Page 16 of Director's Cut

“Of course,” I say, surprised by the jolt as my heart lifts. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

The girl blushes as I blanch about using such a condescending name replacement. “Cory.”

“Cory,” I repeat. Half for me, half because I read somewhere that it makes people feel like you care about what they’re going to say. Which, for the first time today, I do. “What’s up?”

She tucks a dark brown hair behind her ear. “So, did we ever come to a consensus about ‘Cabaret’ being diegetic or non-diegetic? I mean, are we really supposed to believe that Sally just knows a song to perform that’s a metaphor for knowing a fellow showgirl who died? Like, was Elsie real? And if Elsie was real, doesn’t that break the film’s entire thesis about only having diegetic music?”

I shift in my seat—Maeve’s seat, mind racing. It’s a good racing, though, like my body feels after a solid workout. “Well, I’ll leave that up to your interpretation. Would you have an easier time believing that Sally is finding meaning in ‘Cabaret,’ a song that just happens to exist in this universe, or that the filmmakers blundered their vision?”

“I mean, it’s— I don’t know how they could be so careful and miss that.”

I fold my hands together on the desk. “Well, think about it in terms of what emotional beat is happening at that point. When you watch the scene, is Sally straight up talking about her feelings, or does it feel more grounded than that? Do you see Sally as the type of character who is so in touch with her feelings that we’d put a non-diegetic song into the movie?”

Cory rubs her eyebrow. The door opens, but I focus on her. “I guess it could be simpler than that. Sally’s just going through an emotional moment singing a song. It starts off as a performance, but you see it shift into Sally singing her feelings out. But you’re right, she wouldn’t have the words. She’s a performer. She borrows from others. Even about something as personal as her friend’s death.”

As relief floods her face, I find myself smiling. I’m actually doing it, being a professor. It’s simultaneously a familiar feeing and a thrilling new one.

I still have no idea what I’m going to do after this class, but for the first time since this class started, I’m starting to feel good being here. Like I’m objectively making an impact on these young filmmakers’ lives based entirely on the knowledge I give them, how I help them think through something. Maybe I could actually do this beyond this class.

“There we go,” I say. “Is this for the reflection paper?”

“Nah,” she says, closing her notebook. “I did that on ‘Tomorrow Belongs to Me.’ This is midterm prep.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Preparing early.” As in, we’re only on week two. Granted, I don’t remember when the midterm is, so maybe this isn’t that outrageous. We hold eye contact a moment, as if neither of us is sure whether this interaction is over. But as pathetic as this sounds, the minutes we spent together have been transformative. Like I’ve finally realized I’m in this ecosystem I really do love and I want to know everything about everyone in it. “What do you study?”

“Animation,” she says.

It’s real enthusiasm that comes out of her mouth. And it works better than the strong shot of espresso I took this morning. “That’s so cool! What sort of movies would you want to make?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure yet, but something more Don Bluth than Sony.”

I laugh. “I don’t think anyone wants to work for Sony.”

Despite the fact that Trish insists Sony would be a huge payday. That my three-year-old niblings would love the movies even if the critics didn’t. Going back to Hollywood is bad enough; I can’t even consider going back for that kind of Hollywood.

“Have you done any voice acting?” Cory asks me.

“Not yet, but there are a couple of projects my team is making me look at. I wouldn’t be opposed to an animated role, but who knows.”

It’s around then that I look past Cory and notice Maeve standing by the doorway. She doesn’t look particularly happy, but I’m tempted to say she’s neutral as she watches us, hands in her pockets, leaning against the wall. I’d call the pose greaser in a movie if not for the, dare I say, softness in her mouth and eyes.

“Is it time?” I ask. I touch the desk for my phone, but it’s not there.

“Yeah, but take your time,” Maeve says. Maybe it’s Cory’s presence, but Maeve’s tone is much softer than usual.

Cory picks up her notebook and stands. “I’m done.” She looks to me. “Thank you, Professor Sullivan.”

The name sends a shiver down my spine.

Cory exits unceremoniously, leaving me to collect my sparse items off Maeve’s desk.

“No, you can sit a minute,” Maeve says. “No one ever comes right at the beginning.”

Something about the way she says it makes me think it’s not a suggestion. Time to see if this week’s gamble was worth it.

Maeve takes a seat on the couch across from me, crossing her legs like a perfect lady. I get a weird, pervading thought as I wait for her to speak. Is she queer? I know she did a dissertation on queer cinema, but there are always allies who do shit like that. I swore I’d just automatically clocked her as queer, but suddenly I’m not sure why I thought that. Especially not in her look today: blouse, pencil skirt, and heels. She could just be femme, but something is making me uneasy. Like I need her to just bring up her sexuality to ease my nerves. Nerves that…I don’t need to think longer about why they’re there. What that kind of interest in her implies.

“What’s up?” I ask, my voice going a little higher than it has in any other encounter I’ve had today. Fuck that, whatever gay evolutionary tic it is.

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