Page 92 of Director's Cut
“Thanks for believing in me,” I return.
“I have to say,” Victoria says. “The queer perspective here was pitch-perfect.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
“Obviously this is personal for you, but did you do any research to make sure you were portraying things as accurately as possible?”
I look to Charlie and Mason. Mason shrugs.
“I did try to find lesbian gaze film theory, but Mason told me to just not zoom in on breasts.”
“Just my tits,” Charlie says.
“Even you didn’t have a body close-up,” I say. “No, honestly, I just wasn’t ever interested in body parts. I always loved watching bodies and figures move through space, so I tried to keep the shots wide as much as possible. And hey, it’s a team effort. Mason’s input is in the shots, my incredible DP Brendan Kim translated my vision so perfectly, and even camera assistants like the lovely Luna Roth, who’s somewhere in the audience, would give me their own take on the non-cis male gaze.”
I wonder if Maeve would agree with what I’m saying. If she were ever forced to write a paper on me, what she’d say about this film. What she’d say about the films I hope to make in the future. My chest aches hoping this film is good enough for her. Even though I might never know if she saw it.
“But we did have to rein you in,” Charlie teases. “You did want to just randomly have ‘Pinball Wizard’ in this movie.”
The audience laughs. They’re being way too nice to me. “It would’ve added to the trippiness of the scene.”
“It”—Mason puts a hand on my shoulder—“has never made sense outside of Tommy.”
Maeve made that comment once. That it only kind of worked in Rocketman.
The Q&A wraps up. I return to my seat, looking back as people exit the theater. I’m— I hate to say it, but I’m on fire. My answers were insightful and witty, I nailed exactly what I wanted to convey about the film. After whether consciously or not treating teaching like a distraction, it turns out it was exactly what I needed. Every minute in the classroom adjusting to a new audience and expressing new thoughts has improved my communication. Taking every bit of Maeve’s constructive criticism and praise has sharpened my thoughts themselves. I feel on top of the world. I feel like my thoughts matter. I feel capable. I feel like I deserved to make this movie and to take up this space. All because of a confidence Maeve gave me. I feel—
I feel like my heart’s dropped to my shoes.
I’m standing in a theater in Cannes, my shoes digging into the movie theater carpet, and my tongue’s coated in sugar, and my blood’s buzzing from a Q&A, and I’m staring at Maeve.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Maeve Arko is standing at the other end of the movie theater, holding a bouquet of red, pink, and white roses. She tucks a hair behind her ear, fidgety. Dare I say nervous? She’s really here. I keep blinking, waiting for the curtain to rise or to bolt awake from an altitude-altered dream and find out I’m still on the plane to the South of France. But I’m here. I’m here, Maeve’s here, and she’s—she’s here.
I scrape my beaten and bruised heart up off the floor and make my way over to her. It feels like my body is moving on its own; I’m watching a movie where I bridge the distance between us. My chest swells, but there’s no warmth. Not yet.
“Maeve…” I say, when what I’d fully intended to say was What are you doing here?
“Can we talk outside for a second?” she asks.
Maeve’s in France. Maeve traveled thousands of miles and bought flowers and is in a lovely black dress all for me. This is…for me, right?
“Yeah, of course.”
It feels like I’m seeing her for the first time in months. Maybe it’s in the way she’s standing. A little looser, like everything—down to her facial muscles—is a little more relaxed. She leads me just outside the door, stands next to a napkin dispenser and a popcorn butter container. There’s a napkin that’s not pulled out properly, and fixing that feels far more urgent than looking Maeve in the eye.
“You made it,” I say.
“I did,” Maeve says. “I can’t thank you enough for the amazing lecture yesterday. And Ashlee mentioned what you did to recommend me for the grant.” She exhales. “It means so much to me.”
“Maeve, I—I’m so sorry.” My lips tremble. “It was wrong of me to try to deflect when you were just trying to communicate about what was bothering you.” I exhale, long and hard. A tremble goes through me as I glance around us; no one’s looking, but I feel like I should be making a bigger gesture. “I’m glad the class went well, and that Ashlee and the department could see how wonderful you are.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think I fully deserve ‘wonderful.’ ” She sighs. “When I asked for that break, I was intending to get back in touch with you earlier. But you were acting so distant that I let my own doubts get the better of me,” she says.
She takes my hand.
She takes my hand and it’s like everything around us falls away. My stomach flips at the familiar feeling. I’m an addict whose craving has been satisfied once more. “But I could’ve and should’ve gotten past that feeling to reach out. You didn’t need the extra stress added to your plate, especially given how new and monumental and probably scary this has all been for you. The scheduling conflict wasn’t a huge deal, and I left you in the lurch. I’m so sorry.”