more time looking at her than the pictures. He can't keep his eyes off her. Without Michael even noticing, Will slides up next to him. So what do you think? She's incredible. What? Who? Oh, you were right. I'm glad you made me come. Photographs are wonderful. Great. Listen. We've already gotten everything we need for the station. I have to run out to the van for a second, but when I get back, Sarah, you and I, we're having a toast. Sounds good. Will leaves Michael, turns to look for the woman. She's no longer in her group. He's disappointed. He turns to reexamine the picture in front of him only to realize that she's now standing right beside him. Excellent, aren't they? They're good. Michael's startled. He's now nervous and off-balance, neither one being a thing he liked or is accustomed to. Good. You don't like them. No. I do. But I think maybe the photographer's trying a little too hard to capture something expressive rather than simply capturing what's there. Really? Maybe. Now, don't get me wrong. She's definitely very good. It just seems from these she isn't really sure what she wants to say. Do you know her? No. I know Sarah, the gallery manager. The artist apparently is an old friend of hers. Oh. And is that how she got the gallery for her show? It may have had something to do with it. But the work is good. It'll definitely sell. Do you think you'll get a piece? No. I don't buy art. That moment Sarah walks up to them, she's a woman of small stature, large presence. Her wild, curly, dark hair encircles her bright, tanless face. Good. You two have already met. Actually, we've been chatting, but we haven't gotten around to introducing ourselves. Oh, okay. Melissa, this is my friend Michael. Michael, this is Melissa, my old friend from high school and the photographer featured here tonight. Michael is stunned. A look of panic comes over his face as he realizes that he has successfully insulted the work of the woman he was trying to impress. Oh. What I was trying to say is that... Don't tell me. He already stuck his foot in his mouth. Yeah, but it was oddly charming. So, Michael, did you see any pieces you might like to take home? How about that piece over there? Good choice. All right, what do you say we give it another hour and then ditch these corpses and go grab a pint? If one more of the old money hags uses the word, interesting, to describe your work, I'll cram a bottle of Merlot so far down her... Never mind. Oh, I need a Guinness. And we cut to outside River Street. At night, Michael and Melissa walk down the street. They pass a hodgepodge of shops and restaurants. He has a hard time keeping his eyes off her, so much so that at one point he fails to watch where he's going and trips on one of the tricky cobblestones paving the old street. Melissa laughs. I still can't believe it. I still can't believe she took that job. She's never had a lot of patience for those kind of people. Well, because of it, she's had four of her own shows there in the last year. Well, in that case, I totally understand. So, I have to admit, you're not quite what I expected. Really? How so? Well, between my dad and Sarah, I've heard a lot about you. Your dad? Yeah, you know, my dad, Richard Kensington. Your dad is Rick. Your dad is my boss. Yep, and I have to tell you, the way he talks about you, I pictured you differently. He points towards a man seated on a bench nearby. He's in his 50s. Sorry to disappoint. No, not at all. I'm pleased. How'd you meet Sarah? In a bar fight in college. Really? Yeah. She picked a fight with a guy and I ended up having to pull her off him. That sounds like Sarah. Never the port, always the storm. That's the truth. I had a fat lip for a week from her elbow and she was rearing back to punch him. They come to a statue. It is the Waving Girl Monument. She looks up at the statue, but Michael's gaze is fixed on her. He's completely smitten. I've always loved this statue. The first picture that ever won a prize for me was a picture of this statue at sunset. Really? Yeah. I just loved her story so much that I had to have a picture of her in my room. What's her story? Oh, okay. The statue is a monument to Florence Martise. When she was a young woman, she fell in love with a sailor. Classic mistake. The sailor claimed that he loved her in return, but he had to make one last voyage in order to have enough money to marry her. So he left with the promise that when he came back, they would be married. Florence also made a promise. She promised to wave at every ship that came into port until his return so that when he came home, she would be waving at his ship. They sit down. For over 40 years. She was so dedicated to her bow that she trained her dog Sandy there to wake her up at night if ships were coming in so that she wouldn't miss a single one. By day, she'd wave a towel or a sheet. By night, a lantern. Sadly, her lover never returned. Some say when she died at the tender age of 74, she died of a broken heart. That's a terrible story. I think it's romantic. She left him so much. He kisses her. It's quick. It's unexpected. Her words are muffled by his lips. After just a second, she's about to return his kiss. When he stops suddenly, he's all of a sudden very embarrassed, braved. He's made a complete ass of himself. I'm terribly sorry. I can't believe I just did that. You must think I'm an incredible idiot. No, not at all. What are you doing tomorrow night? Having dinner with you. Some place quaint. You already knew the story, didn't you? They sink back into each other. Outside the roadside night, the orange ember of the cigarette once again lights the screen, lights Michael's face, though now the cigarette's only light reflected on his face. There are also flashes of blue and red lights flickering tight. He's hardly even there. He seems only to be smoking the cigarette as some kind of empty action. His eyes are vacant. Paramedical. Paramedic runs up. Sir, sir, can you tell us what happened? The paramedic seems to be speaking to Michael, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't move. Everything happens around him. The red light from the ambulance fills the screen. Hallway outside the broadcast stage, the red light is turned off to signal the end of the broadcast. We go inside the broadcast stage to find the broadcast just finishing up. That's a wrap. Good job, everybody. Yeah, great job. Wonderful broadcast this morning, everyone. Michael shoots out of his chair. He walks out from behind the anchor's desk. He begins to affirm. Congratulations to everyone individually. Congratulations to everyone individually on a job well done. He grabs Denise's hand and shakes it almost violently. He's almost unrecognizable. Just about everyone. He is bright, friendly, and so full of energy he's practically bouncing off the walls. Most of his coworkers actually find it frightening, more so than the gruff, grumpy Michael they've grown used to as he walks. We follow him. Denise, wonderful job this morning. Sandy, great job today. You were right there with the touch-ups. John, beautiful boom work this morning. Seriously. You should teach a class. Boom work. Boom work. Coach Graham,amisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamis You sleep with her? Whoa, I'm sorry, but how the hell is that any of your business? I just don't want this to be another Allison. No, I didn't. Besides, this is completely different. Allison was... A bitch. Yes. What, Melissa? Well, she's not. Okay, good. What about Rick? Well, I... Michael! Shit. Michael and Will look down the hallway towards an office with an open door, and the door stands Rick. A fatherly-looking man in his mid-late fifties. He has a mustache, large square glasses. Yes, sir. May I speak with you a moment? Sure thing, Rick. On my way. Rick goes back inside his office. Michael and Will look at each other. Will gestures down the hallway. Michael beckons Will to join him. Will shakes his head. Michael beckons again. Will shakes his head even more vehemently. Woos. Mike walks up to Rick's office and enters. The sign on the wall says, Station Manager. Rick's office is extremely cluttered, seemingly disorganized. Stacks of paper everywhere. Couches covered in file folders. Four TV screens mounted in a bookcase against one wall. Rick is sitting behind his desk, which is covered in a thick layer of paperwork. He's leaning backwards in his high-back chair, leering at Michael. So, Michael, how are you? And Will, come in on that piece for the Jazz Festival. It's coming along well. I could have a write-up for you this afternoon, if you like. That'd be fine. And what about the piece on River Street, then and now? I just got to work on it. But I could have you draft tomorrow morning. Good. And what are your plans for my daughter tonight? Well, I... I, uh... Well, I thought I might start with dinner at Firefly Cafe and maybe go for a walk. Rick finally just jumps up from behind the desk, runs over to Michael, gives him a big hug. Michael's unsure what to do. He just stands there. Rick then holds Michael at arm's length and looks at him. I am so happy you two hit it off. She usually has some horrible taste in guys. Wait, what? Mike. Come on. Michael, you're already like a son to me. As a matter of fact, here, let me give you some money for your date tonight. That is really unnecessary, Rick, but thank you. All right. Well, you kids have a good time tonight. Let me know if you need to leave early or anything. Seriously, Rick, I'm good. Okay. Good. All right. Well, I'm going to go get back to work now, then. Michael exits the office, leaving Rick standing there with a big grin on his face. He's like, I'm going to go get my! And then you walk through the hospital. And then you walk through Forsyth and the squares all the way to River Street. And then you walked the river until you came to the waving girl statue. You told him her story, at which point he could no longer resist your beauty and charm. So he kissed you. You think you know me so well. I do. You've been walking through the park and telling that sappy waving girl story to every boy since Tommy Mather's junior year. And you don't think I've changed my tactics since high school? Okay. Then tell me I'm wrong. You're wrong. Really? I walked him around the park. I like him. Good. It's about time you picked a good guy. What's that supposed to mean? Let's be honest, Mel. Your previous choices haven't really been award winners. How do you mean? Well, there was the guy who took to picking fights with you every time he got drunk. Oh, and the guy who sifted through your mail and stole your commission checks. And let's not forget about the guy who stole your car. Okay, point made. Oh, what about the guy who can go on vacation with you because he said that his cats would get jealous? There's something about him. He just makes me laugh. The cat guy? Michael. What? Honey, I am so happy for you. But? Just don't rush into this. What do you mean? He's driven. He has goals and a plan for his life. And when Michael decides on something, he goes for it full tilt. So what's your point? When he falls for you, if he falls for you, it'll be all the way. Are you ready for that? I don't know. But there's something special about him. And if I have to choose between being loved too much and not being loved at all, I'd rather be loved. When the assistants waves at Melissa, she nods back. With that, she and Sarah head off to a makeup tent and then the shoot gets started. Exterior of Michael's apartment. Early evening, Michael lives in a restored, remodeled house in the Victorian district. The house itself is fairly big. However, it has been split into two apartments. Michael lives downstairs. Melissa is standing outside Michael's door. She's in a beautiful red dress, comes down to her knees. She's fidgety and nervous. She tries to ring the doorbell a few times, but she's able to muster up the courage to actually push the button. Interior of Michael's apartment is cluttered. It is messy. He just has too many things. Not enough space. Coffee tables covered in magazines. People. Time. Maxim. Stuff. Guitar Weekly. South. Not just magazines. Books. Dante's Inferno. Count of Monte Cristo. Don Quixote. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. His cabinets on both sides of his huge television filled with DVDs. Model ships are everywhere. Doorbell rings. Michael comes flying around the corner out of his bedroom into the living room. He's moving so fast when he tries to stop in front of the mirror in the hallway and asses himself. His feet slide out from under him and he falls down with a loud thud. I'm coming. He gets up. He dusts himself. He runs over. Front door. He steps out. Looks at Melissa. He locks his door. She grabs his hand and they walk down to the car. Now the car is totally clean. It's washed and waxed. Interior's been emptied and vacuumed. He opens the door. Lets her in. He gets in and they take it a moment to take each other in. Seven o'clock. It's never taken so long to get here. He starts the engine. They drive off. We're outside the Firefly Cafe. Same night. They walk out of the front doors of the restaurant hand in hand. Across from them is a beautiful troop square. It's an armillary sphere lit from underneath. They walk down the sidewalk towards Abercorn Street. Cathedral is looking incredibly romantic. Completely lit up. Michael puts his arm around Melissa. She grabs his hand and puts her head on his shoulder. You know, I'll probably be married in this church. It's gorgeous. How have you known that this is where you wanted to get married? Oh, I don't. It's what my mother wants. She has her expectations. She has her expectations. So where do you want to get married? I'm not really sure. Never really thought about it. Why not? Didn't you just tell me over dinner not 20 minutes ago that you took pictures of the most beautiful church while you were in Greece last summer? Yes, but it's hard to disagree with my mother. She is the authority on how things should be and anyone who disagrees is mistaken. But it's your life. You should live it for you, not for her. You can't live your life for someone else. I suppose you're right. I guess it's just that ever since I was little, a little girl, my mom has had the definitive answer on everything. And when you grow up like that, meeting someone else's expectations, yours fall to the wayside. I can understand that. You still haven't answered my question. What is it you want? You really are quite the reporter. I've only ever lived in Savannah, but while I was in college, I did a couple of student exchange programs and study overseas programs. I took every one I qualified for. They were amazing. So it was decided, you will move. I can't do that. Sure you can. If that's what you want, then you ought to do it. I'm not saying you need to leave tomorrow. I guess I just want to go somewhere and take beautiful pictures. Rolls and rolls of pictures. What about you? What do you want? I want to spend as much time as I can with this beautiful woman I just met. Just hope she doesn't get sick of me. I don't know her any chance, do I? I think you just might. Well, in that case, I'll see if I can put in a good word. They continue to walk down the street. They come to the corner of the church. They turn and walk out of sight. They walk off. We hear the sounds of other people talking, music, clinking of glasses. A montage, interior restaurant. They're on another date. We see them seated across from each other, laughing, having fun, beginning to fall in love. Transition to a classy jazz bar. And on another date, they're at the bar. She puts down her drink and pulls him to the dance floor. And they move through the dance floor. Off the noise of the bar and the music, we fade into the apartment. The movie's playing on Michael's TV. Camera pans across the living room. They're lying cuddled up on the couch, watching Casablanca. A classic love story plays out on the screen. Michael strokes her hair. Do you think love can really happen that way? I don't know. But I hope so. Don't you think it's a little like that for us? Well, I hope not. She's married. Well, I'm not married. Do you want anything to drink? Thirsty only for you. Cheesy. She visits the kitchen. Her skirt sways back and forth, and her hair's completely captivating Michael's gaze. Where do you keep your glasses? First cupboard on the right, next to the fridge. She opens the cabinet and grabs the glasses, opens the fridge, and the refrigerator. And the glow illuminates her in a soft white angelic light. She pulls out a pitcher of filtered water, pours it into a glass. After putting away the pitcher, she takes a sip, makes her way back to the sofa. He just drinks her in every inch, every moment of her. What are you thinking about? She comes over to the couch and kneels down in front of him. And he, now sitting up, looks down at her. She puts the glass on the coffee table, and he takes her hand in his. Can't tell if I'm happy or scared. Okay, that sounded bad. You have this effect on me. I like structure. I like having a plan of action. But when you're around, all that goes out the window. When I look at you, I'm in free fall. That's terrifying. No shoot, no plane, nothing. But, along with being terrifying, it's also exhilarating. It's like I jump out of a plane, and I'm like, oh, I'm in a plane. And for the first few seconds, I fall, but then the wind catches me. Once that happens, I'm not falling anymore. I'm flying. There's still nothing beneath me, but now it doesn't matter. I'm soaring. And that's you. You make me fly. He joins her back on the couch, and they kiss at the same time that Bogey and Ingrid share their famous kiss. Now we're outside of an art gallery, it is day. Sarah is sitting beside her desk. She's working on something. We can't really tell what. Melissa is walking around the gallery examining her own photographs. The sun, strained through Spanish moss, shines through into the gallery, the windows that make up the front wall. It's a clear day outside. Every few moments, Melissa walks over to Sarah's desk to say something and then walks back to her photographs. Finally, Sarah can't take it anymore. Melissa walks up to her desk and begins to hesitate again when... Okay, you have been bouncing back and forth all morning. What the hell is it? It happened. He's in love with me. Shit, Mel, seriously? Well, it's been... It's been five days. How did you do it? I've been with Jason for six months, and I still don't know if he even likes me. He likes you. I know he does. I'd kill him if he didn't. When did he say it? He didn't exactly say the words, but I can tell. It's there in the way he looks at me, the way he holds me. But you know what's funny? What? Betty Everett was right. She's a good friend of mine. She's a good friend of mine. Betty Everett was right. It's in his kiss. Oh, nerd. The best part is that I think I love him, too. Oh, what? Really? I think so. Oh, Mel, that's great. See, I knew you two would be perfect together. I don't know about perfect. Okay, maybe not perfect, but really, really close. Well, you know what that means. Yeah. He has to meet Linda. Yeah, and you have to prepare him. I know, I know. I'll tell him tonight. Another date tonight? Have you gone one night without seeing him since you met? Outside the news station, Michael and Will walk out having just finished a broadcast. They're headed back to Michael's office as they move through the hallway. We follow them. They walk and talk. It's nice to see you can make it through an entire broadcast without talking about Melissa, commercials notwithstanding. Did I tell you that she used to steal her dad's camper when she was little? It happened so often that he finally just gave it to her for her birthday one year. Yes. As a matter of fact, this is the third time you've told me that story. Which is only half the number of times you told me that she dreamed of traveling around the world in both directions and a third the number of times you told me that she graduated in the top three percent of her class. I'm so sorry that my happiness is boring you. No, Mike, I'm happy that you found someone. I'm just saying that there are a host of other things you can talk about. Plus, I'm a little worried you're getting too attached. What if she doesn't feel the same way you do? Sure she does. Hey, did I tell you that she spent three months touring the Mediterranean in college on a semester abroad program? Those are the things that I'm worried about. I'm sure she's worried about you. I'm sure she's worried about you. Those are some of the most incredible pictures I've ever seen. Good. At least it's nice to know you're still listening. How are you coming on the jazz festival piece? Coming along. That reminds me. Melissa studied jazz. The dance style, not the music, of course. She didn't stop dancing until freshman year of college. Okay, Mike, really? I'm happy for you. But this isn't high school and we're not on our way to study hall. Quit gabbing about your girlfriend. I need to talk to you about this. How much progress have you made on the festival piece? Going to Michael's office. Michael goes behind his desk. He shifts around papers, finds a file folder near the top of the piles, opens it, reads over the contents quickly, hands it to Will. There you go. That's everything I have so far on the festival. History, past guests, plans for this year, etc. Hey, do you think Melissa might like to go to some of these venues? I should try to get his tickets. Michael opens the desk drawer and pulls out a pad of sticky notes. Jots down a reminder on them. He pulls the note off the pad and puts it onto his computer. As he does this, he sees an email on his inbox. There are a few new messages, but one of them catches his eye. Return address, NTNN, National Television News Network. And in the subject line it reads, regarding resume submission, Will notices that something other than Melissa has captured Michael's attention. He knows that there's only one other thing Michael cares about. Who is it? What did they say? It's NTNN. Will walks over to Michael's desk, sits down. Michael opens the email and reads it to himself. He doesn't react. Will's totally confused. He has no idea whether or not he's in the right place. He's not sure. He has no idea whether NTNN has made him an offer or turned him down. What does it say? I, well, I... Michael, this is where we use our words. Lunch. What? I'm thinking Zunzi's, but if you feel like something else, we can do something else. Why Zunzi's? Well, I have to eat there now because I won't be able to when I move to New York. You got it! I got it! They jump around the office. Michael and Will are jumping around. And people down the hall kind of watch. People down the hall kind of look down and see it. Rick comes stumbling out of his office and he has a stern look on his face. You too, my office. Now. Will and Michael are standing in the center of the office. Rick walks in and slams the door behind him. He walks over to his desk, sits down. He begins to sift through his papers. Two men begin to sit in the chairs across from him. He stops them. Don't sit. Instead, why don't you tell me what is my anchorman and news director shouting out at each other in my hallway? Okay. That's fine. Behave like children. Michael, this came for you today. I've had the mailroom on the lookout for them. You'll do me the kindness of opening it now, please. He opens the package. I take it this is also an offer? Sir? I think they heard you shouting all the way out in Garden City. I got it! You got it! Yes, sir. It is me. I'm Rick. Yes, sir. It is. Okay, then. I take it you'll be turning in your resignation. I don't know, sir. What's wrong, son? I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm going to need a little time. Can I get back to you? Yeah, Mike. That's fine. Thank you, sir. Mike walks out of Rick's office. Will and Rick are left standing there a little confused. Will follows out to chase down his friend. They are back in Michael's office. Okay. What's wrong? It's Melissa. Ah, I see. You don't want to leave her. It's more than that. I don't know if I can. Michael, this is your dream. This is everything you've worked for. Do you really want to let this go by? You may never have this shot again. I know. But this thing with Melissa, this is real. I can't lose her. Okay. So talk to her. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. I'm going to go. Tell her what's going on. Tell her how you feel. Besides, you don't necessarily have to break up with her. You could do the long distance thing for a while. Okay. Maybe you're right. Good. With that settled, can we go to lunch? I've been hungry ever since you've mentioned Zuzees. Yes, god knows the most dangerous place in Savamis is between you and a free meal. You're a bastard. Yeah, I know. Exterior Kensington house evening, Michael's car pulls up to the Kensington driveway. Walks up to the walkway at the front door. Jessica? He knocks. Rick answers the door. Looks Michael over as if this is the first he'd seen him. He lets Michael get nervous, and then he smiles and lets him in. Come on in, Michael. Thank you, sir. It's Warren's southern home. A few touches of Civil War history. A couple small paintings here and there. As he enters the living room, Michael notices that it is a shrine to Melissa. Pictures of her everywhere. Posters of her high school musicals and dance recitals. There she is from infancy to young adulthood. And every conceivable costume a girl could wear. Tap pictures. Jazz pictures. Ballet and ballroom. Oklahoma. Annie, get your gun. Midsummer Night's Dream. Romeo and Juliet. Michael walks from the front door to the living room. He sees Melissa's history told through pictures. Melissa's almost ready. Rick sits in an old recliner and gestures Michael to sit on the couch across from him. Great, thanks. Linda's disappointed that she had to work late tonight. She's really looking forward to meeting you. How is it that I haven't met your wife since I came to work for you? Linda keeps busy. If it isn't school, then it's a committee meeting or a charity function of some kind. Quite a collection of memorabilia you have here. There's more. Rick walks over to a bookcase in the corner, pulls out a photo album he shows to Michael. She was Miss Teen Georgia Peach. Michael flips through the pages of the album. He sees a picture of teenage Melissa, probably around 14 or so, in a sequined dress, sitting on the back of a classic Mustang convertible with Rick, about 15 years younger, driving the car along what could only be a parade route. Teenage beauty queens waving at the onlookers. And Melissa walks into the room. Rick, is that you driving the car? Daddy, I can't believe you pulled this out. What? They're good pictures of you. Daddy and Mama don't believe there's such a thing as a bad picture of me. In case you're wondering. In case you hadn't noticed. I picked up on that. You ready to go? Actually, I think I might like to hang out here and look at a few more pictures. I mean, definitely, if you are. Have a good night, Daddy. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, sweetheart. Don't let him get fresh. It's not him you should be worried about. Ooh, and Melissa leads him out of the room by the hand. They're outside on the beach. It's night. They're walking down the beach, hand in hand, laughing. Look, long story short, that is why I'm not allowed to drive a car after an evening at the arcade. Are you serious? I can't believe you almost stole your dad's car. Well, I am a man of considerable talents. I'm glad you are. Does my father know that story? No, I don't think he would let me drive you anywhere if he did. What about you? How about a little history? What do you mean? Well, for example, I only just learned tonight that you were Miss Teen Georgia Pee. Oh, yeah? Miss Teen Georgia Peach? I was quite a few different things. You come to a bit of driftwood and sit down on it. Michael against the wood, Melissa up against his legs. They look out at the ocean. So you've heard of stage moms and dancer moms. My mom was both and more. Sounds intense. It was, but I didn't mind. I kind of enjoyed it. Daddy called me Triple Threat. Something changed? Yeah, something changed. What was it? Nothing. Tell me another story about you. You said you met Sarah in a bar fight. Did she start the fight? She used to start fights all the time in high school. Melissa, what happened? Dance with me. Can you believe I've lived in Savannah my whole life and never danced on the beach under the moon? Michael gets up to meet her. He puts his arm around her waist and takes her hand in his. They begin to slow dance on the empty beach. It's out of the ocean. Michael looks into her eyes. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me. But you should know there's nothing, nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel about you. Nothing's going to make me go away. She kisses him. You really are too sweet. I mean it. I know you do. All right. Um, when I was a senior in high school, I was dancing a ballet adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. The show was going well, the rehearsals, the rehearsals were going well. I was in the middle of it. I had a huge crush on Romeo, which was unlike me. I never had a thing for co-stars. Never. But this boy was beautiful. Anyway, we had a spectacular opening night. And that night he asked me out. I couldn't believe it. We went to a party together after the show out in the landings. Mercutio's parents were out of town. As the party wore on, I'm sure you can imagine people started pairing up and disappearing. My date and I were in the same room. My date and I went into one of the empty rooms upstairs. Looking back, I knew it was such a bad idea, but I liked him so much. Melissa, you don't have to finish. Yes, I do. We went into a room and we started making out. He started touching me. It made me uncomfortable, so I asked him to stop, but he didn't listen. One thing led to another and he just kept going and I just kept telling him not to. I'm so sorry, Melissa. That's how I lost my virginity. I never did another show. Did you tell anyone why? Just Sarah. I had to make a promise not to kill him. To this day, my parents still don't know why I quit. And to think, tomorrow you'll meet my mother. Sure you still want to? Absolutely. We look at the ocean together without saying another word. Broughton Street, early evening. We see Michael walking up to the entrance of the Trustees Theatre. Standing there waiting for him is Melissa and her mother Linda. Linda's in her early 50s. She has a very stately demeanor. And Michael walks up to the theatre. Melissa comes running up to him as Linda looks on. Thank you for coming. She's been dying to meet you. Mother, this is Michael. Michael, this is my mother Linda. Ma'am, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Same to you, young man. You know, with everything I've heard about you, I have expected you to show up with a halo and wings. Well, thank you, ma'am. I shouldn't think you'll have an easy time living up to all the praise. Shall we go in? Yes. They head in. The lobby of the Trustees Theatre walking through the doors is like stepping back into time to the mid-40s. Decor is classic mid-century, filled with bright reds and golds. The group passes a concession stand. Melissa breaks her hold for Michael. Baby, go on ahead with Mom and get our seats. I'm gonna go get us some snacks. Michael reaches for his wallet. She stops him, pushes him up to follow Linda. He steps up to catch her. The ushers are set up just on either side of the entrance, past the concession stand, taking tickets. There's a young man and woman, both dressed in uniforms. So, Michael, what made you choose a career in journalism? Well, I was in college. Take it to the police. Pursuing a degree in history. Excuse me, Michael. When you interrupt someone, it's generally considered polite to say, excuse me, make your request, and then to apologize afterwards. Seeing as you can't seem to do that, why don't you go ahead and tell your manager, since you're obviously ill-equipped to work with the general public, that they should find you another task that does not require such interaction until you have received a proper education and manners. Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, Michael. You were saying something about studying history? Michael doesn't know what to say. He's shocked and embarrassed for the usher. He's left speechless. Linda's unremorseful, unconcerned. She continues on her way inside. Come on now, Michael. Don't be rude. Escort me in. He escorts her through the doors into the theater. Two of them walk down the aisle, find their seats. There's the usual hustle and bustle as others find their seats as well. Linda and Michael take their seats, leaving one in the middle for Melissa. As I was saying, I was studying history in college and decided that I was more interested in documenting history as it happened than I would be simply studying and remarking on it after the fact. That's very well put. You know, Rick really thinks very highly of you. And you're the first boy Melissa has dated that he actually approves of. Thank you. Mm-hmm. I am. I am, however, the one that needs convincing. As you know, Melissa is my only child, and for that reason, I will only have what's best for her. Yes, ma'am. Melissa comes down the aisle loaded down with a pair of drinks, popcorn, candy. Michael gets up to help her. They sit. Melissa slips her arm under his and grabs his hand softly, looks at her, gives him a smile, and the play begins. She puts her head on his shoulder. Exterior mansion on Forsyth Park. Night. That's established. Mansion sits regally across from the park itself. Red bricks reflect the cool moonlight down onto the sidewalk. A valet stands at the main entrance like a sentry. Music can be heard overflowing from the jazz club on the second floor of the restaurant. The Casimir Lounge. In the bathroom, Michael's washing his hands. He looks at himself in the mirror, looks at his reflection. He's working up the courage to tell Melissa about the callbacks. He gathers his resolve. He checks his hair, straightens his jacket, exits the bathroom. Michael walks out of the bathroom. The lounge is crowded. We hear orders being shouted over the many conversations being held at once. Jazz music rises above the din. Sour, soothing sounds of a trumpet are softened by many bodies occupying the space. Michael walks past the bar to a door, leads outside to the balcony. He goes through it. Melissa's sitting outside, sipping wine. There's a plate sitting on the table of cider with empty oyster and mussels. She's looking out over the park. He walks over to her, sits, and she lies back against his chest. You were incredible. It's a gift. She loved you. That was what I was going for. You were such a charmer. I got you, didn't I? Well, you can't really take credit for that. It was the work of a small army. She kisses him at first light peck, followed by a longer soft kiss. I would live in a home. I would live in a home. I would live in a cardboard box for the rest of my life, as long as it meant living with you. She kisses him again. Marry me. What? You're serious? I have been in awe of you since the very first moment when I saw you at the gallery. I knew then that you were the woman I have waited for my whole life. Look, I get that maybe, maybe this is scary, and that maybe I sound needy and crazy, but I love you. I always have, and I want to marry you. You get sent down on a knee and he takes her hand in his. Melissa Elizabeth Kensington, will you marry me? Yes, Michael. I will marry you. And we white out. Now we're on the side of the road. At night again, the white wall of an ambulance next to Michael's car. The car is surrounded by emergency personnel. There's only one person inside the car. We can't make out who it is. One paramedic who's almost halfway inside the car. way inside the car. She's trying to perform CPR on the driver. Paramedic gets out of the car. Help me get her out of here. Another paramedic and two firemen rush over to help her. They pull out a woman. It is Melissa. She is cut up and bruised. She can barely move. They very carefully put her on a stretcher. As they roll her to the ambulance, we pass by the passenger side of the car. It has suffered severe damage. We fade out. And we're back in Michael's office. It's daytime. Michael's at his chair. His computer. Will is standing in the center of the room. He's totally awestruck. You're what? Engaged. When? How? You're what? It happened last night at the mansion. You aren't kidding. No, I'm not. And I want you to be my best man. Now you finish what he's doing on the computer and they walk out, walk and talk. You two have only been dating for a week. I know. You coming? Look. Bonnie, I made a few changes to this draft. It should be coming out on the printer now. Only the most incredible week of my life. I can't believe I'm not dreaming. Mike, you don't even really know this girl. What if she's crazy? She's not. What if she cheats on her taxes? She doesn't. What if she kills her pets? Haven't you ever known something so totally right, so totally spot on perfect that you were willing to stake the rest of your life on it? No! You're really going through with this. All right, I'm in. You have a best man. Thank you. Have you told your parents yet? No, it's been ten hours. I haven't had time yet. Have you told Rick? No. We're going to wait on that. So, look, I need you to keep this quiet. No one here can know. What do you think he'll say? Well, I think he'll be fine as long as we're the ones... Tell him, but he can't find out from someone else. That he won't forgive. You don't have to worry about me, but you do need to remember this is a news station. And somehow or another, the news will get out. You should tell him, and soon. We will. They stopped just outside the broadcast stage door. Did you tell her about New York? Not yet. You have to tell her, especially now. If she finds out and you haven't told her, well, she's Rick's daughter. That really says it all. That's nothing. You should meet his wife, Linda. She's a little scary. Look, I'll tell her. I just... I have to figure out how. They go into the broadcast stage. Will goes with Michael to the news desk. Ryan makes his way over the desk, hands Will the clipboard. We have a minute thirty there, sir. Thank you, Ryan. You should tell her tonight, before she can find out some other way. I can't. She's having dinner at her home with her parents. Her mother went home for the night. Go over after. Look, I don't think that's a good idea. Linda made it pretty clear tonight is for family only. I'm telling you, this conversation needs to happen. Sir, we need you in the control room. We air in thirty seconds. Michael, soon. Will turns and we follow him into the control room. He walks in, he's hand-headed, phones go through the door. Will looks down his clipboard, gives his thumbs up to Ryan. He looks through the soundproof glass window into the stage where Michael is sitting behind the news desk, rifling quickly through the paper. Denise is sitting next to him. We can see that she says something to him. We can't hear what. Okay, people, here we go. We're on in five, four, three, two... Don't screw this up, Mike. Good morning. I'm Michael Rogers. And I'm Denise Walsh with today's headlines. The Georgia lottery is back to seven million dollars after last night's big win. A young college student is... And we fade out outside the Kensington family home early evening. Rick and his wife live in a small ranch-style house outside of one of the islands, just outside of Savannah. It's quiet, peaceful. Fireflies dance outside the home. Lights are on inside. Gives the house a quaint, warm glow. And an old tire swing even hangs from a tree in the front yard. The yard is mowed, but not over-groomed. Rick only works on it when Linda gets on him about it. A raccoon runs up the tree and down the rope onto the tire. Another runs right up to the tire and jumps onto it. This makes the tire swing almost knock the cohort off his perch. Rick walks out of the garage. Looks like a plate of cat food. He whistles. Raccoons both turn their heads. He sets the plate of food on the ground just off the walkway to the front door. They both jump from the tire and run over to the plate. As Rick stands back up, ends of his bushy mustache curl up into a smile. His eyes, small through the thick square glasses, glint with happiness. Melissa comes out of the garage. And she stands next to her father. She puts her arm around... puts his arm around her. They watch the raccoons together. With them side by side, we see for the first time how much Melissa is her father's daughter. And they talk as the raccoons eat and play. Hey, Daddy. Hey, sweetheart. Have I told you how happy I am to have you home? I miss my little girl. Daddy, I'm not a little girl anymore. And yes, you have about a million times. How bad could it be? I was only gone for two months. You will always be my little girl, no matter how old you are. The house was so quiet with you away. I know, Daddy. Anyway, Mama sent me out here with a message. What does your mother want? And I quote, Tell your Daddy to quit feeding those damn raccoons and get in here for dinner. Far be it from me to argue with your mother. It would be a losing battle anyway. Well, we better head on inside. But let's keep Fred and Ethel between you and me. They head back inside through the garage. Daddy, Mom already knows about the raccoons. No, honey. She only thinks she knows. She doesn't really know unless we tell her. And we're going to pause for a short break here on the hour. We'll be right back with the part two of Sweet Melissa by Gabriel Romero. Thanks for listening. We'll be right back.amisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamisamis Yeah. 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