Chapter 15
Send in the Drones
It’s Rebecca.
Oh my god, you still have the same number??
I can’t believe you remember that. But, yes, it’s true. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m also technically still on my parents’ family plan.
Is it weird I think that’s sweet?
Yes! That’s weird! How’s tomorrow night for dinner? 8?
That works for me. If Mexican’s good (is Mexican good LOL), what about Encanto?
Give me a chance to look it up on Yelp.
This will never get old for you, will it?
Never! And this looks great. Are you making a reservation? Should I? Can you just make a reservation?
Believe it or not, yes, normal places won’t do anything bad with my info. Reservation made, see you tomorrow. Technically, see you tomorrow at rehearsal. But then later at the restaurant.
Can’t wait.
I walked to Encanto from my place—it was only a couple of blocks down the hill—and spotted Rebecca hopping out of a Lyft as I walked down the sidewalk.
She’d changed clothes since rehearsal, an intarsia sweater in purple, crimson, gold, over black pants and heels.
I loved how tall she was, how it felt like the whole world had to take a step back to accommodate her.
I’d changed, too, my favorite green jumpsuit and a gold pair of platforms that were stylist-selected. A huge reason I occasionally enjoyed getting dolled up by stylists was that I was very bad at it on my own, so it was good to have a few approved outfits on hand.
“Is this your neighborhood?” she asked, and I nodded until I remembered that last night I’d said she was on my way home. Did New Yorkers understand Los Angeles geography enough to suss out driving-related lies?
“It is,” I said.
“Why do you look so shifty?” she asked, holding open the restaurant’s door for me. “Oh, it’s gorgeous in here.”
The restaurant was upscale but still warm and welcoming, with wood-paneled walls, greenery throughout the dining room, and low lighting that made it easy to disappear into a corner table.
The host greeted us with a genuine-seeming smile and led us to a small table tucked between a floor-to-ceiling sculpture and large potted plants, where I studied my menu instead of thinking about Rebecca sitting across from me.
“Are you drinking?” she asked. “Or are we still too close to the wine incident?”
“I’ll have a drink, if you are,” I said. “It’s kind of weird we’ve never been out together, isn’t it? Or is it?”
“No, I was thinking it too. The finest place I ever took you to was the mess hall, early. Before all the good desserts were gone.”
“Oh my god, I completely forgot about that,” I said. “What was the cook’s name, Nancy? She was so crabby, but her desserts were so delicious. I was obsessed with that butterscotch pudding, even though I think it was just Jell-O mix.”
“It was definitely just Jell-O mix,” Rebecca said. “Turns out you can really elevate Jell-O mix by eating it in bed with a girl, though, is what I learned.”
“Oh, I was going to say homemade whipped cream, but, yes, also that,” I said, which made her laugh. Suddenly I wished our table was smaller and that our knees were pushed together again. “What do you think about LA?”
She held her arms out in front of her as if to indicate the entire restaurant.
“What’s not to love? The restaurants are all gorgeous—or in a strip mall but surprisingly delicious.
The sunshine and the palm trees and the blue skies, the whole deal.
It’s not entirely unwalkable. The pace is nice.
No one’s asking me what job I have lined up next, they want to hear about what I’m doing now. Why are you making that face?”
“I think most Angelenos are always on the defense around New Yorkers,” I said. “I didn’t mean to let it show in my face. Also I have an appointment with my aesthetician next week; my Botox is probably at its weakest right now.”
“Oh my god, thank you,” she said before I could worry that I shouldn’t have said it. “None of my friends want to discuss it, even though I find it unlikely I’m the only one paying a person to inject me with toxins.”
A server showed up and didn’t bat an eye at that, or at me, which was perfectly Los Angeles. We ordered margaritas and ceviche to start, like two people who’d been agreeing on orders for years.
“Cheers,” Rebecca said, holding up her glass, once we’d been served. “To Yelp.”
“To Botox,” I said.
“To gluten-free cakes,” she said.
“To female directors,” I said, and she cracked up and sloppily clinked her glass against mine.
“So do you want to hear how it happened?” she asked, after taking a gulp and licking a streak of salt off the rim. I didn’t know what she meant, but I nodded eagerly anyway. I wanted to know how all of it happened. I wanted to watch her lick that entire glass clean.
“My girlfriend at the time, Allie, she’d made plans with friends for all of us to see this movie she’d heard had, and I quote—why can I still quote this?—major gay feels. Anyway, we’re all at the theater, and the movie starts, and it’s you.”
“All Green Lights,” I said, because despite that it was a fairly conventional film, it had become beloved by sapphic audiences because of the friendship subplot between two characters. “I did always wonder if you saw it. I swear that it didn’t seem gay when we shot it.”
“Do you know that chart they show kids of cartoon faces of emotions so they can learn to use words to express their feelings?” Rebecca asked.
“I swear I felt every one of those cartoon faces at the same time. Seeing you up there felt like getting punched in the gut, but also I was so proud of you, and I missed you so much, and, look. There had been a lot of drama in my social circle, but no one’s ex-girlfriend had popped up onscreen.
I didn’t have any guidelines for how to deal with it. ”
“No,” I said. “It’s weird.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?” I asked, and took a sip of my drink. “Have I read all the sartorial features about you? Did I boo when you lost the Tony? Of course.”
She watched me across the table, and I could feel that I hadn’t given her what she’d given me.
“I was killing time on set and scrolling The Cut. And I saw your photo, and then I thought—oh, I’m imagining this, it’s just some other hot lesbian.
But then I saw that it was you. And I couldn’t even read the article right away.
I put my phone away for a while, pretended I hadn’t seen it.
It was like I’d been able to pretend you didn’t exist anymore, but … there you were.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Existing.”
“No, but like … thriving. Kicking ass. Proving to the world everything I’d known about you to be true.”
She nudged my foot with hers under the table. “You’re very sweet.”
The server dropped off our ceviche with a bowl of chips, and Rebecca leaned forward to scoop up a piece of kampachi once we’d put in our entrée orders and it was just the two of us again.
“Will you tell me about Vindicators?” she asked. “My niece and nephew love those movies, so I’ve seen them all. They did Halloween costumes after the last one came out, which means I had the—I assume unique experience of seeing my niece dressed up like my ex.”
I smiled. “Your sister has kids?”
“Yes!” Rebecca took out her phone and tapped a few times before holding up her screen to show me a boy and girl around nine and ten.
“Gracie and Wilder. They’re in DC but I get down to see them whenever I can.
They’re losing their minds that you’re in my play—sorry, in my family group chat, it’s known as my play. ”
“I won’t tell Stephanie.” I thought about offering to Face-Time them, like I did with Kathleen’s daughter, but it felt far too messy to get tied up with Rebecca’s family. “So what do you want to hear?”
“Oh my god.” She gestured wildly with her hands. “Everything. I know you did your whole talk-show-prepared anecdotes with the donors the other night, but tell me everything else.”
I told her about the code names, Plaid Thanksgiving and the other two, how even when we were filming I was called to set as the Girl Scout.
“Wait, why?” Rebecca asked. “I understand before any announcements are made, but after, what’s even the point?”
“There’s apparently big money in scooping any film details at all,” I said, taking a sip of my drink.
“So comic book sites, less ethical entertainment sites, the people who’re trying to sell stories to them, they might be listening in on radio frequencies, flying drones overhead.
If we’re outdoors on our way to an exterior set or walking from one soundstage to another, we have robes on over our costumes. ”
“Gardner, that is nuts,” she said.
“I know it sounds crazy when I talk about it afterward,” I said.
“But when you’re in it, it’s just business as usual.
And it’s such this well-oiled machine, you know?
There are so many masters of so many crafts on set, the way the costumes and effects and sets all come together.
And people love what they’re doing, not just their part of it, but they’re actual fans of the comic books or of the series before they joined on. So many things aren’t like that.”
“No, I’d imagine not. That’s lovely to hear.”
I shrugged. “I mean, it’s hard too. When we film overseas I spend most of my time alone in my trailer or working out with my trainer.
The rest of the cast is incredible but because of effects we shoot so much separately.
Sometimes the press tour is literally the first time we feel like a real team.
And that part takes forever, and I’d rather just be home with Rosie or working on the next thing.
Plus I’m worried I’ve ruined my career for anything else. ”
She nodded. “Yeah. Not that I think you have—just that I understand where you’re coming from. That first day of rehearsals, fuck.”
“It feels better now,” I said. “Mostly. It’s my fault that I keep getting separated from everyone else.”