THIRTY-FOUR
Maeve
“So, have you heard anything?” I’m sitting in hair and makeup at the magazine shoot, and Shazia has stopped by to give me an update on the meetings we’ve been doing to pitch my solo show. But by the look on her face, it hasn’t gone well.
She takes a long sip of coffee before speaking. And to her credit, she doesn’t wince or smile sympathetically while delivering the news. It’s more like ripping off a Band-Aid. “They all passed.”
I turn my head, taking the hair stylist’s hands with me. “All of them?”
We sat down with each major network within three days last week, hoping it would create a bidding war situation and lead to better offers. The question that came up in every meeting was: What is Finn’s place in the show going to be? In my show. Based on that, I had tried to convince myself the offers just might not be as good as we’d hoped. Now I wish I felt disbelief, but it’s more like resignation. I knew this would happen, deep in my gut.
“Did they say why?” I ask. The makeup artist starts tilting my face, combing through my eyebrows and adding fake lashes. In my gut, I know why they passed. They want me, sure, but only if I’m with Finn. On my own, I’m not considered talent. Just his barrier to entry.
“Just the usual bullshit,” Shazia says nonchalantly. “They’re worried the show is too serious for people to watch. ‘Where’s the drama?’ Not confident there’s enough appetite. Not risqué enough.”
The disappointment is crushing. I knew the show would be a tough sell because I’ve never seen anything like it. And when you first hear about it, a show where people go to therapy doesn’t sound like fun. But this is real drama. People love seeing other people’s problems play out, plus with this I would get to help people and show viewers there’s a healthy way forward through their problems. I know I could make this show awesome and that our Tell Me How You Really Feel fans would watch it.
“What now?” I ask. The makeup artist starts applying a bold red lip and I watch her in the mirror. I can see Shazia analyzing me, and know that she sees how disappointed I am. And that if she offers condolences right now I will break down. So thankfully she sticks to facts.
“Evangeline reached out. She’s interested in producing. You could partner with an individual producer like her and create the show yourselves, exactly how you want, then sell it to a network.”
I love Evangeline. But I don’t want this show to also be attached to Finn through his mom, since I know that it was shot down because he’s not involved and all of these entertainment execs are tying my worth to him. “Could I self-produce solo?”
“You could. You definitely have the money to do it. But I don’t think you have the experience you need, if I’m being completely honest.” Shazia’s words have no bite, but they still sting.
“All set.” The makeup artist calls out toward the creative director and photographer. “She’s all set!”
“What?” I turn around. I’ve totally forgotten that I’m here for a magazine shoot. The magazine shoot. This is probably why Shazia asked if we could talk later. Which I refused. I knew I would be anxious the entire shoot, waiting to hear what she said. But now I’m anxious because I know.
The photographer walks up to my chair. “You ready? Once you’re changed we’ll start on the main cover set, then do an outfit change for the smaller alt sets. But those pictures probably won’t be used on the cover, unless we love them.”
“Just give us two minutes,” Shazia interjects. She’s always ready to be the bad guy for me.
The photographer walks off and starts setting up, and Shazia looks me in the eye directly, instead of via the mirror like we’ve been doing during hair and makeup. “It’s a great idea, Maeve. We’ll get it made, and you’ll crush it. I would consider working with Evangeline, but either way, we will get the show done.”
I have so many questions about how I would self-produce a reality show. Where would our set be? Would I have to pay everything out of pocket? Why would a network buy it later, if they won’t buy in now? And a small anxious part of myself wonders, does Shazia believe in me? Separate from Finn and Evangeline and Streamify? But instead of asking any of that, I just nod. “Okay.”
Inside the changing area, which is made of three extra tall foam bounce cards that create a triangle against a real wall, I change into the hot pink power suit. The suit has been tailored to me and I know I look great in it. Feminine, powerful, like a boss. But I feel like a fraud.
I walk onto set with my heart pounding in my chest, so loudly that I can barely hear the photographer. Music is blasting to get us in the mood, but it’s overwhelmingly loud, and once I’m standing on the main set, a simple white sweep with a mic, the lights are blindingly bright. Just as I’m about to ask what to do, because really, photoshoots are not my forte, we’ve only done the one with Streamify for our podcast’s cover art, the entire crew bursts into applause.
I glance around set, confused. “What are you clapping for?”
The photographer snaps a few photos, then lowers the camera. “You. You’re breaking glass ceilings. For all of us . Not just podcasters. This is an all-female set today, which never happens, and we’re so fucking excited about what you’re doing.”
I smile, my anxiety fading away, and she takes a photo of the moment my tense frown turns into a genuine grin. In the crushing disappointment about my show, I forgot for a moment that I’ve done something big. Something meaningful.
We get into it, me posing with the mic, without it, smiling, smizing, stern. I don’t really know how to pose, but the photographer directs me and it feels effortless. After a few minutes she gestures to me to come over. “Let’s see how they look.”
I step over the cord that tethers her to the monitor, and we peer over the digi-tech’s shoulder at the images. I look good . More confident than I’ve probably ever felt. But also like myself. And the first one, where I’m breaking into that smile, is my favorite.
Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder, a familiar weight behind me. “Surprise!” I turn around and am face-to-face with Finn, who’s holding coffee from my favorite shop. He gives me a quick kiss. “Maeve, those photos … they look amazing.”
“Thank you,” I say. I should be happy that my boyfriend, who I’ve wanted to be my boyfriend for literally years now, is thoughtfully surprising me. But instead, I feel a slight sense of discomfort. Because we were just making a big thing of the all-female crew. And because this is my moment. And now when I glance around set, all eyes are on him.
The creative director has joined us at the monitor. “Maybe we should get one of you two together. Just in case, you know … since he’s here.”
Finn shrugs and looks to me. “Whatever you want.”
I will look like the biggest bitch right now if I say no. And Shazia left after the clapping so she’s no longer here to run interference. I force a smile. “Sounds great.”
Finn heads over to hair and makeup and I follow the crew over to the next set. They’ve gotten our vagina table, or a replica of it anyway, and I’m directed to sit directly on it. We do a series of strong poses, less goofy, and then Finn appears. From somewhere, they’ve procured a matching pink suit and it fits him really well. It makes my pulse rise. Did they always plan for him to be in this? That’s paranoid. My anxiety talking. Actually, is it that improbable?
I must be making a face, because the stylist jumps in. “We had an oversized option for you, and the tailor was able to adjust for Finn.”
“That’s amazing!” I say. I can’t tell if my tone sounds hollow or happy.
We walk over to another set, that’s a black sweep, with brightly colored sex toys scattered throughout. I’m getting nervous again, but right when we step onto the set, while they’re still setting up the lighting and wheeling over the digi-tech cart, Finn pulls me in for a kiss. And that kiss … despite my anxieties about him being here, it feels like all of my worries melt away for a moment while his lips are on mine. I probably am letting my anxiety talk. There’s no reason to think everyone is plotting to make the shoot actually about both of us, or about Finn. They probably won’t even use the images in the real article; it wouldn’t make sense. Maybe they’re just for social. And having him here centers me.
We start posing and together the shoot goes from good to genuinely fun . Within minutes he has me laughing, as he picks me up, playfully examines sex toys, kisses me. He’s a natural on camera. I’ve always been respectful of his decision not to act, although I believe it was one made out of trauma more than logic. But every time I see him in front of a camera it makes me wonder if he’s sure he shouldn’t try it.
Finn stays for the rest of the shoot, although after that set and a few pickup shots with him on the main one, he steps back and watches. Having him there relaxes me, and I can tell the photographer is pleased with the shots she’s gotten at the end of the day. I look more lighthearted with him around. Although, is lighthearted really the vibe for a serious conversation about the importance of paying women equitably?
“Which one will be the cover?” I ask the creative director on our way out, Finn carrying my things, both of us in Tell Me How You Really Feel sweat suits.
“We’ll review internally and decide!” she chirps. “But don’t worry, we got so many amazing shots today. You will love it.”
I look at Finn as we walk out of the set and into the industrial hallway. “That should make me nervous. But I actually think she’s right.”
“Of course she is. You looked incredible in there.” He kisses me, and we walk out hand in hand, all of my nagging worries fading away, at least for the time being.