Page 16 of Filthy Rich

“What’s funny?” Patty’s frowning.

“Nothing. We’d better get moving,” I say. “We’re due for the blocking in. . .” I glance at my watch. “Three minutes ago.” I hold out my arm, and Octavia walks toward me like we’re old friends.

It makes me smile for real.

As we duck into the section of the set that’s prepped for the title track, I can’t help glancing over my shoulder. Good old Patty’s grimacing something fierce, and my smile broadens.

Sometimes when I reach the set for blocking, they already have tape on the floor and movements in mind. Other times, they’re literally spitballing places we could stand and things we could do on the day we show up to film. I’m expecting it to be closer to the latter, since they just changed to Patrice and then back to Octavia without warning.

I’m shocked when I look down and see bright blue tape. “I hear this is your first time doing anything like this.” A woman with eyebrows so thick they look like bushy caterpillars shifting up and down smiles and gestures toward Octavia. “Welcome.”

“Uh, yeah,” Octavia says. “At least, it’s the first time in a very long time. I was in community theater productions for five or six years as a child.”

“I think you’ll find this is a little different than that.” The woman slides an arm around Octavia’s shoulders like they’re buddies already.

Octavia flinches and slowly shifts away. “I’m happy to have someone to show me what to do, then.”

Caterpillars, unconcerned, is still smiling broadly. “That’s just the attitude we want.” She points. “So we’ll start out here, and when you start singing, I want you standing like this.” She angles her body to show Octavia.

“Will I actually be singing for the filming?”

The woman nods. “Just exactly like you will for the sound recording. We’ll remaster the sound and do touchups in the studio, of course, but it needs to be real for that to work.”

The first few minutes goes really smoothly. We nearly have the whole thing blocked when I realize something.

“Is the main camera there?” I point.

“It is,” Caterpillars says. “But as I’m sure you’re familiar, there will be satellite cameras we can pull from for any shot we choose.”

I go over the movements in my head, most of which I liked well enough. “It’s a song about her pain,” I say. “And that mirrors the pain my character feels when he’s abandoned, finds a place, and yet again has to leave.”

The woman nods. “Exactly.”

“You know Octavia’s most obvious pain comes from her burns, so why do you have her turned this way in nearly every shot?” I angle my body. “It feels like you’re trying to keep her burns out of the video.”

Caterpillars frowns. “We want the focus?—”

“Who’s your boss?” I fold my arms. “I want to talk to him or her, and I want to explain the whole point of this, because I think they’re missing it. How can the world see how beautiful she is if we’re constantly closing off their chance to really see her?”

Oh, boy. Caterpillars is ticked. “Actually, Mr. Priest?—”

“No.” I can’t help my nostrils flaring. “Just go get your boss. Clearly you’re not going to help me. You don’t get it.”

A small hand drops on my forearm and I look down and realize it’s Octavia’s.

“I asked her to change the blocking to be like that.” Her voice is small, her expression composed. “They agreed, only because I insisted.”

Well, shoot. “You—why?”

Octavia’s smile’s small. “I’m glad you find my face to be ‘accidentally beautiful.’” Her air quotes are a painful reminder of what I said to Patrice about her reminding me of pottery. “But for most people, it’s hard to look at it. I want very much for this album to be a success.” She pauses. “I think you do too.”

Chapter 5

Octavia

Fighting things is exhausting.

When you watch television shows like Avatar: The Last Airbender as a kid, small children can master powers to fight against the injustices of their world. It always got me all jazzed up to do the same. When I was older, I planned to do the very same.

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