The Husband Hour(20)

“If we close that shade and move the couch, maybe set the bookshelf behind her? This could work,” said Derek.

“Do you mind if they move a few things around?” Matt asked, fully aware that “move a few things around” was a huge understatement. The next time Stephanie saw the space, half the furniture would be pushed to one side, the room would be filled with wires running everywhere, and whatever wasn’t pushed out of the frame would be arranged in a completely different way.

He followed her back to the kitchen, resisting the urge to make conversation; one of the early lessons he’d learned in subject interviews was to talk as little as possible before the camera and audio were on. On his first film he’d gotten the best quote from a subject before the camera was running and then couldn’t get the guy to repeat it.

Stephanie began talking about the house, how it had been her grandparents’ and they’d spent summers there growing up.

“Before we get started, I need you to sign a release.” He sat across from her on a chair upholstered in pale linen and passed her the single sheet of paper.

Stephanie looked at him suspiciously. “Shouldn’t I have a lawyer look at this or something?”

“You can. But it’s very straightforward. It grants me the irrevocable right to use whatever we film in whatever way I see fit to make and market the film you’ve agreed to be interviewed for.”

“I have no idea what you just said.” She smiled flirtatiously.

“This is the deal: You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to, and you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. But once you’ve spoken on camera, the material becomes, essentially, property of the film company.”

She looked at him, not quite with a raised eyebrow but with an expression that was certainly in the spirit of a raised eyebrow. Then, leaning forward, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and signed the paper. Then she glanced up at him as if she had accepted a dare.

“This will be fun,” she said. “I’ll get the coffee started.”

He turned his phone off and shoved it in his pocket. Stephanie told him over her shoulder, “My sister would have a fit if she knew I was doing this.”

Matt had already thought the same thing. It was a delicate situation. He wanted to spur Lauren into participating, not send her over the edge.

“You said she was out of the house today.”

“Yeah, she’s always working. Or running like a maniac.”

“She runs a lot?”

“Every morning at the crack of dawn. Before dawn. All the way to the casinos and back. Totally psycho.”

Stephanie’s son walked into the room. Matt recognized him from her Facebook page. A good-looking kid. He clutched a soccer ball.

“Ethan! I told you to stay upstairs until I got you.”

“Can I use the computer?” He dropped the ball, dribbled it for a few steps. Matt watched him. Something about the footwork triggered the idea that this kid might make for good B-roll: innocent boy, the early love of sports.

“Yes, yes,” Stephanie said, exasperated. “I said that you could have computer time.”

The kid fixed his dark eyes on Matt.

“Hello there,” Matt said.

Ethan kicked the ball into the other room and ran after it.

“Would you mind if I filmed him for a few minutes? Later, after we’re done?” he said.

Stephanie visibly stiffened. “Why would you want to interview my son?”

“No, not interview, just film him kicking the ball around. Sometimes things like a shot of scenery or a kid make good footage to juxtapose against interviews.”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“Matt.” His DP peeked in. “I want to get her situated in the room to check the light.”

“Showtime,” Matt said to Stephanie with a wink.

They followed Derek back into the living room. Stephanie gasped.

“Oh my God, you moved this whole room around. My mother will have a stroke.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll put everything back the way it was.” Derek showed her a photo he’d taken of how the room had looked before they’d made it shootable.

Placated, Stephanie followed Matt’s direction to sit on the bone-colored couch next to a wood coffee table stacked with oversize, glossy books about architecture, great American gardens, and the jewelry collection of Elizabeth Taylor. A tall silver vase had been filled with fresh lavender.

Paul slipped the mic wire down the front of her shirt and hooked the sound pack to the back of her jeans. Matt sat directly across from her. Derek made a last-minute change to the camera, moving it a few inches just above Matt’s left shoulder.

“You ready to get started?” Matt asked Stephanie.

“I’m ready.”

“Are we rolling?” he asked.

“Rolling,” Derek said.

“Action,” Matt said. He faced Stephanie. “I want to thank you for participating in this film. I really believe Rory’s story is worth telling. And I couldn’t do it without the help of the people who knew him best.”

She nodded, looking nervous for the first time.

“When I ask you a question, I need you to respond by repeating part of it. So if I say, ‘What is your name?’ you say, ‘My name is Stephanie Adelman.’ All of my questions will be edited out, so for this to make sense you need to repeat part of what I ask.”