Everything Leads to You(35)

“That sucks,” I say. “But it makes sense.”

And it does. Sarah Williams is the new “it” girl—too new to the scene to be hated by anyone, just established enough to grace the covers of all the high-end magazines. But even though having her as our female lead would have been incredible, a different idea is coming to me.

“Have you been auditioning other people?”

Rebecca laughs and Theo holds up a hand.

“In my defense—” he begins.

“Over one hundred other people,” Rebecca says.

“Please. In my defense. This is the most important role of the entire film. If we don’t have a strong Juniper, our film will be worthless.”

“She’s based on his sister,” Rebecca explains. “No one is good enough.”

“Sarah Williams was good enough,” Theo mutters. “Anyway, we’re getting a new group of girls next week. Our casting agent friend has been recording auditions for us.”

“What scene are you having them read from?”

“Forty-two,” Rebecca says. “When she—”

“Talks about the florist. Tells George that story. I love that part.”

They stare at me.

“I don’t have it all memorized or anything,” I say. “But I made a lot of notes on that scene. It’s the first time we’re in the break room, and there are a bunch of things that I want to get in the shot. Like wine crates for them to sit on, hooks for the aprons to hang from, a board that shows the shift schedule for the week . . . That sort of thing.”

“We originally wrote it to play out as a flashback,” Rebecca says. “So you would see the flower stand and everything happening as Juniper tells the story. It’s one of the things we had to cut considering the budget. But as long as we have great performances, we think the actors will be able to carry the scene.”

They want to hear about more of my ideas, but I steer them back to Juniper as soon as I can.

“We have an A-list cast,” I say. “Does that mean you need a star for her part?”

“We’ve talked a lot about that,” Rebecca says. “At first we thought yes, but we changed our minds.”

“It was out of desperation, really,” Theo adds. “No star who wanted to do it was right for the part. But we have enough name recognition with Benjamin and Lindsey.”

“So you’d consider an unknown?”

“As long as she was the right unknown,” Theo says. “Then yes.”

~

Even after I’ve left, I don’t want to stop planning. I’ve never felt so awake.

As soon as I get back to the apartment I set myself up on Toby’s patio with my sunglasses and my laptop and scour the Internet for art to go on Juniper’s walls. I want lush, lived-in sets for this film. Nothing too spare or too modern.

A couple hours later I find what I’m looking for on the site of a vintage store in Minneapolis. Eight botanical prints from a book published in 1901. The prints are yellowed in a way that makes them look valuable and rare, and the plant drawings are so pretty—all delicate blossoms and leaves and root structures. They are so clearly right for Juniper that I only hesitate for a moment when I see the price. Yes, they are a third of the budget we have allocated for Juniper’s entire apartment, but I am sure that I’ll be able to beg and borrow for almost everything else, so I get out my credit card.

~

Ava appears in the doorway of the Marmont bar, scanning the room for us, clearly relieved when she sees me wave.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she says as she steps down into the bright, sunken seating area where we’ve claimed a table. “I had no idea what door to go through! And I kept thinking I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be and that someone was going to know and throw me out. What is this place?”

She drops her purse on the red worn carpet and pulls out a velvet upholstered, high-back chair. Her hair is up today, bobby-pinned and messy, and she’s dressed in the same shorts and belt as last time, today with a white shirt loosely buttoned and rolled up at the sleeves.

“It’s a hotel,” I say.

“A ridiculously overpriced hotel,” Charlotte adds. “For celebrities and people desperate to see celebrities.” She catches sight of something in the courtyard. “And for women who make me terrified of growing old.”

We follow her gaze to where two elderly ladies are rising from their table, wobbly on their matchstick legs and high heels, their breasts huge and fake, the skin on their overly made-up faces pulled tight by many surgeries. Their lips are so swollen they must hurt. I look away.