Everything Leads to You(91)

He sets down a pen and a page of the Times and I glance at them expecting a crossword puzzle but instead finding the movie listings for the weekend.

He tells me what I owe him but I can’t look away from the listings. He’s circled several in red pen.

“Why are you circling movie times?” I ask him.

“I’m planning my weekend,” he answers, in an accent I can’t place.

“Are you going to see all of those?”

“Yes.”

I hand him my cash.

“Is it, like, some sort of special movie weekend for you?”

“No, it’s my routine. Where I’m from, we had to wait months, sometimes years for American films. Now, I see them on opening weekend.”

I give him a slow smile, studying his face. It’s lit up with the love of films. I turn slowly, taking in this store I’ve probably seen a dozen times but never actually noticed. When I started this project, I probably would have ruled it out. It’s not at all romantic. There’s nothing pretty about it. But it has good light. The produce is fresh and colorful, the aisles wide and well stocked. It’s big enough for the crew but small enough to feel intimate, and I can easily see opportunities to play up its humble charms.

“My name is Emi,” I say to him.

“Hakeem,” he says to me.

“Let me tell you about a film I’m working on,” I say, and ten minutes later I’m climbing back into Charlotte’s car with yet another reason to celebrate.

~

On Sunday morning my phone rings and it’s Ava.

“You know how you said I could call you when I needed a favor?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Does that still apply?”

“Is Jamal at work?” I joke, and I’m relieved when she laughs.

“No,” she says. “But he’s coming, too. So is this a yes? Can I pick you up at four?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Is Charlotte with you?”

“No, we both slept at our houses last night. The apartment is off limits until we’re done filming.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll call her next.”

I spend some time at the apartment in the middle of the day, watering the plants, rearranging some stacks of books, writing a grocery list for the refrigerator, some botany notes in notebooks that I scatter across the room. The best production designers are the ones who make the sets feel so real that if you didn’t know better, you’d think the characters lived their lives there even after the filming stopped.

Then, at four o’clock, Ava and Jamal pull up to my house and I climb into the backseat. I direct her to Charlotte’s house, and then it’s the four of us, getting onto the freeway, and I recognize the direction in which we’re heading.

“One request,” I say. “No breaking the law on the day before filming starts.”

“Granted,” Ava says. “Speaking of filming, I saw some photos of the apartment. It looks beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“If there’s time before we start shooting, will you take me through it and explain everything? I want to know what I’m looking at. Like those photographs pinned on the corkboard by the hanging plants? Who are those people meant to be? Things like that.”

“Sure,” I say. “That would be great. I’ll explain everything to you.”

When we exit the 405 and pull onto the narrow highway that leads into the desert, Ava says, “This probably won’t be very fun. But you don’t need to do anything. Just be with me.”

We all say okay, and my heart pounds so hard because I’m so worried for her.

Moments later we’re parked in front of Tracey’s house, and we get out of the car, four doors slamming shut. We don’t get very far because Tracey is outside, watering the lawn.

She sees us all and her face goes serious. She looks younger than I expected, wearing jeans and a pink sleeveless shirt with a high collar, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and a gardening glove on one hand. Water sputters out of the hose onto the grass beside her. She crosses the lawn without saying anything and shuts off the water.

Jamal and Charlotte and I stay on the sidewalk next to the car while Ava rounds to the trunk of the car and takes out two boxes. I recognize them as Tracey’s. They are sealed up, tied with strings of paper flowers.

She sets them on the grass and then takes a few steps toward Tracey, frozen on the path next to the little pink potted flowers. They’ve been spread out evenly now, a little farther apart than before to compensate for the one Ava smashed.