“Well,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Been doing this all morning. I’m game for whatever you’ve got. Ask me anything.”
Judging by the sharp look the PR person gives me, I definitely shouldn’t ask anything I want. I quickly glance down at my notebook.
“Um, right,” I say. “I think one of the interesting things about your character is that, like, he isn’t just one thing. He thinks he’s really doing the right thing for his son, and even once his wife starts pushing against the choice they’ve made, he’s stubborn about it, even as he does his own investigation. It’s like he’s this macho guy who doesn’t want to listen to anyone else, but he’s also really loving and emotional about his relationship with his son. How do you build the layers of a character like that?”
The PR person looks up at me. Art Springfield cocks his head to the side.
I bite my lip. Did I say something wrong?
“Actually,” Art Springfield says, leaning forward, “that’s real interesting. When I think about it…”
I’m still writing notes fifteen minutes later when Dennis Bardell shows up in the room. He glances between Art Springfield and me before taking a step back toward the door.
“Oh,” he says. “Am I early?”
“You’re actually right on time,” the PR person says. “Mr. Springfield’s interview ran over.”
I feel myself flush, even though it isn’t technically my fault. I only asked three questions. Who would’ve thought that the guy would have so much to say? I’ll have to tell Dad about it tonight when I call home.
“It’s not a problem,” Art Springfield says, waving the director over. “Just got a bit lost talking to this little lady. She really makes ya think.”
I bite back a smile. When I glance up, Dennis Bardell is staring at me. I can’t read his expression. He’s even harder to read once he’s seated at the table and Art Springfield is out of the room.
“I actually have a question about the shot at the very beginning of the movie,” I say, shifting in my seat. “The one where the camera lingers on that pack of dogs as they’re crossing the screen? And it feels like they’re taking forever? What was the meaning behind that?”
“Wow.” Dennis Bardell rubs his hand over his balding head. “I hate to say it, but that was actually a happy accident. Our cameraman happened to be rolling when we were setting up for one of the rural scenes up in Maine. I thought it was an interesting shot to pull viewers in with.”
Oh. That’s it? I figured there’d be more of a complicated metaphor or something.
“It definitely catches the eye,” he says, as if he can read my mind. “Doesn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Definitely.”
My chest tightens as we get closer to the end of the interview. I’m supposed to talk to Marius next. What I’m feeling isn’t anxiety—it’s something else. Something bubbly.
“Well, thank you so much,” I say. “For your time.”
He nods, barely lingering long enough for me to shake his hand. I only have a few seconds to myself before I hear someone else approaching. At the sound of the door opening, I whip my head around.
“Oh,” I say. “Um, Penny? Hi?”
The PR woman glances up, eyebrows drawn. “Miss Livingstone? Your interview isn’t scheduled for—”
“Marius and I actually switched time slots,” Penny says. She walks into the room like she owns the place. “I thought that’d be okay.”
The PR woman purses her lips and stands up.
“Just one moment,” she says, already typing into a phone as she walks out the door. “I need to make sure this is approved….”
Penny plants herself down next to me with an eye roll.
“Louise, huh?”
I blink over at the door, cracked open a few inches, and rub my temples.
“Sorry,” I say. “This is just— What’s going on?”
“Well, it looks like the shining star didn’t show up.”
“Uh,” I say. “Why didn’t his, um, publicist call me?”
Penny shrugs. I glance down at my notebook, questions scrawled for Marius. Part of me is disappointed. But maybe his publicist called Ms. Jacobson and she just hasn’t gotten the message to me yet? I pull my phone out of my pocket, but there aren’t any messages waiting for me, not even in my email inbox.
Outside, Louise’s sharp voice says something I can’t make out. I bite my lip. Is this a big deal?
“Look,” Penny says, leaning forward, “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. But the director for his next movie already has him doing rehearsals.”
“His next movie,” I repeat. “Uh—the one with Roy Lennox?”
Penny makes a face that looks like a grimace, but it vanishes so fast that I’m not sure if I imagined it or not. Even if it was there, it’d be understandable, since Roy Lennox is one of those directors white boys latch onto and worship and mansplain about.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” she repeats. “Honestly? He overslept and I’m trying to buy him some time. This is his first movie, you know? Don’t want him to get in trouble.”
“Right,” I say. “Um, you and I could talk right now. It’s just that I was supposed to have an interview—”
“Yeah, that.” She chews on her lip. “I think his publicist is scheduling phone interviews with all the journalists he’s missed, but you can probably come out with us tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Everyone is flying to Chicago later today—does she want me to go out with them in the next city?
“Uh,” I say. “What?”
“We’re supposed to—” She waves her hand. “Explore. Chicago. It’s, like, our one day off, so—whatever, it was his idea. But he’s the one who screwed up here, so he should have to make up for it, right? So you can just interview him then.”
“But…” My voice trails off. I’ve
