Chapter 21 Serge
Twenty-One
Serge
That was the first time Ryan was listed with me as director on IMDb. I may have held the title, but that project was Ryan’s vision, through and through.
Jasmine
It was interesting. Everything surrounding “Hear Me Now” was . . . interesting.
Do I really believe the video has clues about Ryan’s final public appearances and whereabouts, like everyone online says it does?
No. I do not. That is not to say that the composition and filming process of “Hear Me Now” wasn’t unusual, though.
Sure, Ryan had a very visual mind; when she was writing songs, she often had some idea in her head of the imagery she wanted to evoke, even the style of music video we might eventually create with Serge.
I want it to sound like an old Hollywood jazz lounge feels, she’d say, or What melody would you play if you were standing on a cliff contemplating your life, Jas?
She made me laugh with those big questions. But they did get the results she wanted.
“Hear Me Now,” though—I mean, Skip and I knew she had a music-video idea before we knew she was even composing the song. We went on the Hamilton trip, and I remember asking him, “What is this for?”
And he shrugged and said, “Hell if I know. She’s never been this cryptic.”
Ryan started writing the song with the line, I’ve been here singing my heart out / Can you hear me now? / Will you hear me now?
And part of me knew, by the depth of her voice and the way she closed her eyes when she sang it. I said, “Is that the one for the video?”
She said, “It is.”
Serge
It was the most intensive process of all the videos she created. Ryan was there at my side in the director’s chair for every production, but this time she was in my notes, under my skin, breathing down my neck.
The band had to be completely silhouetted behind her on the stage—no features visible. The cape had to twist just so in the water. The woman pouring the bucket from the box seat needed to wear a specific shade of orange. The dress didn’t satisfy Ryan? Back to the costume department.
She was tense the whole time, less friendly with her band than I’ve ever seen. I was surprised, in fact, to see that she talked to very few people on set, chatty as she usually was. Her mind seemed to be very far away.
I tried to keep an eye on her. I did. I hoped no one had caused her any pain.
The only one I was suspicious of was her guitarist, that Wilder fellow.
It was interesting; he was originally supposed to play a larger role in that video.
He was meant to swim past Ryan when the theater floods and free her from the cape.
But it came right down to the actual day of filming—we had the water tank set up and all, for the rest of the scenes—and I brought him over with Ryan and talked him through what was going to happen. We had a dive specialist on set who was going to walk him through breathing and safety techniques.
Wilder had hardly heard my spiel when he said, “No. I’m sorry, but I’m not up for it.”
Ryan stared at him, I swear, boring holes in his head. She did not take her eyes off him. But he would not look at her—and I wondered what that meant.
I was thrown. I said, “It’s perfectly safe, Wilder. I can assure you. We have the specialist here and first aid standing by for all the underwater scenes.”
But he just shook his head and said, “I’m sorry. Too little, too late.”
And he walked away. I turned to Ryan to see what the hell that was supposed to mean, but she was watching Wilder go.
Finally she looked at me and said, “I’ll talk to him later. What else is on the shot list?”
I did see them together when I was packing up at the end of the night, yes. Listen, I—I didn’t want to say anything before because it wasn’t my business. I’ve told myself this had nothing to do with Ryan’s disappearance, but . . . I suppose it seems a lot more relevant in hindsight.
The State Theatre is a loading-dock nightmare; there’s a parking lot on the same block as the building, but only one very narrow alley leading backstage that’s gated on either side.
We’d had to play a game of Tetris to move equipment, and I stayed late to map out how we’d bring in the papier-maché tree the next day.
Everyone else had left, or so I thought.
I heard voices suddenly, and Ryan and Wilder came out into the alley.
I was about to say hi to them when I realized they were arguing; I don’t remember word for word.
I’m sorry. It was something about enough being enough—that phrase was thrown around.
I think they were both accusing each other of being very stubborn. Speaking in these low, angry whispers.
It reached a bit of a fever pitch and then silence; Wilder took a step back and whispered something to her. She nodded. After that, well—Wilder sort of pushed Ryan up against the wall. And then they were kissing.
I was just standing there down the alley a ways, worrying I was going to have to make my presence known any second—I mean, they were blocking my path, and I certainly didn’t want to see anything else that I shouldn’t—when Wilder picked Ryan up and carried her away toward the parking lot. She was giggling by then.
I just shook my head and minded my business. I hope that wasn’t wrong of me.
God knows the worst crimes have been committed when well-meaning folks just look the other way.
Kylie
It was such a cool video to shoot. Mari and I are both in it; you can see my hand when we all pull her down the first time. I honestly think I had more fun than Ryan did. Between rehearsals, safety training with the water, and actually filming, it was about a three-week process.
But I barely talked to Ryan in all that time. Mari and I mostly hung out. Ryan seemed really busy with everything and almost sort of . . . flustered? Every time I saw her, she was running to tell Serge something or bent over sketches with Tatiana DeGroode.
The video was, like, all she could think about. I tried to tell her about Savannah and Nick breaking up, which was huge news to everyone else, considering they’d had a child together, and I swear all Ryan said was, “Do you think that black Met dress is going to be too heavy for the water?”
I was like, Girl! I need you to freak out about this with me!
But it seemed like she had a lot on her mind.
Mari
The video took about three weeks to shoot, all told. Ryan got very . . . placid near the end of production. I thought the stress of it must be taking a toll on her. But whatever it was, her head was elsewhere.
“You okay?” I asked her at one point. “You’ve been acting like you’re on another planet.”
It took a moment for her to register my question. “Sorry. Just preoccupied,” she said.
“Yeah, obviously. With what?”
Ryan glanced at me, and her eyes were surprisingly bright. “I’ll tell you later.”
She never told me.
Kylie was the only one having fun with the video, because while Ryan was rushing around to produce it, I was rushing around to develop a campaign for it, not to mention acting in it myself.
I remember having a sort of pressing question when she and I were on a break together, waiting for the crew to fill and test the water tank for that final scene—something about YouTube licensing for her channel.
And in response, she just looked off into the distance and said, “Mhm.”
Serge
She solved the cape problem in the eleventh hour. She called me in the middle of the night, in fact.
“I won’t put Wilder in a position he doesn’t want to be in,” she said in a rush. “We’ll have all the instruments around me; the guitar can just be one part of it. But, Serge: I want the crystal ball from ‘White Lace.’”
“Okay,” I said. “What for?”
“That,” she said, “is what’s really going to save me.”