Page 23 of The Husband Hour
“Hey, you guys. Come on in. I thought maybe we could talk in the kitchen?”
Matt and his small crew followed her into a spacious, sun-filled room that wouldn’t work for filming—too much natural light.
“Would you mind showing us around so we can choose the optimal spot?” Matt said. “We have to factor in a lot of things for shooting.”
They moved on to the living room. The space had a casual elegance with a few eclectic design touches. He admired a stack of vintage suitcases.
Matt looked to Derek, who held out his phone. He had an app that let him test the light and also calculate when it would shift.
“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.
