XXIV Jack
XXIV
Jack
I’m not proud, but it is what it is: I’ve become addicted to this ludicrously priced juice place in Los Feliz. It’s December22, and the city is emptying out in accordance with the holiday season. All real work put off for a more civilized time: next year.
Which makes it all the more surprising when I see that I have a missed call from Delia while I’m waiting in a shorter-than-usual line for my pressed vegetables. The six months I pledged to take off from work are coming to a close; I have every intention of regrouping with her in January and plotting what’s next. To discover how much damage I’ve done to my career, exactly, and if there are projects filming in LA that might be right for me as a start. I have inside me exactly what was missing six months ago: an ache and hunger to work, a kind I haven’t felt since my Flames days.
Delia’s name on my lock screen makes my stomach sink. No one is reaching out on the Friday before Christmas unless it’s bad news.
I step out of line and pace outside as I dial her back. I mentally prepare for her to tell me that, despite the reassurances she’d made when we last spoke, she can’t keep me on her roster anymore.
“Jack.” Her voice sounds far away.
“Delia, hi!” My voice is strained.
Two women toting yoga mats shoot haughty looks in my direction for blocking the entrance. When I grimace in apology, one whisper-asks her friend, “Was that Jack Felgate?”
“What are you doing right now? Could we meet somewhere?” Delia asks.
My fears are all but confirmed. It makes sense that she wants to let me go in person. It’s only appropriate, after all these years, I suppose.
“I’m just leaving a juice place—”
“Great. Can you meet me at Dialog Café in about twenty?”
“I think so, yeah...”
“I’ll see you then,” Delia says and hangs up.
I call a car and try to collect myself. I’ve never moved through this world without Delia. In the nine years I’ve been working with her, she’s had a hand in every decision I’ve made professionally and some I’ve made personally too. During these months away from the industry, I’ve wielded more control over my life, and I think I’m better off for it, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to lose her guidance completely. It dawns on me that she’s become something of a mother figure—a realization that’s surely deserving of some further unpacking in a therapy setting.
You’ll make a case for yourself , I think as I climb into my Uber.
By the time I meet Delia at her table, I’ve readied my argument: I’m adaptable. I play well with others. I can bring nuance to unnuanced writing. I’ve been told I’m charming and that people like the looks of me.
“Jack, I want you to know something,” she starts before I’ve settled into my chair. “I took what you said about taking time away seriously.”
“I appreciate that.” I am desperate for her to say her piece so I can say mine.
“And that’s why I haven’t come to you with any parts in any movies or any roles you were offered, even though some of them were good .” She looks away from me as she says that last part, as if it physically pains her to recount.
“But the very first time we met, do you remember who you told me your dream director was?”
“Cecily Close,” I reply, not sure where this is going.
Delia nods grimly. “Cecily Close, the long-retired, shut-in director who we all thought would never make a movie again.”
“The very one.”
“Well, she’s making another movie.”
I feel a strange sensation, a tingle up my spine at the thrill of knowing that someday soon, there will be another Cecily Close film. A new work for me to marvel at and watch over and over again.
“That’s fantastic. Do you know what it’s about?”
“The British rocker Richard Thomson, who was in the band the Birth. They were really big in the ’70s and ’80s.”
“I know that band. They were like a glam rock Sex Pistols. Richard was best friends with Bowie.”
A classmate’s dad had been one of his roadies and turned us onto the music when I was growing up. We’d put it on after school and shred on air guitars, channeling the energy of rockers readying to stomp around London and chase after girls.
“I’ll be there opening weekend.”
“No, Jack.” Delia looks at me as if I haven’t a clue in the world. She searches the faces of the people at the other tables and leans forward conspiratorially. “She wants you to be in it.”
I open my mouth, but that’s as far as I get.
Delia pulls a bound script out of the giant leather bag on the chair next to her and drops it down on the table between us.
“I’ve read it, Jack, and it’s really good.”
I don’t need to read it to know. “I’m in. I’ll play whatever, whoever she wants.”
I’m going to be in a Cecily Close movie. I’m going to be in a fucking Cecily Close movie. I can’t wait to tell CJ. CJ isn’t going to believe this.
“Jack, she wants you to play the lead.”
“Richard fucking Thomson? Are you serious?”
“Jack, yes, I’m serious. And since your six months are just about up, the timing is pretty much perfect.”
“Absolutely, I’m in.” I am already envisioning meeting with Cecily, getting into character, immersing myself in Richard, and doing his story justice. “Why do you think she thought to cast me? Did they tell you?”
“She saw your work in Gatsby . She’s close friends with the original Gray, Timmy’s father. He showed her a cut, and she was impressed.”
In that moment, my whole body feels lit up from within. This is exactly what I’d hoped the part in Gatsby would set me up for.
“Incredible. When does it start? How long is the shoot?”
“You have to be in London by January2, and it’ll probably be three months, give or take. They’re still figuring it out. All of it is happening quickly because it was so difficult to secure the funding, and the production company wants to move as fast as possible.”
My shoulders slump. I don’t want to spend months away from CJ. Or Agnes. Or Stuart, if I’m being honest. I think about the late nights on set, the time difference, how all-consuming it is to give myself completely to a character. Phone calls and FaceTimes aren’t going to cut it. What would CJ do? I ask myself.
“Have they chosen anyone for production design yet?”
Delia furrows her brow, then scrolls through her phone, cross-referencing her emails. “I think they’re between a few different people, but no final decision yet.”
My mind races. “Tell them... I’ll only do the movie if they hire CJ Ericson as production designer.”
“The production designer from Gatsby ? I can certainly throw her name into the ring. She’s probably already in consideration.”
“Great.” I nod, trying to keep my cool. I am going to act in my dream movie with my dream director and my dream production designer, and CJ and I won’t have to be apart. We can find temporary childcare for Agnes in London—daycare or a nanny. Maybe Stuart will want to come.
Delia’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Can I ask why? Why her?”
“She’s extraordinary at what she does. Her attention to detail is like nothing I’ve experienced on any other set, and she keeps everyone honest.” Unable to contain myself, I add, “She’s also my girlfriend. And I don’t want to do it without her.”
Delia narrows her eyes, as if with this new information, she sees me in a new light entirely.
“I’ll take this back to the producers. Obviously your endorsement will help. I’ll be back in touch by end of day. We’ll discuss the rest then.”
“I’m serious, Delia. You know I’m desperate to do this movie. And I know you think I’d be absolutely mad to turn it down for any reason. But this is my deal-breaker.”
Delia narrows her eyes again, like she’s adjusting the focus of her lens on me.
It doesn’t take until end of day for Delia to confirm: Two hours later, my phone buzzes. “Cecily said yes to both of you,” her text reads. Agnes is with Garrett, and CJ and I are sitting on her couch watching The Shop Around the Corner when the good news reaches me.
I bite my cheek and grin at CJ.
“What’s going on with you? You’ve had this weird, mischievous look all day.”
I grab the remote from her and pause the movie. “You’re not going to believe this. I heard from Delia today. Cecily Close is making a movie about Richard Thomson. The British rock star.”
“Cecily Close is coming out of retirement? That’s unbelievable.”
“They offered me the part of Richard Thomson.”
CJ’s eyes widen.
“Jack! This is huge!” She grabs me by both cheeks and kisses me. “When does it start? Where is it shooting?”
“It starts in a couple of weeks—quick, I know—and we’re filming in London—”
Confusion seeps in, muddling the joyful expression on her face. CJ cuts me off before I can finish explaining. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Because I just found out, and I was waiting for confirmation before saying anything—but they want you on production design.”
CJ’s face contorts. She pulls away from me, and I am at an absolute loss.