The answer is most likely no.
Puh-leez! Even she herself thinks that writing scripts outside the city—Ubud, again—only happens to characters in films. In the real world, yes, where she and this group of scriptwriters live, the first draft is actually just a matter of working on the dialogue based on the outline. Three days... a week at the latest, it can be finished. And, usually, until production begins, the scriptwriter is not allowed to be far from the director. There are several processes that require Sarah's presence—reading and location reviews, for example. This last one is usually the one that most often results in the scriptwriter having to tinker with the script he's already finished. He has to adapt the scenes to the location he's found, after all, it's an imaginary location.
The scriptwriter's work would definitely be different from the original version. Not to mention if the location they found was simpler than the scripted version due to budgetary reasons.
And this was Sarah's biggest fear: if the director and producer thought she was acting up... she might be replaced by a scriptwriter who—sob—was more emotionally stable.
But, despite feeling seventy-five percent pessimistic, fueled by Anye's encouragement, Sarah finally visited Hambali Setiawan at his studio. This director is truly a morning person. If you follow his Twitter account, you'll see his daily routine. At half past five, Hambali wakes up, and between moments of regaining consciousness and rubbing his eye, he tweets a cheerful good morning to all his followers. I don't know if he did some light exercise first or what, but afterward, he showers, changes clothes, and gets ready to head to the studio in the Rasuna Said area. Upon arriving at the office, the guy tweeted again, either "Morning tea at the office," or "Meeting with Bla Bla during breakfast!"
And that morning, the Bla Bla mentioned in Hambali's tweet was himself.
"You said you wanted to talk about our film script draft, Sar," Hambali said, as OB had just excused himself after placing two cups of tea on the coffee table.
He and Hambali have collaborated on four feature films. The first, and an immediate success, was 'My Sexy Valentine'. The four billion rupiah teen film was unexpectedly popular with a predominantly teenage audience. In fact, the line "ongkang-ongkang kulit," which is actually "tuolol" (a phrase used by teenagers as a way of saying "to relax"), was adopted by the teenagers as a new word in their everyday conversation, replacing "santai-santan" or "resting." "What are you doing?" "Ongkang-ongkang kulit, bro. Yeah, while watching a DVD..." Yeah, that's more or less how it's used.
The second was 'Radio'. This film, about two radio announcers who fall in love when they meet on a talk show, was released about six months after 'My Sexy Valentine'. It was also a success, although not as phenomenal as 'ongkang-ongkang kulit'.
Their longest project was this: 'Aku Perawan'. A film with a simple theme, about a girl who loses her virginity before marriage, unexpectedly surpassed the number of viewers of 'My Sexy Valentine'.
The production house cheered. The producer immediately said, make it a trilogy!
The sequel, 'Aku Perawan 2', was released last year and sold even better than its predecessor. Sarah knew it when the respected producer came with the 'schedule' for 'Aku Perawan 3'. He negotiated with the largest cinema chain in Indonesia, and they said they could secure it.
The film was during the school holidays, which meant four and a half months away.
"Um, it's like this, Hambali..." Sarah, still looking nervous in her seat, finally mustered up the courage to tell him everything. Yes, about Rifat. Yes, about Anye's tempting idea.
The smile on Hambali's face slowly faded, like the print on a washed-out t-shirt. "Girl, are you out of your mind?!" Oops, his mouth came out. "If the esteemed producer finds out about this, it's over."
Sarah nodded slowly. Her face immediately wrinkled like she'd eaten a sour lime.
"When I was in 'Aku Perawan,' I also fell in love with the extra—remember?" Sarah gasped. Ah, yes. That was a hot topic of gossip among the crew and cast. And, indeed, Hambali wasn't guilty of liking the extra. He was super cute, like a boy band member. "And unfortunately, that on-set romance ended really quickly, long before our film production was finished. It was incredibly awkward between him and me. I swear, that was the worst experience ever, and it's made me wary of ever having an on-set romance like that again."
Err, oh my. Sarah tried hard not to look flustered. So... what does that short story-length romance have to do with my life problems?
"On the other hand, I know all too well that love can sometimes be a factor inhibiting creativity. So, I'm going to do this for the good of all of us. I'm giving you two weeks—"
No more. Regarding the producer, I'll take care of it—don't worry. But promise me, when you get back from Bali, you'll come back not only with a great tan all over your body but also a great script."
"S-so, I... c-can-?"
"Of course," Hambali nodded. "But swear on your life, it's really only two weeks, okay?"
Sarah wanted to scream like an Oprah audience member who finds a gift under a chair, but she quickly covered her mouth and simply expressed her joy by stamping her foot excitedly.
Hambali just laughed. "And, girl, stop dating guys like that."
Sarah nodded quickly. "I've learned my lesson the hard way."
16 hours later...
Sarah was well aware that she was the center of attention at Ngurah Rai Airport. Sarah wasn't the type to enjoy traveling, but when she did, she did it in style. The cherry red suitcase she was lugging with one hand matched the peacoat she was wearing—and the pumps. which gives the illusion of a 'fuller' butt and adds length to the legs. Indeed, a peacoat
There wasn't a hint of Balinese charm to it at all, but when else would she be able to pull off the Sistar look from the "Shady Girl" music video?
After exiting, Sarah took her oversized sunglasses from the V-neck of her peacoat and walked with confident strides. Time to find a taxi, she thought, trying not to appear bothered by the two men who owned "illegal taxis" swarming around her like ants on sugar. With a formal smile, the girl raised her hand and walked away. Phew. That's how it has to be to get people to be their passengers, Sarah thought.
The girl hailed the first (official) taxi that appeared in front of her and put her suitcase in the trunk. After sitting comfortably in the passenger seat and the taxi slowly leaving the airport area, Sarah looked up Anye's number in her BB phonebook and called her.
Now, in Sarah's eyes, Anye wasn't just a friend. She was an angel—in a better outfit, of course.
"Hello? Anye? It's me. Yes, I just landed." The girl smiled when she felt the caring aura in Anye's voice asking if the flight was okay. "Thanks, Babe. I think you're right. What I need is a really new atmosphere so I can write. I haven't done anything yet, I already feel like I'm fifty points fine."
Sarah nodded. "Yeah. Take a taxi. Wait if I bother you again to ask for directions to your villa, is that okay? Hehehehe. Souvenirs? Dirty clothes aren't enough? Hahahaha, damn it! That's it. I'll call you later."
"Anye," Sarah muttered, still laughing about their conversation just half a minute ago. "OF COURSE she'll bring a souvenir—whatever she asks for. In fact, even if Anye says she wants a Balinese guy—exaggerating, well—Sarah will do whatever it takes to have him by her side on the way home.
Honey, Anye is still dating that Irish guy...
Sarah glanced at the taxi driver next to her. Thank God, since asking their destination, he's shown no signs of engaging her in conversation. Oh, Sarah doesn't want to either, by the way. So, Sarah took the initiative to signal 'no talking, just driving' to the half-bald man. The girl immediately plugged her earphones into both ears. Sarah played the first song on her iPod.
"All By Myself" played softly, and Sarah immediately wanted to throw the metallic blue object out the window. Damn, she didn't need to be reminded that she was currently solo. Next song!
The tinkling sound of a music box greeted her ears. It was so sweet, but Sarah quickly realized it was the intro to a song—
You once said I was half your life, chasing my love / but now you're not the lover I once knew—
Dewi Sandra was annoyed! Next song!
This time she was greeted with 'If Love Is Him'—Next! 'My Love Is Gone—Next! Next! Next! 'Love and Hate,' all three sung by Geisha. Sarah gave up. Even though she was clearly miles away from Jakarta, something still reminded her of how heartbroken she was. She removed her earphones and put her iPod back in her handbag.
No, she cried to herself. She wouldn't let Rifat win! She would do whatever it took to prove that he no longer had any influence on her. For two whole weeks she would have fun in Ubud, finish the draft of the script she had promised Hambali, shop like a person possessed, eat deliciously and to her heart's content—anything that didn't involve tears and sobbing over Rif—no, the Dirty Bird who had clearly betrayed their relationship.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Sarah glanced at the driver next to her. Suddenly, engaging him in conversation wasn't as bad as it sounded. She thought, then asked, "How long have you been driving a taxi?"
The man turned to look at her and smiled. He seemed to enjoy talking while driving. "Since 1995, Miss. I first became a taxi driver when...
After paying the taxi fare and taking her suitcase out of the trunk, Sarah finally said thank you and goodbye to the friendly taxi driver, who turned out to have had an incredibly interesting life experience. He moved to Bali on a whim, and years later, it paid off beautifully—his three children graduated from college, and now one of them works at the embassy. It's a kind of inspirational story. The kind of life experiences a taxi driver can count on one hand.
But that's enough about the taxi driver for now. Let's return to Sarah's vacation-plus-work. The girl just realized she was in front of a fairly luxurious two-story villa. Wow. Just wow. The girl knew Anye came from a family that, like her, proletarians like her, called them "money-suckers." Her friend never left the house without the scent of money wafting off her, from the clothes she wore, the bag she carried, the jewelry on her ears, neck, and wrists, the beautiful shoes that adorned her feet—even her collection. credit cards in his branded wallet.
But to imagine Anye also owning a villa this big?! Sarah whistled. Lucky girl.
And, lucky me, the girl muttered again. Now, in Sarah's eyes, Anye was no longer just an angel. She also held the keys to heaven.
Sarah's pumps clicked as they stepped on the cement and natural stone pavement. The girl briefly glanced at the garden created on a plot of land in front of the villa. It wasn't very large, but tastefully done. Anye had once told her that her late mother loved roses. It was no surprise, then, that in the garden, Sarah's eyes spotted several varieties of roses growing luxuriantly and blooming abundantly. The petals and leaves glistened as if they were sprinkled with gems—it looked as if they had just been watered moments ago. The girl guessed it must be Mrs. Karsih, who had been entrusted with taking care of the villa since Anye's father first bought it. Her friend had told her that when she was helping her pack last night, Mrs. Karsih was very clean and not fussy. When everything was finished, usually around the afternoon, Mrs. Karsih would return to the house next to the villa she had built for her and her family. "She's not a nosy person and doesn't talk much," Anye added. "You wouldn't notice if she suddenly went home."
Sarah nodded. It was nice to know she wouldn't be alone in the villa. Mrs. Karsih would be her best friend during her two-week stay in Ubud.
Sarah knocked on the door, calling Mrs. Karsih's name several times. There was no answer. When she knocked again, she reached for the doorknob and—wh—it was unlocked. Mrs. Karsih must be at work, Sarah thought, then dragged her suitcase and entered the villa.
And... wow again! The last time Sarah had seen something like this was in a magazine, a magazine featuring celebrity homes.
The villa's living room was dominated by beige and brown. The focal point of the room was a set of wooden chairs and a table, with a centerpiece of a large vase and a bouquet of white orchids and wooden ornaments placed in the middle. The other furnishings seemed to be placed randomly, but that was where the beauty lay. Every item screamed 'classy' and 'expensive'; Cowhide rugs, clay vases, jaguar statues, and minimalist table lamps placed on cherrywood side tables, masks from various regions displayed on a separate wall, and—her favorite—built-in cabinets made of wood deliberately unpolished for a strong, natural feel.
The girl's heels echoed as she walked across the room. She glanced left and right, fifty percent focused on admiring the interior, a combination of money and high taste, and the other fifty percent searching for her potential new BFF, Mrs. Karsih.
"Mom...?"
She only heard the sound of a water faucet running from the far end of the room. As Sarah approached, the sound of water faded away. But, from the crack in the door,
When her eyes weren't fully covered, she caught a glimpse of someone. Sarah smiled, finally meeting Mrs. Karsih.
"Hello, Mom, I'm—"
The rest of her sentence was swallowed in shock. Sarah's eyes widened, seeing a masculine, naked figure—thank God—bending over, seemingly intending to reach for a towel in the middle of the bed. But that was precisely why she had full access to her round, juicy buttocks (her and Anye's term for a bottom that was tempting to squeeze). The man seemed to notice her presence, reflexively pulling the bedcovers to hide his "little sister"—oh, damn, I didn't get to see it, Sarah thought, her eyes gleaming mischievously.
But wait...
When hearing the name "Mrs. Karsih," any sane person would assume she was a woman. According to Anye, she was in her fifties and had two children, both girls.
So, this Greek statue with a fig leaf covering its ass...
Who?
And, strangely enough, she felt like she knew the guy. And the guy seemed to feel the same way, because instead of yelling at Sarah to shut the door, he just stared back at her with a frown.
"Sarah...?" His voice sounded unsure. "What are you doing here?"
Oh, shit. "Do you... d-know me?"
"I don't even know my own brother's friend?" The guy wanted to laugh, but then his face turned serious. "How long are you going to watch me naked huh?! Get out!"
Sarah immediately turned around and left the room while running away.