If She Knew ThenHello, Curious Readers! Never let it be said that I'm not willing to play in the creative sandbox. In the past couple of years I've taken up a host of artistic hobbies in addition to writing, including painting, sculpting, bead-making, woodworking, and "extreme gardening"—meaning, I've personally unloaded, toted, arranged and stacked over 30,000 pounds of rocks! My front and back yards are now rimmed in knee-high rock terraces and flower beds. My personal renaissance also includes a slew of experimental writing projects. I've written and illustrated two children's books, created my own line of cartoon postcards, and birthed an alter ego named Putrina Shiner, who rants and raves about the news of the day at a blog titled Liberal Redneck Babe. Last but not least, I've dabbled in script writing. Here, for your enjoyment, is my fledgling effort — The first act of a romantic comedy I call If She Knew Then. I had tremendous fun with it, but I learned a shocking fact: writing a movie is hard work. Duh.
I hope to finish the script when I have time, or perhaps turn it into a fun novel. I welcome your comments! Just drop me a note. Enjoy! Deb
If She Knew Then by Deborah Smith 08/25/04 (FIRST DRAFT) Partial Script and Synopsis FADE IN: PHOTOGRAPHS OF AMANDA GORDON AT VARIOUS STAGES IN HER LIFE 1960’s, the cute Girl Scout with Southern Baptist minister father and housewife mom, 1970’s the wholesome southern belle college student holding awards, 1980’s the wholesome Atlanta bride with handsome young hubbie, 1990’s the wholesome Atlanta businesswoman holding advertising exec award, 2000’s the wholesome middle-aged country clubber with handsome middle-aged husband AMANDA (OS) Fifty is the new thirty, everyone says. No one has to grow old and wrinkled and saggy anymore, thanks to Viagra, Botox, plastic surgery, and hormone supplements. We’re all just . . .aging young things. I thought so too, until I found out that thirty is still thirty to men, when it comes to women. EXT. MAGNOLIA COUNTRY CLUB SIGN In a beautiful Atlanta neighborhood, the club’s event sign announces Amanda’s 50th birthday party. INT. COUNTRY CLUB Distant sound of party music. We see a man's pants legs, the gorgeous naked legs of a woman, scrambling, clothes dropping, lower bodies bouncing off furniture.
TIFFANY Oh, Bill, I've always loved you. Your wisdom, your power, your rugged and mature good looks.
BILL Oh, Tiffany, you're so bright, so fresh. (sound of bra unsnapping) Oh, my god, so perky.
TIFFANY Oh, Bill, oh, Bill (moans, kissing sounds)
INT. CLUB BALLROOM Amanda, an attractive middle-aged woman, is smiling in front of her photos, cake, friends. Her husband, Bill, suddenly appears and steps up on the stage beside her, smoothing his hair, adjusting his tie, hugging her. Cut to glimpse of his secret blonde va-voom girlfriend, Tiffany, in audience, smoothing her dress. AMANDA (to crowd) Thank you all so much for coming here to celebrate my fiftieth birthday. Everyone keeps asking me how it feels to be fifty years old. Let me tell you. I’ve been married for twenty-five years to the most wonderful husband in the world (turns to smile at Bill) and I have the most wonderful friends, (cut to a grinning pair of sassy, elegant, middle-aged women, MONIQUE SANDLER and CHRISTINE GUEST) and a wonderful career in advertising with my wonderful partner (cut to smiling, flamboyant 30-something RICKY LAUDERDALE. As we all know, fifty is the new thirty. I’ve never been happier in my life.
MONIQUE (Whispers to Christine) Oh, right, fifty is the new thirty. And cubic zirconia is the new diamond.
CHRISTINE (rolls eyes, nods) And Justin Timberlake is the new Sinatra.
Amanda smiles, beams, and kisses Bill, who smiles nervously and hugs her.
INT. EMPTY BALLROOM AFTER THE PARTY Amanda, Monique, and Christine are happily sitting around a table while staff cleans up.
MONIQUE Where's Bill?
AMANDA Oh, he's paying the tab. What a man. Sexy, smart, adores me, and he gave me this party. And tonight, we’re off to Europe for two dreamy weeks touring the south of France.
A waiter brings her a note.
WAITER Mrs. Gordon, uh, your husband asked me to bring this to you.
She opens it and reads, stunned. Drops note, gets up, rushes out. Friends grab note, scan quickly.
MONIQUE Oh, my god. He's left her for his assistant.
CHRISTINE Tiffany? The Britney Spears of corporate skankiness?
They rush after Amanda.
EXT. PARKING LOT Amanda’s staring at an empty space, speechless.
MONIQUE (to Christine) He even took the Lexus. And the airline tickets. The luggage. Her whole life.
CHRISTINE The bastards always take the Lexus.
Amanda simply stands there, devastated. A bit of birthday glitter falls gently from her hair.
INT. AMANDA’S ELEGANT HOME IN GATED COMMUNITY-DAY Months have passed. Amanda is tearful, sloppy, gazing out window as sleek neighbor women in cute golf clothes stop their golf cart to whisper and look at her closed drapes.
I'm a divorced loser. Soon I'll be living in a shack with little colored bottles in the windows and plastic seashell wind chimes on the porch. And cats. I'll have lots of cats. Otherwise, I'll be all alone. And I'll be old. I won’t even shave my legs. The cats will try to mate with my ankles.
We're here to celebrate your divorce.
(aside) Not celebrate, you idiot.
(chagrined) Divorce is the new, uh, commitment.
INT. AMANDA’S HOME – NIGHT Amanda is alone in the middle of the night. She wakes feverishly on her living room couch. Stumbles to closet, digs out a pretty keepsake box. Paws through trinkets, photos of herself with her stern minister father and prim housewife mother, and finally pries up the box's fake bottom. She slides out a yellowed snapshot hidden there. It's a picture of her at only 21, in a hospital bed, looking tormented and tenderly holding a newborn baby. Amanda traces the baby's face with a fingertip.
(agonized) I've made so many wrong choices. Getting older is about recognizing the choices you didn't make, but should have.
MONIQUE Walk faster! Oxyegenate those middle-aged cells! tighten up those thong muscles! Keep that blood sugar down!
(pointing to a strip of shops in the distance) Can we break for a latte? My blood needs sugar.
(slogging to a halt.) I don't care what Dr. Sanje Guptha says on CNN. Exercise is not an anti-depressant. I'm still depressed -- and my feet hurt. This is ridiculous. Go on without me. I'll sit on a bench over there and feed the squirrels and learn to play checkers with the other old people. Go on. Save yourselves.
Stick a sock in it, Elvira, Queen Of Middle-Aged Despair. (drags her by one arm.) Come on! I've been divorced twice, and look at me!
Look at you? You only walk to meet men.
So? A motivation is a motivation.
That bitch. She’s had more Botox.
No. It must be a face Lift. Or collagen. Or another laser peel. MONIQUE (snorts) If she lasers off one more layer of skin she’ll hit an artery.
(wearily) She's happy. Happy women of any age have a glow.
Oh, please!
Let's grab her, hold her down, and pinch her collagen-injected lips until she tells us the name of her doctor. CHRISTINE Yeah! Dragging Amanda
by one arm, they trot after Diane.
I'm telling you, it works. He gives me these injections, and my skin looks ten years younger, and I have so much sexual... well, let's put it this way, Demi Moore has nothing over me. My daughter's tennis coach and I are going to Cancun next week.
(sardonically whispered aside to friends) Just what any grown woman wants--to dance with a boy toy while downing her weight in marguerita shooters at a Mexican strip bar.
Sounds good to me.
His name is Doctor Ori Julius. Here, I have one of his cards. He's a researcher in cellular biology. He used to be at Emory University.
Used to be?
Oh, there was some to-do over ethics. But he's a real doctor. A mad scientist type. (laughs.) All I know is that he works miracles. (She finishes her latte.) Well, I'm off to have a full pubic wax. (She leaves.)
I'm trying not to picture that.
Let's try this doctor.
I've never resorted to drugs –
Hey, Mother Theresa, you’ve never been fifty and divorced before, either. Look at it this way: the inner you needs a new outer you. Men don't look at older women and see inner beauty. They see outer wrinkles.
AMANDA No! No. I refuse to play by the rules of a youth-obsessed, media-driven society that refuses to honor age and wisdom! I revel in my maturity! In other cultures, I’d be revered as a wise counselor and teacher of sexual mysteries!
CHRISTINE Uh, or else like those arctic tribes they’d put you on a little iceberg and let you float out to sea.
MONIQUE (elbowing Christine) You’re not helping.
AMANDA I intend to get on with my life with dignity. My aging, lonely life as an abandoned, ignored, marginalized, dried-up old woman.
MONIQUE (rolling her eyes) Get the iceberg
ready. INT. COMMERCIAL TELEVISION STUDIO Splashy set of model shoot for commercial orchestrated by Amanda’s advertising company. Strutting young women in sexy lingerie, loud rap or hip hop music, a youthful male photographer snapping photos.
PHOTOGRAPHER That’s it! You’re hot! You’re irresistible! You’re young!
AMANDA (standing in shadows with Ricky) Ricky, why do we take these asinine butt and boob accounts?
RICKY Because we like driving a Porsche and skiing in Aspen with our boyfriend every winter?
AMANDA No, not you. Me. Why am I in a business that sells youth to young people?
RICKY Because young people spend lots of money on lots of frivolous stuff, sweetie. And the ice to Eskimos account was already taken. Bless your heart. Aren’t you on Prozac, yet?
INT. AMANDA’S ELEGANT OFFICE AT THE AD AGENCY Monique and Christine burst in.
MONIQUE Amanda, honey! Look! We dropped by to show you. We found Diane’s doctor yesterday. We had injections.
CHRISTINE First time a little prick has made me so happy.
MONIQUE Look, look at this. (She hoists skirt, shows thigh.) My stretch marks don't have stretch marks anymore.
CHRISTINE (Pulling open her blouse to show cleavage) And I can squeeze a lemon between these babies. They’re firm.
AMANDA Did you ask about any side effects?
MONIQUE The side effects are that I get to wear a French-cut maillot this summer without scaring small children.
CHRISTINE You’re coming with us to get a shot! Now!
No, thanks. I'll just sit here and let my cellulite spread. Maybe it'll take on a life of its own. The cellulite that ate Tokyo. I'll be famous.
MONIQUE Chicken.
CHRISTINE Chicken with stretch marks and floppy tits.
MONIQUE Do you want a morning appointment with Dr. Julius, or afternoon?
AMANDA Afternoon.
The various shop signs read: Nails. Tans. Vitamins. Loans On Your Car While You Wait. And one office looks empty. As Amanda leaves her car and scans the setting, she mutters to herself. AMANDA All this for a few less wrinkles. She halts before the dusty door of the apparently empty office, squinting. On it is taped a hand-scrawled card pasted to office door: Dr. Ori Julius, Vita Viva Inc. Look the way you feel. Cash only. Amanda stares at it. AMANDA I’m going to come out of this with a rash. (Sighs and enters.)
INT. LAB Strange little Southern-fried doctor in lab coat and overalls, banging head on moon-pie-strewn desk in front of elaborate computer. On the computer screen is screensaver of latest supermodel alongside a monster truck. Posted on small sign nearby: “Daily Affirmations. There is no genius without madness, y’all. There is no genius without risk. I deserve the big bucks from a major pharmaceutical company. I deserve to date supermodels.” A buzzer rings. Dr. Julius punches a command on the keyboard. Supermodel screensaver vanishes, replaced by stats and pix of his newest patient, Amanda Gordon.
DR. JULIUS Another meal ticket for my research.
He clicks button on computer keyboard. Screen pops up reply: MIX FORMULA, APPROVED. He sighs and gets up. The computer whirs. Liquid percolates through various tubes. A distilled result drips into a vial. Right after Dr. Julius walks out the door to greet Amanda in his waiting room there’s a power blip. The computer screen goes black, then re-boots. Scale levels zoom upwards. WARNING. DOSAGE COMPROMISED. DISCARD DOSAGE. WARNING. Dr. Julius, unaware, opens door to waiting room.
DR. JULIUS Mrs. Gordon, your injection will be ready in a few seconds.
AMANDA It’s Ms., not Missus.
DR. JULIUS Whatever. The shot’s good for two months. Decreased cellulite, increased collagen, improved skin tone. You’ll look ten years younger. Twelve in low light. (Holds out his hand.) That’ll be five hundred dollars.
Amanda places the cash on his palm but stares at him, then at a wall full of DNA art and a large photograph from a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. AMANDA Pardon me, but if you’re a legitimate scientist, why are you doing this?
DR. JULIUS (sarcastic, deadpans.) My research into genetic elements at the cellular level produced the most important breakthrough in the study of aging in the history of modern medicine, leading to my development of an injectable element that activates specific genes which increase the rate of cellular regeneration to optimum levels. Unfortunately, I recklessly tested the injection on a thirty-four year old research assistant. She is now approximately ten years old. At last word, her husband has entered her in elementary school.
AMANDA (regards him with disgust.) I’m sorry I asked. You could make up a better story.
DR. JULIUS (rolling his eyes heavenward.) They never believe me. (An egg timer sounds.) Your injection is ready. Roll up one sleeve, please. I’ll be right back.
Muttering affirmations, he strides into the lab, snatches the finished vial, and jams it into a syringe. He never notices the blinking alert on the computer screen.
INT. AMANDA’S LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Amanda huddles on the living room couch, surrounded by scrapbooks. Keeps touching the Bandaid on her arm. She’s sweating, looking funny. A photo of her as a college student falls out of a scrapbook. She stares at it, then at the Bandaid. She grimly rips the Bandaid off.
AMANDA Why did I waste my time on a five-hundred dollar injection? There’s no magic solution. (Drinks wine, curls up miserably on couch, pulls an afghan over her, shivers.) You can’t turn back time. You can’t make it up to the people you lost. (Her eyes close. Wraps a hand around the pendant on her neck.)
INT. AMANDA’S LIVING ROOM – NEXT MORNING Sunlight streams through the windows. Close-up, Amanda’s bare feet, poking from under the afghan. Her feet flex. She’s awake. Close-up continues as her feet hit the floor, then we follow them sluggishly walking out of room and into a bathroom. Sound of running water in the sink. Suddenly, the feet jump. Startled. Sound of shriek. Cut to Amanda’s face. She stares at her image in the bathroom mirror. She’s a young woman again.
EXT. BACK DOOR OF DOC JULIUS’S OFFICE, STRIP SHOPPING CENTER - DAY Dr. Julius rushes out, looking disheveled, carrying an armload of files. Stuffs them into his car, which is already bulging with boxes, computers, and lab equipment. Amanda drives up, screeches to a halt, leaps out. She’s hidden behind sunglasses, a floppy hat, scarves, but he takes one look, recognizes her, gasps. She waves a long, pronged, barbecue fork.
AMANDA Don’t make a move, or I’ll skewer you!
He shrieks and makes a break for the back door. She catches him, shoves him against a dumpster, and aims the barbecue fork at him.
DR. JULIUS (terrified) You have to admit, you couldn’t have moved quite this fast yesterday. Your muscle strength and aerobic capacity have obviously. . .
AMANDA What did you do to me, you quack?
DR. JULIUS It was an accident. I didn’t realize you’d been given fifty times the regular dose until this morning, when I reviewed yesterday’s files on my computer.
AMANDA Fifty times the regular dose? FIFTY TIMES THE REGULAR DOSE! What was in that concoction?
DR. JULIUS I tried to tell you yesterday! I’ve identified the genes that make the body’s cells grow younger!
AMANDA (Shouting and waving the barbecue fork in front of his terrified eyes) You expect me to believe what you told me yesterday? That you really did turn one of your research assistants into a ten year old child! Do you think I’m AS CRAZY AS YOU ARE?
DR. JULIUS (gulping as he stares at the BBQ prong) No, I think you’re very nice, and lovely, and not capable of turning into a homicidal maniac. Please!
AMANDA YOU’RE the maniac! Why aren’t you in prison?
DR. JULIUS A maniac? I’m a genius! Geniuses don’t do time! The university stole my research and covered up my little research faux pas! They’re going to make a fortune off my formula unless I perfect the process first! The bastards!
AMANDA Perfect the process! Perfect the process? No one in their right mind would VOLUNTARILY let you inject them with some unpredictable genetic-mumbo-jumbo Fountain of Youth drug on the off chance it might make them young again!
DR. JULIUS You’re kidding, right?
AMANDA What’s going to happen to me? How do I explain this to my friends and business colleagues? Is it permanent? Will I get even younger? Will I wake tomorrow looking like an embryo? Should I sleep in a giant test tube just to be on the safe side?
DR. JULIUS No, no, no. All my research on mice indicates that you’ve probably plateaued. You’ve stabilized. You won’t get any younger. But as for how long the effect will last – I don’t know. Some times the mice stay young. Sometimes they don’t. My former research assistant is planning to enter sixth grade next year, just to be on the safe side.
AMANDA (utters groan of frustration.) I look like my senior picture from college! What am I supposed to do about that?
DR. JULIUS (nervously hopeful) Go to Cancun for spring break? Amanda growls and raises the BBQ tool.
AMANDA You’ve erased 25 years of my life! Give me one good reason I shouldn’t turn you into a shish kabob.
DR. JULIUS Erased 25 years of your life? Get real. You’re still you. You’ve got your memories. Inside that gorgeous young body you’re still a suspicious, morose, middle-aged— (She raises the implement higher – he yelps, again.) My god, most people would love to get the result you got. Think of the opportunities!
This registers. Her arm wavers. She lowers the weapon. He rushes past her, grabs his last box of files, shoves it into the car, and throws open the driver’s door.
DR. JULIUS You’re young again! Does anything else really matter?
He hops in his car and screeches away. She stands there numbly, then walks over to her car. She drops the barbecue fork on the pavement and stares at her reflection in the car window. Slowly she pulls off the floppy hat and big sunglasses, staring at her beautiful young self in the window reflection.
AMANDA Young. NOW WHAT?
INT. AMANDA’S HOUSE Monique and Christine stand, bewildered, in the living room. From somewhere outside the room comes Amanda’s voice.
AMANDA Keep your eyes closed until I say so. You promised!
Monique and Christine trade frowns. Monique, exasperated, whispers to Christine.
MONIQUE Hundred bucks and a spa facial says the injection got rid of that little vertical wrinkle between her eyes.
CHRISTINE The one that makes older men look thoughtful but older women look like somebody whacked ‘em on the forehead with a steak knife?
MONIQUE Yeah, that one. She hates that wrinkle. Hundred bucks and a facial says the injection zapped it. Deal?
CHRISTINE You’re on. MONIQUE (calls out merrily) Comeon, sweetie, and show us what Dr. Feelgood did for your complexion!
AMANDA Your eyes are closed?
CHRISTINE THEY’RE CLOSED, okay? Hurry up, or we’re gonna take a nap standing up.
AMANDA Cover your eyes with your hands, too.
MONIQUE (fed up) Get your freshened-up middle-aged saddlebag thighs in here right now!
AMANDA Okay, okay. Here I come. Cover your eyes.
The friends cover their eyes. Amanda walks slowly into the room. She’s dressed in one of her business outfits, but now it hangs a little. She’s thinner, not to mention 25 years younger. She looks funny in the outfit.
AMANDA All right, you can look at me, now. Try to stay calm.
Monique and Christine drop their hands and open their eyes. Shrieking, screaming in elation but also fear, clutching each other, staggering, staring at her.
AMANDA Calm down, I’m all right! I feel fine. He gave me the wrong injection, that’s all. An overdose. But the results may just be temporary, and there don’t seem to be any other side effects --
MONIQUE (Grabs her by the shoulders.) I want that injection!
CHRISTINE Me, too!
AMANDA (Groans.) He’s on the run. I confronted him. Threatened to, uh, to . . . grill him. He’s disappeared.
MONIQUE Don’t you dare hold out on us! Share!
CHRISTINE Tell us! Tell us where he is!
AMANDA I don’t know! (staring at them in shock.) I swear. I’m not hiding him in a closet somewhere. Don’t look at me that way.
MONIQUE Let us see ‘em!
AMANDA What?
CHRISTINE Your new young boobs! Your new young butt! Let us see!
MONIQUE Show! Show!
AMANDA No! Are you crazy? They lunge at her. She runs from the room, with them in hot pursuit. Sounds of yelling, then a door slams, then sound of fists pounding on it.
MONIQUE Come outta there, you young bee-atch!
INT. AMANDA’S HOUSE -- LATER Amanda sits in floor on one side of her locked bedroom door; Monique and Christine on other. All three look tired, embarrassed.
MONIQUE (calls through door) We’re sorry. Really. We’re just envious.
CHRISTINE Sorry, yeah. Don’t you understand? We’d trade with you in a second!
AMANDA I’m a freak. MONIQUE Yeah, but a YOUNG freak.
CHRISTINE We love you anyway, tight butt and perky boobs, and all. Amanda slowly unlocks and opens the door. Tearful group hug.
AMANDA Look at me! What am I supposed to do now? Show up at work looking like I had an instant full-body makeover? There’s no way to explain this! (She waves at her svelte self.)
CHRISTINE Shouldn’t you at least try to enjoy it while you can, in case you wake up tomorrow and look old, again? (Monique elbows her and scowls.) Uh, I mean, maturely beautiful, again?
MONIQUE Call Ricky. Tell him you’re taking a little break. Going on a cruise or something. You need some time off.
AMANDA Then what?
CHRISTINE Paarr-ty!
AMANDA Party?
CHRISTINE Shopping! Bar hopping! Wearing low-slung jeans so your cleavage shows at the top!
AMANDA What cleavage?
CHRISTINE Your butt cleavage.
AMANDA I was raised Southern Baptist! Southern Baptists don’t show their . . . their butt cleavage! I think it’s a commandment! Ye shalt not expose thy crack!
MONIQUE Honey, you’re young! Your ass deserves to run free!
CHRISTINE Free the buttocks! Free the buttocks!
AMANDA Stop it! All right, all right, but I’m not going out there alone! (she gestures toward the world outside her home.) You have to come with me!
MONIQUE Well, as I always say, if we can't be young, we can at least EXPLOIT the young. Come on, you obnoxious young hottie. Give us old farts a chance to live vicariously through you. Let’s go shopping!
Montage of shopping scenes in Atlanta’s ritzy Buckhead district as Amanda slowly reacts with tenuous delight and acceptance of her new young look.
INT. BOUTIQUE – DAY SALES CLERK Let me guess, (looking at Amanda but smirking at Monique and Christine as they prowl the selections.) Your mother and your favorite aunt?
(distracted, staring at shortie t-shirt with “Booty Hoochie” embroidered on it.) No. My best friends.
CLERK Get real. No shit?
AMANDA When you’re my age, you won’t be so quick to make assumptions.
Clerk stares at her.
AMANDA (blinks) I mean . . .
MONIQUE (slides up, holding a slinky little dress.) Try this on.
AMANDA (gasps) I haven’t worn anything like that since . . . I’ve NEVER worn anything like that. I was Atlanta Christian Businesswoman of the Year! Does that thing come with a built-in bra?
CHRISTINE Get real.
CLERK Christian Businesswoman of the Year? You’re a Jesus freak? Cool. We have a singles group at my church. I can hook you up.
AMANDA Jesus runs a dating service now?
MONIQUE (to Christine, frowning at clerk) Let me guess. She’s got the IQ of baby lettuce.
CLERK (overhearing, whispers to Amanda) They're just like my mother. Hot flashes and stuff. Makes 'em moody. God, we'll never be like that, will we? If I were you, I wouldn’t count on it.
INT. -- SWANK ATLANTA HOTEL ROOM Amanda and friends are kicked back, surrounded by shopping bags, drinking wine. On the room’s television, music videos show the latest semi-naked young diva, gyrating to a dance beat.
MONIQUE (as if grilling a student) Christina Aquilera
AMANDA White. Has pierced body parts.
CHRISTINE Beyonce? AMANDA Black. Has pierced body parts.
MONIQUE (makes sound like loser buzz on a game show) Black, yes. Pierced no. Name some of her hit songs. And name one designer she wears.
AMANDA (holding wine glass to her tired frown) Why do I have to know this kindergarten trivia? Ask me about Carly Simon. About Fleetwood Mac. About Bruce Springsteen. Performers who are old enough to vote.
CHRISTINE You go into a bar quoting Fleetwood Mac and you’re dead meat. You might as well sign up for a John Travolta fan convention.
AMANDA I don’t want to go to bars. I went to bars in college. They smelled like my Uncle Alvin’s pig barn down in Macon. And there’s nothing wrong with John Travolta. He’s. . .he’s still groovy.
MONIQUE (to Christine) We have to throw her to the sharks. Before she says ‘groovy’ again.
CHRISTINE (nodding) See if she sinks or swims or sucks fin. (They grab Amanda, haul her to her feet.)
CHRISTINE Repeat after us: I’m young, I’m carefree, I’ll never die.
AMANDA I only look young, I’m confused, and I already bought an insurance policy that covers retirement homes. MONIQUE Agggh.
(They shove her.) INT. TRENDY ATLANTA BAR - NIGHT Christine and Monique usher Amanda into swank dance area filled with young singles and pulsing hip-hop music.
MONIQUE My son says if you can’t get laid here, you can’t get laid, period.
CHRISTINE I’ve had some luck.
Monique gapes at her. Amanda gazes worriedly at the noisy, hip-hop-infused young crowd. She’s out of place. But at the same time, a rosy glow dots her cheeks as hot young guys turn to look. Christine whoops.
CHRISTINE Check her out, dogs! AMANDA It’s the dress.
MONIQUE It’s the twenty-five year old boobs. Stick ‘em out, you Goodie Two-Shoes. Amanda flails at her friends’ helpful hands.
AMANDA You’re both going to Baptist hell.
CHRISTINE We’ll be at the bar looking like Anne Bancroft in The Graduate. You DO know Anne was only a few years older than Dustin Hoffman when they made that movie. Hollywood!
Amanda takes a deep breath. Stares at the crowd of eager, interested young men.
AMANDA I’m pretending they’re all John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.
Hot young guy approaches her. Amanda awkwardly stares as he performs a hip-hop dance move. She responds with a disco move. He blinks, then shrugs, and sweeps her onto the dance floor. Slowly, a huge smile creeps over Amanda’s face. She’s fallen for the magic of new youth.
INT. SHABBY-CHIC DOWNTOWN LOFT APARTMENT OF AN ANONYMOUS GUY THE GUY So, you want to get your freak on?
AMANDA I wasn’t aware I’d taken my “freak” off. (Looking around awkwardly) Just call me Lindsay Wagner. I’m Wonder Woman.
THE GUY Lindsay who?
AMANDA Nevermind. You’re an accounts analyst for a financial firm? That’s very impressive.
THE GUY (kissing her, laughing, and pulling at her clothes) Yeah, right. It pays for my passions. I snowboard on weekends in the winter.
AMANDA (Kissing him back, but still immensely awkward) You could break a leg.
THE GUY (Laughing harder) Who are you – my mother?
Amanda’s eyes widen. She cools, puts both hands on his chest, steps back.
AMANDA Cheese out, dude.
THE GUY Huh?
AMANDA I mean, Chill out, dude.
THE GUY I thought you wanted to hook up.
AMANDA I thought I did, too. But I was never any good at one night stands.
THE GUY Who said anything about a whole night?
AMANDA (appalled) Have you got an appointment for another freak-on later this evening?
THE GUY I'm not interested in anything serious. I'm only twenty-seven. I lived with my parents until last year.
AMANDA Amazing. When I was your age I was. . . older. Oh, nevermind.
THE GUY What do you mean, when you were my age? Geez, are you an older woman? What? Thirty?
AMANDA Look, I guess I don’t know how to 'hook up.' I don't even have a trailer hitch. No offense, but I have to get home and hmmm, organize my day planner. (She heads for the door.) Why don’t you listen to some Carly Simon, okay? And rent Saturday Night Fever on DVD.
THE GUY Who’s Carl Simon?
Amanda sighs. Leaves his apartment. She's fully dressed, asleep on the couch in her living room, a photograph in her hands. Christine and Monique let themselves in.
CHRISTINE How'd it go?
AMANDA I was too old for him. (Points to her head.) Up here.
MONIQUE You were just supposed to have wild sex with him.
CHRISTINE Not ask him to look at your brain.
AMANDA I’ve been given a miracle. A second chance. After last night I realize I can’t waste it. Sit down. Please. I have something to tell you.
Friends, looking wary, sit beside her. Amanda slowly places old snapshot on the coffee table.
MONIQUE (looking at the old picture) Who’s this?
AMANDA Me, and my . . . my daughter. I had her when I was eighteen. I gave her up for adoption.
(They stare at her.) CHRISTINE What daughter? You’ve always said you couldn’t have children.
MONIQUE You said you had cysts. Not a baby! Cysts!
AMANDA I lied. I was ashamed of myself. I’m sorry.
MONIQUE You’re telling us you have a daughter? Was it Bill’s?
AMANDA No, of course not. I didn’t meet Bill until a few years later. I was too ashamed to tell anyone, even him. He didn’t want children. And I felt I didn’t . . . I didn’t deserve to have more.
CHRISTINE Oh, honey! You neurotic little goody-two-shoes martyr!
MONIQUE How old is this daughter?
AMANDA Thirty-one, on her last birthday. In June. She was born about four in the afternoon. It was raining. The day lilies were still in bloom outside the hospital window. I remember it all. Every detail. The color of her hair, the soft shine in her eyes, the way she smelled. I only got to hold her for a few minutes. I wasn’t supposed to see her, but a nurse felt sorry for me. She made the photograph. But even if I didn’t have a picture, I’d never forget.
CHRISTINE Is that why you moved so far from your parents and almost never visited them?
AMANDA (Nodding.) I never forgave them for pressuring me to give her away. I never forgave myself, either.
MONIQUE My god. Thirty-one years ago? That wasn’t exactly the dark ages. Free love! Hippies! Laugh In! You could have kept the baby. CHRISTINE (disgustedly) Monique, will you pipe down? You weren’t raised in the south. Back then in the mid-nineteen-seventies we were still wearing girdles and smoking unfiltered cigarettes.
AMANDA (sadly) In my family, wearing bell bottoms was enough to send a girl to hell. Getting pregnant without a husband was, well . . . my mother said if I kept the baby the notoriety would kill her, both my grandmothers, and at least four elderly great aunts. My father said he’d lose his church. I was about to leave for my freshman year at the university. I wanted to escape so badly. I wanted to go to college. I couldn’t keep the baby and do that. So I caved in. I gave her away. And I’ve spent the thirty-one years since then, wishing I hadn’t.
CHRISTINE You could get in touch with her. People do that kind of thing, now.
MONIQUE Hooking up with the ol’ biological parental units is practically a fashion trend.
AMANDA I tried. After she turned eighteen I paid a detective to track her down, and I sent word to her adoptive parents that I’d like to meet her, but only with their permission. Her . . . her mother called me. We had a wonderful conversation. The mother said she and her husband had told my . . . their . . .daughter . . . the truth when she was a child. That it would be up to my . . . their . . . daughter to decide whether to meet me. So I wrote my . . . their . . .daughter a letter. Her parents gave it to her. My . . . their . . . daughter politely wrote back to me. She wrote that she had a mother she loved, already. That she didn’t need a second mother. She wished me the best. And that was the end of that. I can’t say I blame her for not wanting to meet the biological mother who gave her away.
CHRISTINE Honey, I’m so sorry.
MONIQUE Children are ungrateful little crappers.
AMANDA (wiping her eyes, then straightening with resolve.) Now I have a chance to get to know her – without her ever knowing it’s me. That’s what this miracle is about. Not the chance to be young, again – because what good is it to be young but still have all these memories and regrets inside? The regrets are what makes us old. No miracle drug, and no plastic surgery, can take away the weight of what we wish we’d done differently.
CHRISTINE (rolling her eyes) I have NO idea what you just said. Look, my philosophy is basic: If you look good in full sun without foundation and concealer, you’re young. Honey, you’re a babe. A young babe. Your daughter’s got a mommy and a daddy she loves. Your job there is done. Go and live your life. Every tanned, toned, wrinkle-free inch of it, dammit.
AMANDA Her adopted mother died last year.
Christine and Monique trade a look, then stare at Amanda. MONIQUE So what do you think you’re going to do? Take her mother’s place? You’re not old enough to play mommy, now.
AMANDA I just want to be her friend. I just want to get to know her. Look, I was raised to believe God works in mysterious ways. I’ve been given a second chance. I’m going to go make friends my daughter.
CHRISTINE When I was a kid my aunt Sophie used to say, God works in mysterious ways but most people still can’t find their tuckus with both hands.
MONIQUE What if you wake up one morning and you’re uh, yourself, again?
AMANDA I’ll cross that wrinkle when I come to it.
EXT. HIGH SPRINGS, NORTH CAROLINA – DAY Fancy roadside sign – nicely carved wood, very rustic and charming. Welcome to High Springs, North Carolina. Enjoy our fine shops! In the background is a lovely, affluent resort village framed by lush green Appalachian mountains. A pretty young woman, SUSAN PHILLIPS, hooks a new shop sign onto the collection beneath the welcome sign. Phoenix Art Gallery. She wistfully steps back, snaps a picture with a digital camera, then looks down sadly at the baby girl dozing in a wrap on her chest. SUSAN It’s a start, sweetie. I’ll make everything up to you, I promise. We’ll be happy without your worthless father. You’ll see. (Brightens a little. Waggles the camera.) Let’s go show your grandpa how great his woodworking project looks. He could use some cheering up, too.
EXT. LARGE CHARMING HOUSE ON EDGE OF TOWN A small sign by the mailbox says PAUL PHILLIPS, Architect. Office Around Back. We hear rumbling, squeaking machinery from a workshop garage. Suddenly a shout comes from within. Something bursts through a shop window. The missile lands in a flower bed. A big golden retriever runs up, begins to bark wildly at it. It’s a misshapen hunk of wood, sort of resembles a wooden bowl in progress. Shop doors burst open. A handsome, fifty-something man, PAUL PHILLIPS, steps out, searching for the lost project. Wood shavings sprinkle his graying hair. He’s dressed in work jeans, a plaid shirt, and a carpenter’s belt.
PAUL Roscoe, boy, are you all right? You weren’t in the line of fire, were you? Roscoe the dog runs over to him, unhurt, wagging its tail. Paul ruffles the dog’s ears, then turns to scowl at an old wood-turning lathe at the center of the workshop.
PAUL I should tell NASA about this thing. They could use it to launch satellites. Picking up a long chunk of wood, he advances on the still whirring antique with comic menace. The dog follows, barking ferociously at the metal monster. PAUL Back away from the electrical outlet, you bowl-eating deathtrap.
With a swipe of the wood sword he knocks the electrical cord from the outlet. The machine goes still. Paul sighs, tosses the wood aside, then stands hands on hips, looking tired. PAUL Roscoe, when it comes to woodworking, I’m a menace to the neighborhood. Don’t tell anybody.
His gaze goes to a dusty photograph of a pretty woman, his late wife. He looks sad.
PAUL I promise you, honey, I’ll learn to make something that isn’t just practical. Something smaller than an office building. Susan wants me to carve some bowls she can sell in her gallery. She believes in my feminine artistic side, that’s what she calls it. I don’t think I have a feminine artistic side. My masculine side isn’t doing too well, either. I miss you, lady. We both miss you.
Roscoe woofs and rushes outside to greet someone.
SUSAN (OS) Dad, what’s going on, are you all right?
Paul walks outside.
PAUL I’m fine. Just dodging wooden fastballs courtesy of Godzilla the Lathe.
SUSAN Oh, no, not another bowl through the window. That’s the third window this month. At the hardware store they said they’re going to special-order a supply of windows just for you.
PAUL Tell them I’m building a greenhouse. Your mother always wanted a greenhouse.
SUSAN (smiles sadly) Dad, you need to do something you want to do. That’s what Mom would want. You don’t have to make girly bowls. Go design a warehouse or something. Paul deflects the conversation by lifting the baby from her arms.
PAUL What I want to do is take little Deena here inside to watch baseball. There’s a Braves game on this afternoon. (Snuggles baby.) Come on, kid, let’s go watch professionals throw stuff that doesn’t break
windows and dent the daisies. SUSAN Thanks, Dad. I’ll be at the gallery. Oh, here, look. (She holds up the camera so he can study the picture of his sign.) Great work. I have the best sign on the whole welcome-sign display. I think I’ll go back over and take a few more pictures.
PAUL (pulling glasses from his pocket, then squinting at the picture on the tiny camera screen admiringly) Now that, I can do. Straight edges, sharp angles, nothing that whirls and flys off when I carve it. Good, basic, practical woodworking. Like the Amish do. I bet an Amish woodworker has to peddle his lathe really fast to achieve maximum orbit for a bowl.
SUSAN (smiling) You need to learn to whirl and fly, Dad.
PAUL So do you.
SUSAN (grimly, as she heads for her car) Whirling and flying is how I ended up being a single mom living at home with my dad, again.
EXT. AMANDA IN HER CAR The car’s back seat is full of luggage. She’s pulled off on side of road to gaze at the High Springs welcome sign. She zeroes in on the Phoenix Art Gallery sign.
AMANDA (very nervous and emotional) Susan Phillips obviously has very good taste. She gets her advertising genes from me. Her art gallery sign tells me she’s neat, and methodical, and artistic, and casually elegant but not in a pretentious way, and . . .what am I doing here? (Beating head on steering wheel.) Am I insane? This is insane. I’m insane. I should leave her alone. Turn around, go home. (she doesn’t notice the car pulling to a stop behind her.) Except I can’t go home. I’m a woman without a home. A woman without a generation. I was a baby boomer. Now I’m a what? A Gen Xer? No, I think Gen Xers are older than me. I’m in a generation that doesn’t even have a name! I’m not me, anymore. I’m an old soul in a new body. I’m a bad lyric in a Captain and Tennille song. No, a bad lyric in, in (she paws through a pile of new CDs on the passenger seat) a bad lyric in an Alanis Morrisette song. I don’t even know what song I’m in!
Someone raps on her window. She jumps, then stares at the pretty young woman (Susan) smiling at her worriedly. For a long moment Amanda simply stares at her. Susan, a stranger, mouths through the closed window.
SUSAN Hey, are you all right? Dazed, Amanda fumbles with a window control. The glass slides down.
AMANDA Pardon me?
SUSAN Are you all right? You look upset. Are you lost?
AMANDA (finally recovering enough) Lost. Yes. Lost in a strange new world.
SUSAN (smiles sadly) I know how you feel, but you’re here at the welcome sign for the town with the most golf courses and half-million dollar lake cabins in North Carolina. How lost could you be?
AMANDA I mean, I’m here, yes. I was lost. Now I’m here. Sorry. . .I’m having a bad generation. I mean a bad day. Thank you for your concern. SUSAN I noticed your out- of-state license plate when I pulled up behind you. you’re here in High Springs to visit someone?
AMANDA (still dazed.) Yes. No. Yes. I mean (takes a deep breath) I’m kind of starting over, looking around for a job, browsing, and this looks like such a charming, perfect little town, like nothing bad could happen here, so. . .(deflates) I’m lost, existentially.
SUSAN (gently) Well, I know how that is. I grew up here, and I came back here this year because it’s the safest, sweetest place in the world – that’s how it feels, at least. It’s lonely out in the great wide world, isn’t it?
AMANDA (staring at her in dawning amazement.) Yes. . .yes. Incredibly lonely. (Gets out of car.) My name is. . . is (thinking frantically, as her gaze falls on the scattered music CDs on her car seat, which include the Morisette CD but also a Greatest Hits of Carly Simon CD) Alanis Simon. (She holds out a trembling hand.)
SUSAN Hi, Alanis. (shakes her hand.) I’m Susan. Susan Phillips.
AMANDA (gasps) I knew it! It’s you!
SUSAN I beg your pardon. Have we met?
AMANDA I mean, that name suits you. I would have guessed you had a name like that. It’s so nice to meet you. So (tears up) nice.
SUSAN You ARE having a bad day, aren’t you? Don’t pass out. Here. (Opens the car door.) Sit down, chill out, take a deep breath. Look, let me take a couple of pictures I need to take, then you follow me to my gallery, and I’ll give you a cup of chamomile tea. Help you get your bearings.
AMANDA (sinking into car but never taking her eyes off Susan, her unsuspecting daughter.) You like chamomile, too?
SUSAN It’s my favorite.
AMANDA Isn’t that amazing? Isn’t that great? This is fate.
SUSAN Uh, sure. Just give me a second. She walks over to the sign, begins taking pictures. Amanda sits there watching emotionally.
AMANDA (whispers to self) She’s wonderful. My daughter is wonderful.
EXT. PRETTY SHOPS AND GALLERIES The downtown of High Springs is charming and affluent, lined with handsomely restored old buildings, the mountains rising behind them. Custom jewelry, a cozy bookstore, a bird-watchers nature shop, and the Phoenix Art Gallery.
INT. PHOENIX ART GALLERY Amanda clutches tea cup and eagerly scrutinizes a large landscape painting. Susan moves about the small gallery, dusting and straightening.
AMANDA You painted this one?
SUSAN Yep. I’m just a hack, but I thought I deserved to inflict a couple of my own works on the world – at least in my own gallery.
AMANDA This landscape looks like Tuscany. It reminds me of an exhibit I saw at the High Museum in Atlanta, once. Yours is better. I mean it. More personal. More intimate.
SUSAN Thanks. I don’t deserve the comparison. (somberly) My mother and I toured the south of France one summer, while I was in art school. Every time I paint one of the scenes I remember, I think of her.
AMANDA You and she must have been very close. SUSAN We were. Now, feel better after downing some chamomile?
AMANDA Yes, thanks.
SUSAN Tell me about yourself. You’re from Atlanta, I know that much.
AMANDA (carefully) Hmmm uh.
SUSAN Running away from home?
AMANDA You could say that.
SUSAN Fresh out of college?
AMANDA Oh, I’m a few years older than that.
SUSAN You know something about art.
AMANDA Well, I’m a bit of an artist. I wanted to study art in college, but I majored in marketing and advertising instead.
SUSAN Why give up your dreams?
AMANDA (awkward and fighting emotion as she looks at her unsuspecting daughter) I, hmmm, got sidetracked. And my parents said art was frivolous. They insisted I study something they considered more serious and respectable. I was vulnerable to their ideas. Eager to please. (Sighs.) Oh, god. I admit it: A good girl.
SUSAN Don’t take offense, Alanis, I was raised to respect my parents, but yours sound pretty controlling.
AMANDA It was a different time.
SUSAN (laughing) What? Six, seven years ago?
AMANDA (awkward) Seems longer than that.
SUSAN Look, I don’t want to pry, but I’ve had some hard times over the last few years, so I kinda have an instinct about you. Let me guess: are you trying to put a bad guy behind you?
AMANDA You could say that.
SUSAN (sits down on a bench nearby, picks up her own cup of tea.) Significant other? Live-in? Jerky boyfriend?
AMANDA All of the above. My ex-husband. He left me for someone else.
SUSAN God, you’ve already been married and divorced? Once you got away from your parents, you moved fast. Oh, I’m sorry. That’s pretty rude of me. I shouldn’t have —
AMANDA No, you’re right. I did marry too quickly after I got away from my parents. I fell in love, and I wanted to believe in fairytales, and I was determined to be the least reckless person on the planet. I wanted to be someone who never did anything the least bit shameful or regretful, ever. I know it’s hard for you to understand—
SUSAN No, I understand totally.
AMANDA You said you’ve had some hard times.
SUSAN (laughs ruefully) Nothing I didn’t bring on myself, being stupid. I found my soul mate right after college. We were artistes, you understand. I moved in with him – despite my parents’ objections – and we did the whole neo-hippie thing for the next five years. Lived out of an RV, made our living at art shows and doing corporate commissions – I’ve got a landscape in the lobby of a big office building my Dad designed – traveled, made love and raced jet skis, smoked European cigarettes, took sushi classes.
AMANDA I don’t think you were neo-hippies. I think you were hippie-Yuppies. Susan stares at her. Amanda winces.
AMANDA Now I’m the one who has to apologize. I shouldn’t have said that.
SUSAN (blinks. A revelation.) No, you’re right! I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. We were so pampered and naïve. We only played at being starving artists and free spirits. At least, I only played at it. Until real life caught up with me. She jumps up, gets a small, beautifully made scrapbook from behind her office desk. Returns to sit by Amanda. (hoarsely) About a year and a half ago, my mother died. Cancer. It was quick, unexpected. (She opens scrapbook to a picture of her as a child, with her mother. Touches it lovingly.)
AMANDA She looks like she loves you forever.
SUSAN She and I had fought for years over my lifestyle, over. . .him, you know. And then she died. We said the right things, but I never got a chance to really make it up to her. I broke her heart.
AMANDA No, you didn’t. I promise you. She was so glad to be your mother.
SUSAN (stares at her) You have . . .a lot of compassionate intuition. I’d like to believe you’re right.
AMANDA I, hmmm, I know a little about motherhood.
SUSAN Oh, my god. Did you lose a baby? Miscarry?
AMANDA Yes, I lost a baby. A little girl.
SUSAN I’m so sorry. No wonder you’re trying to put your old life behind you.
AMANDA (sadly) Old lives don’t get put behind. They’re still inside you. You just have to grow a shell around them, and haul them along with you, even if they weigh you down. You carry them. You turn into a . . . a turtle.
SUSAN (smiling through tears) A turtle? A hippie-Yuppie turtle or just a regular turtle?
AMANDA Oh, I don’t know. A big-ass snapping swamp turtle. (pauses, shocked.) I can’t believe I said big-ass. I’ve been listening to some new music CD’s. I’m not quite myself.
SUSAN (laughing) I like you, whoever you are.
AMANDA (gazing at her emotionally, then trying to hide it) Thank you. So. . .you came home to help care for your mother, and after she died you decided to leave your boyfriend, stay here, and open this gallery?
SUSAN My dad was devastated. He needed me around for awhile. And I needed him. It was good to come home.
AMANDA You’re living at your dad’s house?
SUSAN Yes. Thirty years old and living with daddy. I know that’s kind of pathetic--
AMANDA Not at all. Do you get along with him? Are you close?
SUSAN (holds up entwined fingers and smiles) Like this. Best pals. He dealt with the boyfriend issue the way he deals with everything. Just tried to see all the different angles and keep the foundation solid. He’s an architect. Life comes with blueprints, he says, We just have to learn how to read them. Yeah, he’s way corny.
AMANDA Not to me. He sounds wise.
SUSAN (Smiling.) But corny. (Looks at Amanda a moment in surprise.) I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about my parents the way I’m talking to you.
AMANDA That is the nicest thing you could say to me. Thank you. Thank you so much. Talking to you has been . . . I feel as if I’ve been waiting all my life to talk to you. (Looks rattled and tearful.)
SUSAN Calm down, breathe, okay breathe. It’s going to be okay. What are you planning to do here in High Springs?
AMANDA Look for a job. I have money. I don’t need a job to pay my bills. I just thought I might find something interesting to do.
SUSAN Work for me.
AMANDA Here? You mean it?
SUSAN Of course. You love art, you’re interested in it, and I’ve been thinking of hiring an assistant. I’d like to keep the gallery open longer hours every day, but I need help to do it. I can’t pay much, but—
AMANDA I accept, I accept! Thank you!
SUSAN Where do you plan to stay?
AMANDA I don’t know, I was just going to get a room at one of the inns for awhile—
SUSAN I have a better idea. We have a tiny guest apartment over my Dad’s workshop. You’re welcome to stay there, rent-free, until you decide on something permanent.
AMANDA You’d do that for me – a stranger?
SUSAN I feel like I know you. Isn’t that weird? Really, come on, it’s okay. Hey, just a few years ago we could have been assigned to the same dorm room at college. We’d have hit it off right away. So this is just like inviting you to live in my dorm.
AMANDA Only without the toga parties and Fleetwood Mac concerts.
SUSAN The what?
AMANDA I, uh, I mean—
SUSAN Nevermind. (Smiling.) You’re retro. I get it. I love all that old stuff, too.
AMANDA Hmmm, yes. Retro. (Sobbing.) What I could have had. What I could have had.
SUSAN Ssssh. Come on, Alanis, it’s going to be okay. You’ve only been in town an hour but you’ve already got a job and a place to stay. And a new friend. Me. (Hugs her.) Come on, where’s that turtle toughness?
AMANDA I think I have a crack in my shell. END SYNOPSIS – IF SHE KNEW THEN “If I knew then what I know now . . .” The song of regret. Amanda Gordon has memorized it. But now she has a chance to do what few people ever get to do: Combine “then” and “now.” Posing as “Alanis,” a twenty-something with a sad, vague past, Amanda settles into life as her unsuspecting daughter’s pal and assistant at the art gallery. Amanda’s elation at her sudden rapport with her daughter, Susan, soon turns to poignant distress. She is secretly falling in love with her daughter’s smart, kind, handsome adoptive father, Paul, who backs away from his intense attraction to her. We see him confab with his middle-aged buddies – mostly divorced men making idiots of themselves chasing twenty-something girls. Though he’s definitely attracted to the strangely “mature” Amanda, Paul says he’d never be so stupid, plus he wouldn’t upset his daughter by dating a woman her age. Anyway, Amanda would never do anything to estrange herself from her daughter. Susan confides to Amanda that she loves her dad for not trying to replace her mother’s memory with a younger woman. So, ironically, Amanda is in love with her daughter’s adoptive father, a man who thinks she’s too young for him. Clueless, Susan mentions to Amanda that when her dad and mom first met, her dad dropped a pitcher of tea on his foot. He’s always said that was how he knew it was love at first sight. He dropped everything. He doesn’t drop anything on his feet around Amanda. Amanda and Susan quickly become close friends, with Susan instinctively relying on her odd new pal’s wise insights and savvy advice. But to Amanda’s misery, her daughter reveals poignant issues over single motherhood stemming from a deep resentment over being “abandoned” by her own birth mother (Amanda.) Amanda makes a guilt-ridden effort to subtly counsel her. Susan absorbs Amanda’s heartfelt advice but doesn’t change her opinion. Other pitfalls bedevil Amanda as she battles GINA MARCHAND, a wealthy, ruthless, middle-aged hottie intent on marrying the vulnerable Paul and distancing him from his devoted daughter and baby granddaughter. Paul and Amanda fight their unspoken attraction though Amanda openly vanquishes the mercenary GINA. At the same time, Amanda teaches Susan a lesson about the hope, love, and forgiveness of motherhood. That trust in motherhood doesn’t have to be unconditional. Paul and Amanda’s push-pull relationship finally explodes into an impulsive, sexy near-seduction. Paul backs away the last minute but not before Susan walks in on the scene. Susan is hurt and furious with both her father and her new best friend. Paul is embarrassed. Amanda is disgusted with herself. Amanda wakes the next morning to find that the miracle drug has worn off and she’s suddenly returned to her real age. She slips out of town tearfully, vanishing as if she never existed, while leaving a poignant note for Paul and Susan. She doesn’t confess the bizarre truth about her identity, but she apologizes for the pain “Alanis” caused. Paul and Susan have an emotional talk about what’s happened, about their unrealistic expectations of each other, about life. For the first time they understand that life really does go on and the mistakes each of us makes are just one part of it. Amanda returns to her Atlanta home, where she hides in utter devastation. Her rambunctious girlfriends, Monique and Christine, suddenly show up at her door to demonstrate their own new lives – they’ve tracked down the eccentric scientist who gave Amanda the injection. They both look 25 years old. “Get yourself another dose of immortality and get back in the game,” they urge Amanda, but she refuses. What good would it do to revisit the scene of the disaster? She’s betrayed her daughter’s trust – again – and lost a man she loves – again. “Age isn’t a year,” she tells her unconvinced friends. “It’s the amount of love we’ve earned. I’m bankrupt. And ancient.” A few days later the inconsolable Amanda receives a letter in the mail. It’s from Susan. “Recently I met a person wiser than her years,” Susan writes, “who taught me that hope and forgiveness are the best gifts a mother can give her child. I think they’re the best gifts a child can give her mother, too. If you’d like to meet me, I’d finally like to meet you, too.” Amanda nervously drives back to the North Carolina town where her daughter and Paul live. This time she’s herself – the real, 50-ish, Amanda Gordon. When she pulls up to Paul and Susan’s house, they’re on the porch with the baby. Amanda slowly steps out of her car. Just as slowly, Susan’s expression goes from worried to accepting to tearfully welcoming. Paul, clearly hypnotized by the pretty woman who combines the best of his infatuation with sexy young “Alanis” with the dignity of a mature love interest, drops a pitcher of iced tea on his foot. He’s fallen in love with Amanda at first sight. And her with him, at second sight. Amanda thinks to herself: I know now what I should have known then: Happiness isn’t about pretending to be young. It’s about the love we’ve earned, year by year. And I’ve earned a lifetime. END Copyright Deborah Smith ©2004 |
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