Page 13 of The Dirty Version

Warmth burst in Tash’s chest, appreciating his objections, but she really hadn’t meant to trash-talk her family.

“In their defense”—she repeated what she’d often counseled herself—“the sensationalized way in which The Colony was sometimes marketed didn’t help.

Splashy dead-baby headlines were probably great for media hits but not so much for Vik and Mary Grover.

Ram Braverman is not the only person in my life who wishes I would change the end. ”

Caleb furrowed anew. “What do you mean?”

Tash eyeballed him suspiciously. “Mr. Rafferty. Do not play dumb.” Ram’s exceedingly high opinion of Caleb had been clear. Tash assumed he was privy to the entirety of Braverman’s cinematic wish list.

“Hey, I just got here.” Caleb appeared candid, putting both hands up, mimicking backing away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tash swept her hair up, clipping it all back, her view of him direct and unencumbered. “Ram hasn’t told you he has big plans to save the baby? That he thinks Hewett should do it? Which, if you connect the dots, would give him the option for another season, focusing the story more on men?”

At the very least, Caleb’s confusion vouched for his attention to detail: “Hewett isn’t even on the island when the baby’s born—how would that work?”

Tash held a long stare. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“This is the first I’ve heard about it.” He seemed genuine, invoking Ram’s words from the piano bar with a smirk: “Then again, I’m mostly here for nudity and copulation.”

Tash couldn’t help but smile along with Caleb, and with the suggestion they were on the same side.

“I can see Braverman wanting the option to extend the series’ life, though—that’s the business model. They want runway for more world-building if the show does well.” Caleb caught himself: “ When it does well. No ifs.”

He meant it as supportive, Tash knew. He couldn’t guess the subject of a Season Two was a land mine, or that he teetered on the edge of triggering her emotional avalanche. Which was probably why she responded with an overdue apology, where she otherwise might have responded with a tirade.

“By the way, I’m sorry for what I said about Calypso and the documentary, when we first met. I feel horrible about it.”

Caleb met it with kind eyes. “It’s already forgotten.”

Tash highly doubted this, but she allowed it as a segue to their task.

Caleb tapped his pencil, bringing them to attention. “To recap: The bulk of our scene additions take place in Episode One, Episode Five, and Episode Nine—”

“Episode Nine is a problem.” Tash cut him off, aware it was poor form—but also seeking to nip Braverman’s intentions in the bud. “It goes back to how I feel about certain subject matter being used for clickbait. I don’t think it’s necessary to represent something that graphic on-screen.”

“Okay.” Caleb took it in stride, seemingly unbothered by her blurt. “Right now, though, I think we should focus on the beginning—the first thing we owe Ram is blocking and dialogue for Episode One. We can cross Episode Nine’s bridge when we get there.”

Tash colored slightly, realizing she’d jumped the gun. She paused in her discomfort. “Can I also admit I’m not sure what ‘blocking’ means?”

“You can admit anything—that’s part of the process. This should be a safe space.” Caleb gestured between them. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He pushed up his glasses. “Blocking is working out the details of an actor’s moves in relation to the camera. It’s specific physical movement and defined action cues. For our purposes, it’s in-scene story markers that the actors can hit with their bodies. We can also call it choreography.”

He set his chai on the coffee table. “Let’s find an example.

” He flipped through his notes, searching.

He tucked the pencil behind his ear and bent his head down, long lashes magnified by the angle of the tortoiseshell-framed lens.

“The great news is that your setup is already very sexy. We’re already situated in the forbidden—Noab has just rescued a man .

She brings him into what’s essentially a temple.

It’s transgressive. She’s already broken a rule. ”

Caleb continued to rummage. “When we talk about the mood, then, we can use words like ‘illicit.’” He paused, offering her a pleased glance. “Can you see that? Temperature’s rising without a single word of dialogue. All we have to do is turn the dial and ratchet up the heat.”

Out of habit, Tash swiped at his description. “Wow. I’m glad you think disloyalty to other women is so hot.”

She’d said it as a half joke. But the comment stopped Caleb in his tracks—the moment probably too reminiscent of Tash’s history of pouncing. She hadn’t necessarily meant to be back at it, three seconds after she’d just apologized.

He frowned. “All I’m doing is recapping the book, Tash. Breaking a rule is sexy. I hate to tell you this, but if it wasn’t sexy, you wouldn’t have a plot. Noab’s temptation is what sets everything in motion.”

In terms of story arc, Tash had to agree. But something in her gut resisted Caleb’s characterization. “Yes. But if we’re too flippant with the themes, The Colony will end up like Transtempora .”

He blinked at her. “Why is that your go-to insult?”

Tash shrugged like it was obvious. “Because it’s a spectacle of female suffering, commodified and sold back to an audience of women. It’s full of graphic sexual assault, and Braverman used it as an example of why he wants you on this project.”

Argumentatively, Caleb sat forward. “Let’s establish something, okay? Eileen McCormack’s novel is exponentially more graphic than anything I arranged for its adaptation.” He repeated the author’s name: “Eileen McCormack. Who is a woman. Who also was a consultant for the show.”

Tash refused it. “The fact that she’s a woman doesn’t matter. Authorship doesn’t give anyone immunity.”

“Of course it matters!” Caleb threw his hands up in exasperation. “You’ve been telling me it matters since we met!” He ticked it off on his fingers: “You’re the writer. You’re a woman. Your perspective has more meaningful insight than mine. You’re the one with the giant chip on her shoulder.”

It was Tash’s turn to blink now.

“A woman wrote those rape scenes, Tash. Female actors decided of their own free will to take those roles. I did my best with the script translation, and Stacy ran a tight set—but we don’t have the ability to change the basics of a story, and I don’t think the material would have been better off with someone else.

At the end of the day, my responsibility first goes to the actors.

” He challenged her: “Ask them about their experience on Transtempora . I promise you they’ll say it was safe and we were thoughtful.

Those sequences are not my jam—they’re gutting.

Transtempora was the toughest job we’ve ever done. ”

The thoroughness of his pushback destabilized Tash’s mental footing; she realized how many assumptions she’d made about Caleb and his craft.

After awkward moments, she could only acquiesce.

She tried to rebound with some semblance of humor. “My chip isn’t giant. It’s normal-sized.”

But Caleb pressed on, not letting her escape. “Can I ask you something?” With elbows on his knees and blue eyes earnest. “You’re angry, right? That’s obvious—but lots of times, anger is really about fear. What are you afraid of?”

She scoffed, disliking his impression, even if it was fairly on point. “What, now you’re a therapist?”

“Kind of.” Amazingly, he embraced it. “Film is personal. Acting and directing are personal. My job is to create consensus between all our invested parties. If you’re angry and scared, I want to understand so I can help you. Just get it on the table.”

“Get it on the table?” At the very least, Tash admired his bravery. “You want to know what I’m afraid of?”

He point-blanked back at her. “Yes. That’s why I asked.”

“Okay.” Tash approached the floodgates. At his own risk, she slowly unlocked the latch.

“Well. I’m afraid I wrote this one great thing.

It just happens to speak to a lot of women, some of whom participate in online forums that track this adaptation’s every move.

In addition, actual feminist scholars read The Colony .

Netanya Cortez blurbed my book, Caleb—the high priestess of feminism—”

“I know who she is.” His eyes narrowed.

Tash felt her words become emphatic. “Then you also know the stakes. I don’t want to fail these people.

I don’t want to fail Janelle, who helped devise the premise—which is a love letter to every woman in my life who’s sick of feeling powerless, and a flaming Yelp review of every man who’s let me down.

I don’t want to have to compromise. This is my stamp on the world, and I want it to stay strong. ”

Her face had heated scarlet.

Maybe Caleb really was a therapist.

Because Tash clung to The Colony —maybe too much.

She’d put it ahead of Zach, and ahead of her parents.

She equated its virtue to her self-worth.

She didn’t know if that was normal, and she’d never stopped to care.

But now, across the glass-walled, jungle-lit interior of her writing studio, she could also admit it made her overly defensive.

She could see herself instigating conflict with Caleb, who maybe didn’t even want to fight.

He just listened, absorbing her rant.

He didn’t break eye contact. “Tash, this is teamwork. We’ll move forward in a way that addresses your concerns.” He studied her. “What does Janelle say about the scenes Braverman has asked for?”

Therapist and strategist—this guy was perceptive, roping in Janelle. He knew she was the guru and the best friend. He knew her opinion meant the world to Tash.

Tash allowed herself an exhale, feeling the defusing of her bomb. “Janelle says feminism takes all forms. She says it’s important to get The Colony to a wider audience, where its ideas can enter a more public forum.”