He’ll keep everything neat, exactly as it was before they died. I’ll need to create a set that looks dated but cared for. He needs to seem like a guest there.
Coral. The color scheme will be corals and pinks and maybe some yellows, like the house is trying to comfort him.
When he eats his sad, single egg, he’ll eat it off a dainty plate with scalloped edges and a floral pattern.
I make long, curving lists. I sketch out a couple of the vignettes for both of the houses. I work on the scenes I remember because Charlotte has my copy of the screenplay and I don’t want to take her out of the story. Then I grab my laptop and browse for images to show Rebecca and Theo so they can get a feel for what I want to create. I find a few pieces of furniture on design blogs that I want to track down for the set, so I look them up and take note of where they came from, and I find the most gorgeous coral-y wallpaper to go in the kitchen of George’s house, and the address of a nursery in West Hollywood that carries all kinds of exotic plants.
And then I hear a sigh and I look up and it’s Charlotte. She’s closing the screenplay. She doesn’t say anything at first, and I can feel myself stop breathing as I wait, and then she says, “You’re right. It’s so moving. I love the characters. The pacing is perfect.”
“Will you do it with me?” I ask her. “They said I can hire one assistant. I need someone to help me stay sane.”
We’re basically finished with our current project at the studio, and since Charlotte’s leaving for school soon, it’s also her last project there. Still, there’s a good chance she’d like to spend her last few weeks at home laying low, getting ready for school and spending time with her family. So I am prepared to beg.
But she doesn’t make me.
“Sure,” she says. “You’d make me do tons of work anyway. I might as well get paid for it.”
“So I should go for it,” I say. “Right?”
I just want to hear her say yes.
“Yes.”
Chapter Eight
The next day at noon, I meet Theo and Rebecca at their house just a couple blocks from the café where we had our first meeting. Their backyard is like a tiny jungle. A white iron table set with sparkling water, lemonade, and three glasses sits flanked by tropical plants.
Before sitting down, I take a look at the details. Vines curl up the fence and in one spot Theo and Rebecca have hung objects from the branches: several hand-carved masks, a few small mosaics assembled from bright pieces of pottery.
“These must be from where you’re from,” I say to Theo, and he nods. “South Africa?”
“Yes. Cape Town.”
“You must have spent a lot of time outdoors. And you still do, obviously.”
He cocks his head. “How is it obvious? I mean, you’re right, but . . .”
“Most people don’t decorate their outdoor spaces this way,” I say. “They have outdoor furniture and a few decorative things, sure, but they don’t, for example, have pillows that look like they were sewn by hand on the chairs, or framed photographs of their family members hanging on the exterior walls of their houses.”
Theo and Rebecca have both of these things. They also have a collection of enamel pots and mugs that contain carefully tended succulents.
I pick up one of the mugs to show them.
“Some of these would be great for Juniper’s place,” I say, and Rebecca pauses on her way to the table, a cutting board heaped with fruit and cheese in her hands, and says, “So you read it?”
“I read it.”
“And?” Theo asks.
“I loved it,” I say. “It’s beautiful. And I would be honored to be the production designer. And I don’t care how little it pays.”
This morning, I thought about playing it cool but then I changed my mind; it isn’t my strength.
They beam at me and we take our seats at the table.
“I have a lot of ideas,” I say, taking out my laptop, opening the screen and showing them the images I’ve collected. I reference
Coral. The color scheme will be corals and pinks and maybe some yellows, like the house is trying to comfort him.
When he eats his sad, single egg, he’ll eat it off a dainty plate with scalloped edges and a floral pattern.
I make long, curving lists. I sketch out a couple of the vignettes for both of the houses. I work on the scenes I remember because Charlotte has my copy of the screenplay and I don’t want to take her out of the story. Then I grab my laptop and browse for images to show Rebecca and Theo so they can get a feel for what I want to create. I find a few pieces of furniture on design blogs that I want to track down for the set, so I look them up and take note of where they came from, and I find the most gorgeous coral-y wallpaper to go in the kitchen of George’s house, and the address of a nursery in West Hollywood that carries all kinds of exotic plants.
And then I hear a sigh and I look up and it’s Charlotte. She’s closing the screenplay. She doesn’t say anything at first, and I can feel myself stop breathing as I wait, and then she says, “You’re right. It’s so moving. I love the characters. The pacing is perfect.”
“Will you do it with me?” I ask her. “They said I can hire one assistant. I need someone to help me stay sane.”
We’re basically finished with our current project at the studio, and since Charlotte’s leaving for school soon, it’s also her last project there. Still, there’s a good chance she’d like to spend her last few weeks at home laying low, getting ready for school and spending time with her family. So I am prepared to beg.
But she doesn’t make me.
“Sure,” she says. “You’d make me do tons of work anyway. I might as well get paid for it.”
“So I should go for it,” I say. “Right?”
I just want to hear her say yes.
“Yes.”
Chapter Eight
The next day at noon, I meet Theo and Rebecca at their house just a couple blocks from the café where we had our first meeting. Their backyard is like a tiny jungle. A white iron table set with sparkling water, lemonade, and three glasses sits flanked by tropical plants.
Before sitting down, I take a look at the details. Vines curl up the fence and in one spot Theo and Rebecca have hung objects from the branches: several hand-carved masks, a few small mosaics assembled from bright pieces of pottery.
“These must be from where you’re from,” I say to Theo, and he nods. “South Africa?”
“Yes. Cape Town.”
“You must have spent a lot of time outdoors. And you still do, obviously.”
He cocks his head. “How is it obvious? I mean, you’re right, but . . .”
“Most people don’t decorate their outdoor spaces this way,” I say. “They have outdoor furniture and a few decorative things, sure, but they don’t, for example, have pillows that look like they were sewn by hand on the chairs, or framed photographs of their family members hanging on the exterior walls of their houses.”
Theo and Rebecca have both of these things. They also have a collection of enamel pots and mugs that contain carefully tended succulents.
I pick up one of the mugs to show them.
“Some of these would be great for Juniper’s place,” I say, and Rebecca pauses on her way to the table, a cutting board heaped with fruit and cheese in her hands, and says, “So you read it?”
“I read it.”
“And?” Theo asks.
“I loved it,” I say. “It’s beautiful. And I would be honored to be the production designer. And I don’t care how little it pays.”
This morning, I thought about playing it cool but then I changed my mind; it isn’t my strength.
They beam at me and we take our seats at the table.
“I have a lot of ideas,” I say, taking out my laptop, opening the screen and showing them the images I’ve collected. I reference
Similar Books
