Thank You for Listening(50)
BROCK:
Should I apologize for last night?
SEWANEE:
No!
BROCK:
Be honest.
SEWANEE:
NO. I am. I will. I want to talk. And I will.
I think this is what a crazy person sounds like.
BROCK:
It’s ok. We really don’t have to talk.
SEWANEE:
I pinky-swear promise I’ll get back to you. Maybe an email. Or a letter! Or a carrier pigeon? Regardless: soon.
BROCK:
Good.
THE NEXT DAY, Sewanee sat in Adaku’s living room running the scenes. Adaku assured–and reassured–her that everyone was already convinced she was perfect for the role. The studio was insisting they see a few token actresses, which they both knew was industry standard, but–Adaku adamantly repeated–they were so excited to see her.
Adaku read with her and kept trying to boost her up (you’re brilliant! Love that line reading! They’re going to die, you’re perfect!), but it wasn’t necessary. Sewanee was genuinely fired up to get back in an audition room. Besides, nothing was more daunting than performing a book. It felt luxurious, actually, building just one character instead of an entire world.
Then they filmed the Angela Davis self-tape. After a few takes, Adaku said, “Any notes?”
Sewanee glanced down at the pages, assessing them the way she might a particularly opaque novel. “Try it distracted. Harried. You don’t have time to be having this conversation.”
“Hmm,” Adaku grunted, and they ran the scene once more. “Yeah,” she said after, nodding. “That’s better. Makes room for the ambiguity.”
“Let’s try one more and that last line? Don’t look at her when you say it. You’re already on your way out. Leave her to interpret it.”
Adaku tried it and, after Sewanee had cut, tossed back her head. “Yes! So much better!” She thanked Sewanee with a hug. “You’ve always been my best director. And I miss acting with you!” She fluttered her hands by her face. “Ahh, I can’t wait!” She spun away and took a drag on her super-duper protein shake Sewanee thought smelled like moldy spinach. “This will move fast, Swan. Get all your recording done because we’re gonna be in Australia for three months.”
Sewanee smiled. “I only have six scenes, remember?”
“Yeah, well, the last time we were on location together it was only supposed to be a week and look how that turned out.”
Sewanee watched Adaku realize what she was saying as she was saying it. Saw the flare of panic in her eyes, the last-minute decision to add a cheeky grin at the end, the way she went back to her smoothie in an effort to look casual. As she’d said, Sewanee was her best director; she knew all the tics in Adaku’s performances.
To put her at ease, Sewanee changed the subject. “You know, I should go with you to the gym, see what routine they’ve got you doing.”
Adaku shook her head and did some hamstring stretches. “You’re on your own for that. I’m heading to London tomorrow for the Girl in the Middle premiere and press. I’ll be there for . . .” She stared at the floor, calculating. “Three? Four days? Then back here, but just for an overnight, because The Originator is sending me to Georgia for some off-grid team-building thing with the other girls in my ‘tribe.’ And then there’s two weeks of weapons training, which I’m sure you’ll be a part of. Then Australia.” Adaku took an intense slurp and said through her cringe, “I can’t believe I’ll be trudging through backcountry Georgia swampland this time next week.”
Sewanee peered at her. Adaku’s usual go-go-go attitude seemed to be limping a bit. She always approached the world like one big improv setup: yes, and! Right now, though, Sewanee was seeing more yes, but. “You taking care of yourself?”
“Yeah! Just tired is all.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Be brilliant in this film so we can do more of this.”
Sewanee stood to go. She had a lot of recording to burn through if she was going to Australia. She quickly calculated when she might next see Adaku, given her schedule, and the answer was bleak. So she said, “Hey, why don’t I take you to the airport for the Georgia trip next week?”
Adaku shook her head. “It’s the morning after the Audies, you don’t love me that much.”
“Wanna bet?”
Adaku smiled. “Okay, but I’ll meet you at your place. No need for you to come all the way East only to take me all the way West. Plus”–she winked–“give you more time to get Brock out of your bed.”
Sewanee scoffed as she walked to the front door. “I doubt he’ll be at the Audies.”
“Why not?”
“He’s all smoke and mirrors. The whole pseudonym thing. No one knows who he is!”
They said goodbye, Adaku taking her empty shaker into the kitchen, Sewanee closing the door behind her.
As she walked to her car, she rolled the audition pages into a telescope, tapping them against her leg in a jittery beat.
The thought of acting again, of putting herself fully out there after having hidden away in a 4x4 sound booth for all these years, was making her heady. Was she really ready to do this?
Yes.
Hell, yes.
It shocked her that whatever trepidatious fear she’d carried for so long could be so instantly, so thoroughly, overruled by excitement. By being given the opportunity to make it right. Like being given a second chance. Like Claire and Alessandro. And all of it, somehow, kept her circling back to thinking about Brock.