Chapter Twenty-One
And that was how I ended up on a rooftop in downtown Manhattan, enduring chilly spring winds as I watched the team setting up.
A large navy square of carpet had been laid in the corner for RJ and his cast to stand upon once they arrived, with the city skyline sprawling behind them.
There was a smattering of lights and reflector foils arranged around the carpet, with a couple of assistants on hand to tweak to the photographers’ commands.
Bang in front of the staging area were the photographers themselves, hand-selected from various publications and agencies to take the formal shots of RJ and his team.
After the shoot, the images would be in all the relevant outlets, generating clicks and conversation in the name of getting eyeballs on RJ’s movie.
Michelle moved easily around the space, radiating girl-boss power in a chic black suit. Finally, when she was happy, she winked at me. “Right, now let’s bring up the talent.”
I followed her to the roof access door, and we made our way downstairs to what was dubbed the green room, an area where the talent could relax as they waited to get on with the task of taking photos.
It was cosy, with squashy sofas and a craft table loaded with all their favorite snacks, including some incredible-smelling bagels.
Sol Rodrigues was already there along with her castmates Jason and Cy, as well as all their entourages.
But no RJ. Vivian was supposed to have escorted him here already.
“Lucita!” Sol greeted me, looking otherworldly in a fitted olive dress.
I tried to act cool at the revelation a genuine movie star not only knew who I was but had already bestowed me with an affectionate nickname. I managed a goofy grin in return.
“Good morning,” Michelle said. “We’re ready to go up if everyone could follow me.” As the actors readied themselves to leave, the green room door opened, and Ralf swaggered in, closely followed by RJ.
“I thought Vivian was bringing RJ,” Michelle said bluntly.
“She asked me to sub in at the last minute,” Ralf said smoothly. “I think Baldemar’s hip fell off or something.” He shifted his attention to Sol and reached to take her hand. “Ralf Fisher, I’m one of RJF’s producers.”
“Hi.” Sol shook his hand warily. “What’s a Baldemar and why did its hip fall off?”
“Ah!” Ralf wagged his finger, almost hitting her in the face. “That’s funny. You’re funny.”
“Baldemar is RJ’s assistant’s fiancé,” I explained, suddenly feeling sorry for Sol.
“So not really that funny then.” Sol was visibly uncomfortable with Ralf’s overly familiar manner and I cringed on Ralf’s behalf.
“Ralf, RJ needs you,” I said smoothly, even though RJ was contentedly following Michelle out of the green room. Ralf bestowed an oily smile upon Sol and hurried off after RJ.
I turned back to Sol. “Don’t mind him,” I said.
“Is he as big an asshole as he seems?” Sol asked as we made our way out of the green room.
“He’s okay,” I said, although I wasn’t sure I even believed that anymore. “He’s a hard worker.”
“I like that answer,” Sol said with a giggle. “You always so diplomatic?”
“Not if I’ve had a few drinks,” I said, concentrating fiercely on not stepping on her dress.
“Oh, I like you,” she chuckled and I failed miserably at playing it cool in response.
“It’s parky out there,” I warned her as we approached the door, which swung open to reveal a deceptively perfect cobalt sky.
Sol stopped at the top of the stairs, framed by daylight as she looked back over her shoulder.
“Parky?” she repeated in a perfect British accent.
“You mean cold?” She smirked, “please.” She then sashayed out on to the rooftop like it was a catwalk and everyone stopped to watch the way she moved across the space.
It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, Sol Rodrigues just exuded that undefinable quality, that gravitational pull that made her a star.
To be this close to it was as exhilarating as it was hypnotic.
“God, she’s amazing,” I gushed as I watched her greet the photographers with air kisses.
“You’re telling me,” Naya muttered as she ran after her client with a huge puffer jacket.
Group shots began, with different arrangements and poses.
Some were serious, some smiling, jocular even as the group pretended to talk among themselves, with RJ looking over the cast proudly like some kind of father figure.
Sol easily eclipsed the men. Although Jason and Cy were great looking, she was magnetic, and the photographers couldn’t get enough.
After about thirty minutes of this, the individual shots began, with RJ going first. Sol threw on the puffer jacket and stood to one side as her glam squad fussed around her.
“Hey, Lucie,” she called over to me, snuggling deep into her coat. “Keep me company.”
I glanced at Michelle, who grinned her approval.
“Go!” she whispered.
I nervously made my way across the rooftop and stood next to Sol, trying to act as if this was entirely normal.
As her hairstylist tried to mitigate the damage of the wind, I racked my brain for interesting discussion topics, but my mind was blank.
What did you say to the most interesting, luminous actor of this generation?
Sol lived a life so far removed from mine, it was hard to imagine we could have anything in common to discuss.
Turned out, I needn’t have worried, as one thing Sol knew how to do was talk.
“So what’s your deal?” she asked.
“My deal?”
“Yeah,” she said, leaning forward so the hairstylist could smooth some hairs on her crown. “Like, how long have you worked at RJF?”
“Um, not very – like, two weeks,” I said. “It’s just a temporary thing.”
“You’re here on work experience or something then?”
“Actually, I was seconded here to help edit a script,” I told her. “But Michelle offered me the chance to shadow her today, so here I am.”
“What, the Untitled Love/War script I’m attached to?” she asked.
“Yeah, that one,” I said. Mindful of the Melroy disaster I hurried to qualify. “It’s amazing, don’t worry, this will be the perfect project for you.”
“Why would I worry?” She smiled sweetly. “I trust RJ. And you seem like a down bitch, so I bet you’re a great writer.”
Her generosity, so easily given, floored me. “Thanks,” I said. “Although, I’m not really a writer.” I’m a frustrated PA.
“But you’re writing,” Sol said. “That makes you a writer.”
“I never thought of it that way,” I said. “But, ultimately, I want to produce.”
“Oh for real, that’s where I need to be,” Sol said, laughing when my eyes widened in surprise.
“Seriously. I’m starting my own production company,” she said.
“Make shit that matters but also, you know, money. For too long this industry has been driven by the pale, male and stale. Time to overthrow.”
“We ride at dawn,” I said gleefully.
“I have warpaint!” Sol’s make-up artist lifted his kit-bag.
“I can throw a serious punch,” Naya said, flexing an impressive bicep.
Sol shot me a victorious glance. “See? We have all we need,” she said. “I’m so sick of seeing the same old, same old, clogging up theater screens. Seems like all we get is plastic shit with no soul from people failing upwards.”
Although her assessment was pretty savage, it was refreshing to hear such open opinions. “Tell me about it. I’ve been trying to get my own project off the ground – do you know Twin Roses?” I had a feeling she’d appreciate what I was working towards.
Sol brightened. “The book? Yeah, my mom reads it once a year. In fact, I think that book lives on her nightstand.”
“Well, I think it’s ripe for adaptation,” I said. “I’ve been working on a pitch. Powerful women, epic love story.”
“It’s kind of an old book, no?”
“True, but my thinking is we can easily update it.” I saw interest sparkle in Sol’s eyes, and I took a deep breath.
“Set it in New York, not Ohio. Really lean into the sexual element as a visualization of female empowerment. And, God, the fashion, we could really use that as a calling card. This is a story about women who love hard with no apologies.”
“Oof, I love that. Love hard with no apologies.” Sol gestured at Naya, who reached inside her purse and handed me a business card.
“Is this … ?” The card displayed Sol’s contact details, email and phone. “Wha—?”
Sol grinned. “This project sounds like my type of thing, and I want to hear more about it. Hey, why don’t you give me your card? You have a business card, right?”
I was struck dumb for a second. “You … you want my card?”
“Yeah!” Sol laughed. “My horoscope told me to forge new professional connections today, so here I am.” She waved her hands around. “Witness me forging.”
“I … I don’t have a card.” Why the fuck didn’t I have a business card?
“Here.” Ralf materialized as if from nowhere, his own card aloft. “You can take mine, Sol.”
Sol regarded his card suspiciously. “Why would I want your card?”
“Well, Lucie’s returning home to London soon,” he said.
“You are?” Sol looked at me with mild disappointment.
“Well not, like, immediately,” I said, trying not to let my irritation with Ralf show.
“But when my work on the script is done, I’ll have to go back to England before my visa expires.
I’m here for a while though.” If I had to use what little free time I had in New York to nurture a connection with Sol, I’d do it.
Sol took Ralf’s card and he beamed with satisfaction.
“You can call me anytime,” he said. “Any project you want to get off the ground, we can do it. I can be your point on this—”
“This says junior producer,” Sol observed.
Ralf chuckled awkwardly. “You’ve got a keen eye. Yes, technically, my title is junior, but let me assure you—”
“Do you have a pen?” Sol asked.
“Why, yes.” Ralf reached into his pocket and pulled out a flashy titanium ballpoint, shooting me a triumphant grin that made my stomach churn.
“Thanks.” Sol took the pen and deliberately crossed out his number, before turning to me. “Your digits, please.”
Shocked, I took the proffered pen and card. “Are you—”
“Before you ask, yes, I’m sure,” Sol said. “Put your New York cell and your UK number on there.”
“Sol, why not keep hold of my number too?” Ralf couldn’t hide his indignation. “Lucie is actually incredibly junior, whereas I have years of—”
“Look, when I meet someone special, I try to keep in touch with them,” Sol went on as if Ralf wasn’t talking.
“You got something about you, Lucie. I’m not saying we’re gonna have sleepovers and braid each other’s hair, but this Twin Roses idea sounds like the sort of thing I want to be part of, so let’s stay in touch. ”
“Right.” I wrote my details as best I could with a trembling hand.
Was this even real? I decided not to put too much stock in it.
This might not pay off; Sol could very well carry on with her stratospheric career and forget all about me.
Or, she might not. She could follow through on her suggestion and give me the break I had been waiting for.
Just then, Sol was called forward for her solo shots and I tried extremely hard to refrain from a doing a victory dance behind her back.
“You and Sol certainly get along.” Ralf’s comment interrupted my thoughts and I wheeled to face him.
“Seems like it.” I tried to keep my voice neutral, as if the notion of being friends with someone like Sol wasn’t a big deal. “And what was that about me being incredibly junior?”
Ralf spread his hands in what he probably thought was a peace-keeping gesture. “Did I lie? You are!”
“Seemed like you were offering to be point person on my project,” I said. “Why would you do that?”
“Lucie.” Ralf tilted his head. “I merely wanted Sol to know she had options.”
“She does,” I said. “Me. I’m one of them. The only one, in fact, when it comes to Twin Roses.”
“Yes, but do you really think you have what it takes to produce a movie for someone of her caliber?” Ralf said gently.
“I do.” I’d sat in the shadows for long enough to know that.
“Great,” he said. “Then I’ll be your biggest cheerleader. I’ll support you however you need. I hope you know that, Lucie. I mean, you don’t want Sol Rodrigues thinking you don’t know what you’re doing, right?”
I really wasn’t sure if I believed his offer of support. “So why didn’t you tell me that directly instead of trying to make Sol think I don’t know what I’m talking about?”
He frowned. “I didn’t, I merely said—”
“I heard what you said, Ralf,” I told him. “I was there. With my ears, junior as they are.”
“Is the pressure getting to you, Lucie?” he asked softly, tilting his head yet again. “The hours cooped up with Elliot in that windowless box?”
“What? No.” Despite his gentle tone, there was a thread of menace in Ralf’s words.
“So, don’t make me the enemy over this,” he said. “I was only offering to help.”
I was thrown. Had he really, genuinely been offering help and I’d misinterpreted him?
Or had he seen an opportunity to further his own development at my expense?
I genuinely couldn’t tell. I decided I couldn’t afford to make an enemy of him, not considering Queen Sadie was his boss.
At any rate, it was very clear I couldn’t trust Ralf and I resolved on the spot to refuse his next invitation on a date.
“Thanks for offering,” I said tightly. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
“Way to be a doer, Lucie,” he said, with a wink.