STS Ch-49

It surprised Al Pacino to learn that a mere 18-year-old had written such an impressive story. When Noah left the script for him that day, Al had been irritated. It wasn’t the first time an acquaintance had tried to corner him into working together, and he was usually very good at shutting those attempts down. Still, there was something about Noah that stirred his curiosity.

If the boy had managed to sell a script to Columbia and earn enough money to buy a house right next to his, he couldn’t be insignificant. That thought alone pushed Al to read the first few pages.

Once he started, he couldn’t put the script down. The story was tightly constructed and deeply compelling. From the clever use of time loops to the emotional core that followed how the protagonist, Bill, grew with each reset, Al could sense a rare maturity behind the writing. This wasn’t the work of a horny teenager throwing in love scenes just to play them out on screen.

So when Noah returned, Al did something he’d never done before. He asked if Noah would be willing to age up the lead character and cast Al in the role. Agreeing to let a teenager direct him would’ve been unthinkable for most actors at his level.

But Al trusted his instincts, and right now they told him that Noah would make a good film. Maybe not a masterpiece, but certainly a solid one.

That was why he agreed to do a cameo after Noah turned him down. He loved the story and wanted people to see it. If his presence boosted the film’s visibility even a little, it was worth it. Besides, Noah would owe him one. In Hollywood, it was always better to have people, especially filmmakers, owing you than the other way around.

“You don’t look particularly happy, Noah. Everything alright?” Al asked.

They were standing inside a modestly sized room, cables snaking across the floor while a small crew quietly set up lights and adjusted the camera. Noah paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, clearly lost in thought.

He stopped and turned to Al, worry etched across his face.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Everything’s fine. It’s just… have you ever wanted something really badly, but you don’t even get a chance to try for it? And then later, something else happens, and you realize that even if you’d gotten it, you would’ve said no eventually. So maybe it’s better you were denied in the first place.”

Al raised an eyebrow. “That’s oddly specific. I was rejected for plenty of roles early in my career, but once a role’s gone, I don’t think about it again. Is that what this is? You lost an acting job?”

Noah shook his head. “I was supposed to compete in the Olympics in Moscow. I’m not bragging when I say I’m the best swimmer in the country. I’ve got multiple gold medals to prove it, and I’ve beaten the world record in unofficial races more than once. But they disqualified me because I’m not an amateur anymore, thanks to my acting and modeling. And now the news is saying the US might boycott the Olympics because of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. So yeah, it feels like a sour grapes situation.”

Al nodded in understanding. It was a genuinely messed-up situation for a kid to be in. While Al wasn’t an athlete, he knew how much discipline and sacrifice it took to become the best at anything. To train for years, to push your body every single day, only to be told you could no longer compete, had to be devastating.

“What do you love more?” Al asked gently. “Swimming or filmmaking?”

“Both,” Noah said without hesitation. “I feel at home in the water. Swimming comes naturally to me, like I was born in it. I don’t even train as much as most of my competition, but I’m still better than them. I don’t necessarily need to compete in the Olympics, but I would’ve loved the chance.”

He paused, eyes drifting briefly toward the busy set before continuing.

“Filmmaking, though, is something else entirely. Whenever I’m working on a film, whether it’s acting or directing, I feel alive. I feel challenged. Like I have a purpose beyond something I’m just naturally good at. I know I’m not the best actor, and I’m nowhere near your level, but maybe in a few decades, I could be where you are today.”

Al inclined his head slightly. “There’s your answer. Do you want what’s easy in your life, or do you want something that challenges you?”

“Challenge,” Noah said immediately. “I want a challenge.”

Al patted Noah on the back, his touch warm and encouraging. “Then we’ve got the perfect one right in front of us. Direct me in this scene like you would any other actor. Forget about my stardom. If I mess up, don’t hesitate to tear me a new one. Do that, and I expect you to write me a bigger role next time.”

Noah’s eyes gleamed, energized by the challenge. “You know what? I already have the perfect story in my head for you. A serious drama I was thinking about for a while. I’ll show it to you once I’m done with this film.”

“Looking forward to it, Mr. Director,” Al said, teasing him.

“Mr. Pacino, sir,” a girl said as she hurried toward them, slightly out of breath. “The shot’s been set.”

Al smiled at her. “You’re telling the wrong guy, miss.”

“Ah,” she said sheepishly, cheeks flushing. “Noah—”

“I heard, Tessa,” Noah replied, amusement clear in his voice as he took in her flustered expression. “Let’s begin.”

He turned back to Al. “You know your lines?”

“I do,” Al said. “Memorized them yesterday. Just tell me your vision for the scene, and I’ll take it from there.”

Noah nodded and pointed toward the door across the room. The set had gone quiet now, the crew diligently paying attention to what Noah had to say about the scene.

“I’ll walk in through that door. You’ll be on the couch. When you see me, you’ll get up and walk towards me until you hit your mark here.”

He pointed at the said mark.

“Your tone should be soft and understanding. You can’t shout or raise your voice at all. You know you made a mistake in the past, and you want my forgiveness as much as you want to give it. At the same time, my character has grown over the course of the film and understands that you alone weren’t responsible for my mother’s death.”

He took a breath, the weight of the scene evident in his expression.

“I want us to feel like a real father and son. It has to touch the viewers. This scene is the soul of the movie.”

Al nodded in understanding. “Got it. Let’s do it then.”

Everyone moved into position as the low chatter of the set faded into a tense quiet. Lights were adjusted, the camera settled into place, and the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Al hadn’t assumed a crew comprising mostly college students would be this serious.

“Action,” Noah called softly from outside the door.

The door creaked open, just a little, as Noah stepped inside with hesitation. Al sat on the couch, a magazine resting loosely in his hands. He glanced up, and the moment his eyes met Noah’s, the magazine slipped forgotten onto the cushion beside him.

They froze, staring at each other, long unspoken history hanging heavy in the air.

“Noah,” Al said quietly as he rose to his feet. “I—”

“Cut,” Noah called out immediately. “I’m Bill, not Noah.”

“Fuck,” Al muttered under his breath. “Rookie mistake. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Noah nodded once, already composed, before stepping back out of the room.

They reset.

“Action.”

The door opened again.

“Bill,” Al said this time, his voice warm but fragile. “I’m so happy to see you, son.”

Bill inclined his head but didn’t look up, his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor, like even meeting his father’s eyes was too much to bear.

Al didn’t wait for a response. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between them.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, gripping Bill’s shoulders, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I… I’m so sorry.”

By the third apology, tears streamed freely down his face.

“I shouldn’t have cheated on your mom. I shouldn’t have left her when I did. I shouldn’t have been the one who lived. It should’ve been me who died. Not her. Not your grandpa. Me.”

Bill’s resolve shattered. His eyes filled as he finally looked up, pain written across his face so vividly that it hurt Al to see it.

“Don’t say that,” Bill said, his voice breaking. “Don’t you dare say that. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I needed someone to blame, and I put it all on you because it was easy. I’m… sorry.”

The last word barely made it out before he collapsed forward. Al pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him as they both broke down.

Father and son clung to each other, fighting through their tears while the camera captured every raw second with unflinching precision.

“I love you, Dad,” Bill whispered against Al’s ear.

The line wasn’t in the script.

Al didn’t hesitate for a second. “Love you too, son.”

“Cut,” Tessa called out from behind the camera.

The moment the word left her mouth, Noah stepped back, the emotional weight dropping from his face like a switch had been flipped.

“Wow,” he said, genuinely impressed. “That was great. I can see why you’re considered the greatest actor of your generation.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Al shot back. “You’re a motherfucking liar for telling me you’re a mediocre actor. That was incredible. If you perform like that consistently through the film, you could get nominated for an Oscar.”

He was completely serious. If the film landed well with critics and the performance stayed strong, a nomination wasn’t unrealistic. It was rare for someone so young, but not unheard of. And that scene had been flawless.

Noah shook his head. “You flatter me, but that’s not gonna happen. And I’m fine with that. Let’s shoot it a few more times before we move on.”

Al recognized stubborn when he saw it, and Noah had it in spades. He gave up trying to convince him and slipped back into character, ready to relive the moment again for the next take.

(Break)

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Noah. Happy birthday to you.”

My friends sang loudly and completely off-key, laughing through most of it, while Dad stood off to the side, clapping politely with a small smile on his face. I leaned forward and blew out the nineteen candles crowded onto the cake.

Getting older still felt strange. Ever since my eighteenth birthday, my body had been aging at a slower rate, so physically I was only about eighteen and a half. Mentally, though, I’m not even sure what my age should be considered now.

“It’s time for presents!” Lola announced the second the applause died down. She shoved a neatly wrapped, flat box into my hands. “Open mine first.”

“Sure,” I said, smiling fondly as I took it from her.

It only took a few seconds to unwrap. Inside was a framed photograph of all of us together. Lola and me in the center, with Lenny, Peter, and Ash flanking us. Lola had her arms wrapped around my shoulders, half hanging off my back. I was crouched slightly to balance her weight, while the others stood around us, laughing at the suddenness of the moment.

I remembered that moment instantly. It had been my last day of school, more than a year ago. I’d asked them to take one final photo together, and Lola had jumped on me at the last second, turning it into a candid shot. I’d completely forgotten about it until now.

“Thanks, Lola,” I said sincerely. “I love it.”

She beamed, clearly pleased, and stepped aside so the others could give me their gifts.

Lenny handed me a bottle of cologne that smelled expensive, while Ash and Peter presented a shoebox together. Inside was a new pair of shoes I’d needed to replace for months but had been too lazy to actually go buy.

Julie’s gift stood out immediately, both practical and thoughtful.

“I wanted this for so long!” I said, genuinely excited as I pulled out the camera lens. “I was going to buy it myself, but it’s only available in Los Angeles. How did you even get it?”

Julie laughed softly and shook her head. “My aunt Claudia. I asked her for a favor. You wouldn’t shut up about that lens while we were filming, about how much it would improve the look of the movie. It was kind of a no-brainer.”

I stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you. I love it.”

She hugged me back before adding casually, “By the way, Auntie was a little annoyed that you still haven’t hired her as your agent, even after she got you Friday the 13th.”

“She’ll be the first person I call when I need an agent,” I promised.

Julie stepped back, still holding my gaze. “I’ll tell her that, then.”

My grin widened at the cocky smile she shot back at me. I might not love her in the traditional sense, but I adored her all the same.

“Ahem.”

Lola cleared her throat loudly, successfully pulling everyone’s attention toward her. “You forgot your dad’s gift.”

I shot her an irritated look. I could already tell Dad hadn’t brought anything, and the last thing I wanted was to embarrass him in front of my friends.

“He already gave—”

“I’ll give it to you later,” Dad cut in before I could successfully lie on his behalf. “It’s something personal.”

That caught me off guard, but I nodded anyway. Dad was never big on gifts. Even on birthdays and Christmas, my siblings and I usually got something small, if we got anything at all.

It took nearly an hour for the party to wind down. Lola left with Lenny soon after. Peter, Ash, and Julie headed back to their rooms in my new house, leaving the living room quiet and oddly empty.

Dad and I were finally alone.

“There’s nothing I can buy you that you don’t already have,” he said, breaking the silence. “And even if I did, you’d probably replace it with something better.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not true. I never exchange gifts.”

He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “So I decided to give you something you’ve wanted me to do. I thought long and hard about your suggestion.”

“Which one?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“The one about moving to LA.” He looked around the room, as if memorizing it. “As much as I want to stay here in New York, I can’t. You, Zach, and Daisy will all be there eventually. If you’re serious about this film business, you’ll move sooner or later. And when you do, I’ll come with you. Whether it’s in a few months or a few years.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. Dad wasn’t great with emotions. Zach had inherited that same trait. For him to set aside his pride and consider moving across the country couldn’t have been easy. It meant more to me than I could put into words.

“But,” he added before I could say anything, “I’ll live in my own place. I’ll sell our house and buy something in LA with my own money, even if it’s small. I don’t need much space.”

“Dad—”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’ve got your life, and I’ve got mine. I’ll start my carpentry business fresh over there. I don’t want to depend on my kids to make a living.”

One look at his expression told me he wasn’t going to budge, at least not right now. Maybe I could convince him in a few years.

“Okay,” I said finally, grinning despite the lump in my throat. “Let’s go to California once I’m done with college.”