Page 24 of Director's Cut

The clip ends far faster than I anticipated, and I don’t really know what comes over me. It feels strangely like the buzz I get after a glass of wine, like my organs and words are a little slippery.

I sing a line from Seymour’s part in “Skid Row,” the melody easy in my ear and playful as it comes out between my lips.

Gwyn’s the real singer in the family, sounds like a Disney princess. But I have a voice that Trish says is underused in Hollywood. I could do a musical if I wanted or perform a song as a strong addition to a drama. But god, I wouldn’t have been able to sing in that moment if not for this groove I’ve found myself in.

Students are staring at me, entranced. It’s the look fans get at signings, like they’re under a spell.

I turn to Maeve as I sing the last line. “ ‘Someone gimme my shot or I’ll rot here.’ ”

We hold the eye contact this time, and it’s heavy. And god, my insides swoop.

She’s got that entranced look too.

I blink a few times as I trail off after the last word, look away from Maeve. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her rub her face, return her expression to neutral. What the hell has changed between the last time I saw her and now?

I click my tongue. “A little more ominous with that ending, eh?”

I look back at Maeve one more time. Her looks aren’t scary anymore. In fact, I’m already starting to forget what she looked like when she wasn’t looking at me like this, soft and enamored.

The hour-and-a-half lecture passes without a hitch. I recall big ideas with surprising clarity and ad-lib better versions of the one-liners I’d intended to infuse into the lecture. I keep the students engaged and get through most of the meat of the lecture. My blood’s buzzing when the screening operator switches the movie on. I return to my seat and lean back, biting away a smile. I didn’t think it was possible to feel that same euphoria that comes with a great take on a movie set anywhere else, but this sure feels similar. Like the best moments of directing Oakley in Flames last year.

Maeve grabs my shoulder, making my heart leap. She leans in to whisper in my ear. My stomach drops, and my brain buzzes. It’s— No, this is a normal thing humans do. It’s not similar to what I imagined that night.

“Hey, can we talk outside?”

I nod and get to my feet despite a rather unfortunate quaking in my legs. No big deal. I was shaking like this when I accepted an Oscar; surely I can fake it for Maeve.

We leave the singing chorus and blaring horns of Little Shop of Horrors for the quiet echo of SCI’s hallway. Maeve takes a seat on one of the leather chairs right outside the door. I take the partner chair. She crosses her legs when she sits. It tightens my stomach just like it always does. I mimic her, crossing my own legs.

“Is something—?” I start to ask.

“I’m sorry.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. Her earrings are shaped like little stars. “I have been— Your lecture today was wonderful. It was honestly better than half the lectures I see tenured professors do. It was thorough, engaging, and you said something new about Little Shop. Ty says your Rocky lecture was excellent too. And I”—she sighs deeply—“have been unfairly dismissive of you since you started. You clearly care about this class and the students, and that’s all I could’ve asked for in a co-professor.”

Part of me is shriveling up inside from all of these nice compliments, leaving nothing but the idiot part of me behind. The idiot is flabbergasted. “Are you apologizing to me?”

Maeve’s frown deepens, her eyes growing watery for just a moment. “I want you to know it’s not you. I took on this job because I needed a stronger portfolio as I move through the final stages of a major research grant for my second book. I really only knew you from Goodbye, Richard! and your jokey interviews and videos.”

Interesting that she still doesn’t bring up Needlepoint.

“It didn’t align with your dissertation and—shit.”

Has Maeve sworn before?

“No. No, this isn’t— I didn’t give you a fair shot. I thought you were just doing this for the publicity and were lying about actually caring. I was wrong. You’re very smart and charismatic, and I’m glad someone so capable is teaching with me.”

She exhales, running her hands down her face. Shakes her head, looks back up at me. Her hair is back in her face. I hold my breath as I resist moving it.

“Um, this is really nice of you,” I say. Yeah, sorry you were being a jerk. I’m also sorry I touched myself thinking about you. And fuck, she called me smart, charismatic, and capable? No one calls me all those things.

“Can we start over?” she asks.

Is she serious? Was it really just a good lecture that changed her mind? This is way too convenient, but I’m exhausted, so I’m not willing to look for a deeper meaning. “Like…reintroduce ourselves?”

And Maeve does it.

She laughs.

She laughs and gives me her squinty-eyed, full-face smile.

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