Page 78 of Director's Cut
I hang up seconds before just managing to not puke my guts into a planter in my backyard.
Once I stop shaking, I slide back into the kitchen, into the warmth and laughter and sweet smells that I can miraculously stomach.
“What’d Trish want?” Charlie asks.
“Just some positive leads on a couple of projects I wanted her to chase after for the next Oscar role,” I reply. I straighten out of the hunched position I sat down in. Sourness still tinges the back of my throat.
“I can’t believe you manufacture it like that,” Maeve comments.
“Welcome to Hollywood,” Charlie replies.
I manage a weak smile. Guess the lies will just keep coming.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
By the time Maeve leaves to get ready for work after a relaxed start to her day, I’ve come down at least enough to understand that I was overreacting when Trish called. I know I’ve been lying by omission to Maeve, but the festival is still a little over two months away. There’s no difference between telling her a month ahead of time and telling her four months ahead of time. Besides, she went with me to the Oscars; she even said she understands how chaotic Hollywood makes my life. We’ll make a solid lesson plan for the week I’m gone and I’ll throw in tickets for her to come down to Cannes on the weekend. She’s a cinema historian; it’d be incredible to go to a festival like Cannes. It’s a sweet deal.
This can be fine. I just have to stop—stop, I don’t even know? Letting this fester inside me? Being completely irrational?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlie saying goodbye to Jordan. I massage my temples as I sip ginger tea at the table, my weak attempt to soothe my stomach. Not that I even really need it. God, I can’t even remember the last time anxiety wasn’t the source of my physical illness. It should be a relief, the way the feeling disappears as soon as the trigger leaves (I just called my girlfriend a trigger), but all I can focus on is how quickly it comes on. I was lucky that this time it happened in my home, out of sight of anyone—
“You’ve got your anxiety face on,” Charlie says, plopping back into his seat at the kitchen table. “And you never drink tea unless you’re sick.”
I exhale. “Oakley got into Cannes.”
I expect Charlie to light up in that firecracker way he always does when he gets excited, get a sparkle in his blue eyes, a grin that’s so big it looks like he’s going to break his face, start jumping up and hugging the nearest human in the vicinity and squeezing all his excitement into them.
But he doesn’t do that. His hand twitches as if he’s hesitant to reach out to me. “You haven’t told Maeve yet, have you?”
A lump clings to my throat. “I thought I’d at least wait until I knew if I’d be booked.”
Charlie nods. “So now you know. Cannes is usually in the last week of May, isn’t it?”
“Early May this year.”
“That’s two months from now.”
I don’t need to be this anxious; I need to problem solve. I grab the kava from my supplement cabinet, and down a dose. If this shit gets me through press, it can get me through having this conversation. Even if I have to pretend at first. I return to Charlie.
“So the dean says that they’re evaluating Maeve on her ability to collaborate as part of this grant process. But this class has an additional professional angle. I was going to talk about the audition process and on set interest points for movie musicals, but honestly, I’m going off brief interactions with that world. Most of my musical knowledge is, as you know”—I grimace—“academic.”
Charlie nods. “So you need a guest who’s done musical movie stuff, basically.”
“Yeah.” I study Charlie, suddenly remembering the entirely of his filmography. Remembering Hadestown. “Someone like you.”
It’s like a siren has gone off in my head. Of course. Of course this is the solution. Maeve’s comfortable with Charlie, so it’d be a natural fit. My breath catches in my throat as I wait for his answer.
“So, like, I do a Q and A before heading to France?” he asks.
“Yeah. I can write you a ten-minute lecture. The kids will come prepared with questions, so you won’t have to fill space. I’ll cover all the events for us that day in Cannes. They’ll expect me to be fronting the promo being the director, anyway.”
“And this would be assuming class falls anytime other than the premiere itself.”
“The class this semester meets Wednesdays and the premiere is on a Friday. You don’t have to go to anything before the premiere anyway. Even with the long flight, you’d have a handle on the jet lag before—” I pause. “I mean, unless you had something you really wanted to see. I’m asking you for a huge favor right now. No, forget it. The timing is awful.”
He pulls his lips into a thin line. “I guess it’s something to add to the résumé. And, yeah, you get more jet-lagged than me.”
Before I even really know what I’m doing, I throw my arms around Charlie in a hug. “Thank you so, so much. I’ll get everything to you within the week.”