Page 19 of Director's Cut

She stands up.

“Where are you going?” I ask, the indignation slipping into my tone.

Ty’s gaze flits between us.

“We decided on our five questions, and I have an appointment at an archive in Hollywood in thirty minutes.” She looks to Ty. “And you have class after this, right?”

Ty nods. “Dixon’s seminar.”

Maeve looks over to me and shrugs. “There ya go.” She collects her items quickly but hesitates as her fingers wrap around her sweating tea container. “You really want to take charge of this class?”

Embarrassment slaps me again. This sounds like a trick question, like she’ll berate me for my answer no matter what it is. Still…

“Yes.”

“Well, if you want to do it without training wheels, I have to turn in a big conference proposal and some paperwork for a research grant over the next two weeks.”

No way. My heart thrums.

“There are a lot of responsibilities I’m taking on for you behind the scenes right now. So why don’t you meet with Ty tomorrow in order to work out how you’ll handle the Rocky Horror and Little Shop weeks together? If I’m done early, I’ll happily take a back seat to see how you do Little Shop.”

Oh, of course.

Cold fear stabs through me. Tomorrow I have back-to-back meetings with producers for some movie Trish wants me in next year, plus I promised Charlie I’d help him do self-tapes. This is going to be more of a circus than a press tour.

But like hell does Maeve get to know that.

I smile through the sweat pooling in my lower back. “Sounds great.”

Maeve smiles. “Can’t wait to see what your lessons look like.”

When I ask Ty if he’ll meet me on the Warner Bros. lot in Burbank, his reply is quite literally just “.” Which, I’ll admit, I think about far more than I need to while I sit through three hours of morning meetings with two independent WB-first-look sets of producers. One is for the animated movie I mentioned to Cory, which I’m still not convinced isn’t going to get 3 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. They’ve handed me the script, and it’s kind of baking on a table in the outdoor seating section of the commissary. There’s something deeply ironic about fame. When I was starting out, I was only big enough for indie movies drawn from the blood of starving filmmakers. In the middle of an A-list career, I was given everything—the searing indies, blockbusters, and prestige dramas I want along with the kind of movies that these studios vomit out for profit. Then they all got filtered through my sexuality, including the two meetings today. Lesbian detective and lesbian rabbit. The only good things I have I got through Mason, one indie she’s doing and Goodbye, Richard! 2 next fall. It only confirms that nagging worry I’ve had since the interview, that studio executives haven’t changed their narrow scope of me even with the directing credit. It’s like a weight hung on my heart.

Trish texts me when I’m waiting for him. How’s everything?

I could break my thumbs texting her the whole truth: I’m three of six meetings in today and already overwhelmed, and I have a lot to say. Still, I decide a Good! will suffice. Just at that moment, Ty comes bounding in, a WB-stamped iced coffee in his hands. He slides right into my table.

“Whew,” he says, shaking his hands a bit. “This place is so cool.”

I not-so-discreetly turn over my script, so Ty’s innocence can be protected. He doesn’t have to know just how not cool this place is. “Glad you’re enjoying it. Have you not been here before?”

I got Ty a guest pass today by claiming he was my personal assistant, but nonindustry people have often gone through a tour or two of the studio lots.

“Not yet,” he says. “My work sends me to archives more than studio lots.”

I scoot into the slowly moving slice of shade that hangs over our table. “Either way, thanks for meeting me here.”

“No problem. I’m ready to talk Rocky Horror.” He pauses, the pep in his words fading. “About yesterday—I’m sorry Maeve was being like that. She’s a third-year professor, and collecting enough accolades to get tenure gets harder and harder every year. She was having a bad day.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for her.”

Ty shrugs. “We all have off days. I TA’d for Maeve last year and accidentally told the students one of the directors we were studying grew up poor when he didn’t, screwed up a bunch of midterms. When I apologized to her, she forgave me without question. Another professor would’ve fired me. Stress can destroy the best of us.”

I don’t want to say it, but I’m thinking that Maeve must’ve been stressed the entire time I’ve known her. Even if I was the oblivious asshole when we started, she’s kept being an asshole going longer.

“Maeve’s pretty cool when you get to know her,” Ty continues.

I cock my head. “Is she?”

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