Chapter 6
We all walked together, with Studio Todd and Ellen leading. Kathryn asked me how I was, and I said good, and she asked if I was still in New York, and I said yes even though I wasn’t sure where I’d live after the movie came out.
Kathryn was so good at name-dropping that I couldn’t even tell you how she turned the conversation to some popstar’s new music video, which she had directed, and how the night before, she’d been at the popstar’s house for a party that went very late and now she was hungover, hence the sunglasses.
“You know I’m not a sunglasses person,” she said, although I didn’t know that.
“Have you tried the hangover IVs?” Todd asked, and Kathryn said no, she was afraid of needles, and Todd said he swore by them, that a nurse will come over to your house with a bag of saline and vitamins and thirty minutes later you feel ready for a run, no matter how much you drank.
Kathryn said she’d keep it under advisement.
We were walking down a fake block of New York with fake shop windows.
Everything on the lot felt slightly smaller than reality—the streets were narrow, the buildings too close to the sidewalk.
It felt a little like walking inside a movie, which I guess was the point.
We came to a sidewalk, and I could see a miniature marquee jutting out from a stucco wall that said Now Showing: Andy Warhol Never Gets Old.
I took a picture of that, then walked over to where Juniper was sitting on a bench, hands on her knees, looking down at her platform sneakers. Her face was ashen.
I sat down next to her. “Look at the marquee,” I said, and she smiled a little. “You okay?” I asked.
“I think the enjoyment sector of my brain might be dysfunctional.”
“Or it’s just not that enjoyable,” I said.
“I’m not adequately prepared for the press,” she said.
“Katie didn’t warn me, and so I’ve only gone through the talking points a couple times.
I don’t have good answers for even the basic questions.
I don’t know what I want people to take away from the film.
Hope, I guess? But that sounds idiotic. Maybe that the movie explores how human perseverance isn’t naive but is really the glory of our species, but that sounds a bit grandiose.
I hope that people realize celebrity is overrated?
Too self-indulgent. What do you hope people take away from it? ”
“I don’t really go to movies like this one. I don’t know why people watch sad movies.”
“Well,” Juniper said, “that is definitely worse than my answers.”
Studio Todd’s shadow arrived at the bench just before he did, and he said, “The movie is a celebration of the human spirit and the power of love.” And then Ellen said, “Jesus Christ, Todd, do you write greeting cards for a living? We want people to leave the theater thinking, That Kai Laramie deserves an Oscar.”
“Can I get a little air?” Juniper said quietly, and everyone took a few steps back.
I started to get up from the bench, but she grabbed my wrist and said, “Not you. Can you stay?” And I said, “Of course,” and she looked at me and said, “I hate watching myself and not being able to change anything. Hate it. Sorry if my breath smells like puke,” and I said, “It doesn’t,” even though it did a little bit, and she said, “Can we do this together?”
“This?”
“All of this. All of it. Just, not alone. Can we do the press and the…I need you. You make me feel less like barfing.”
“Thanks?”
“Can we do this together?”
And I said, “Of course.” When I looked up, I saw that Ellen and Katie were both taking pictures of us.
Kathryn came and sat on the other side of Juniper.
She put an arm around Juniper and started half whispering to her.
“Listen. I know you’re nervous. But they flew you out here on the studio’s plane because they love this movie.
They’re putting you up in the Hotel Bel-Air.
They think this movie is special. And they’re right.
” Kathryn stood up then. She is a large woman, tall and always in heels.
I know the word statuesque means something particular, but Kathryn is actually statue-esque.
As we walked into the theater down a long, dimly lit hallway, Kathryn kept talking to us.
“You are both about to just explode when people see our movie. Junie, I’m so excited for you to be in Gods of Andromeda.
Brian Arawas is a genius. A true one. You know Arawas doesn’t have an assistant?
Never has. Answers his own phone. Isn’t that amazing?
The best always have time for everyone. Speaking of the best,” she said, and as we turned into the theater, there was Matthew.
He was wearing tight jeans, a plain gray T-shirt, and a light jacket.
People were surrounding him in an awkward half circle, but they parted when he stepped toward Kathryn and hugged her.
“How are you?” Kathryn said. “I haven’t seen you since Kim’s wedding.”
“I’ve barely seen myself since Kim’s wedding,” he answered, then saw us, pulled us into a hug, and told us he missed us.
He smelled like cigarette smoke. He’d chewed Nicorette the whole time we were in Pittsburgh, but never fully quit.
He’d told me during one all-night shoot, “The thing no one ever tells you about smoking is how great it is. The relief of giving in to it. I need a cigarette, so I have one. Needing a cigarette is the only problem in my life I know how to solve.” I’d asked him for a cigarette then, and he’d laughed so hard before saying, “No way, bud.”
“These are my kids,” Matthew said to the people gathered about. “They’re so brilliant. Can’t wait for everyone to see them in this film.”
Ellen grabbed me and introduced me to Jill from The New Yorker, who asked if I was excited to see the movie. “Mostly nervous,” I said.
“Nervousness is of course a form of excitement,” Ellen clarified.
“May God keep you innocent and honest,” Jill told me, and then added, “Ellen keeps telling me how wonderful you are in the movie, and yet she won’t let me see it.”
“It’s not locked quite yet,” Ellen said.
“How does it feel, I wonder, to be on the edge of something but you don’t know what exactly you’re on the edge of.” I opened my mouth to answer, but Ellen said, “Obviously Jill would write a brilliant profile of you. Jill, we’ll be in touch.”
“You are excited,” Ellen mumbled to me as Jill and the rest of the reporters were ushered out. “You are in a state of perpetual excitement and good cheer for the next twenty-three days.”
“Don’t be afraid to share notes with us,” Kathryn said after the reporters left. “We’re still in edits.”
The theater was small—maybe twenty-five seats. Katie the Publicist, Ellen, and Studio Todd made introductions—this is Caitlyn, the editor of the movie; this is Autumn, the music supervisor; this is Tyrell from Marketing; here is Chloe, who works with Caitlyn.
Studio Todd walked Juniper and me to a row of seats in front of everyone else. I sat down next to Juniper. Matthew sat a few seats over.
The already dim lights grew fainter. Juniper grabbed my hand, not holding it so much as clinging to it. I looked at her and smiled. I was about to see myself in a proper fucking movie.