Chapter Twenty-Eight
EVEN IN THE small Zoom square on my computer screen, Chris kind of looks like shit.
There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is much longer and shaggier than the last time I saw him in New York two months ago.
It looks like he lost weight, too; his cheekbones are more pronounced than before.
Damian, however, looks about the same, with a shock of red hair and an alert gaze. I guess there is a stark difference when a person serves as showrunner and executive producer versus just producing. Chris must be exhausted after shooting nonstop for the last four months.
“I know our timeline is aggressive, but we really can’t push back our streaming date,” Chris says.
“We’re Limelight’s big bet for spring. They’re doing a promotional tie-in where Amex customers get three months free starting on our drop date, followed by a fifty percent discount for all other forms of payment the next month. ”
“They’re eager to draw people away from their main competitors after their last big-budget show was panned by critics and audiences,” Damian adds.
“It’s not a problem,” Oliver replies. In order to fit in the same Zoom box, we had to sit so close to each other that I can feel the warmth of him all the way up and down the left side of my body. “We’ll be ready.”
“We’re thinking January for recording,” I say. “Oliver made a good point that it’ll be tough to schedule in December with all the holiday concert programming.”
Chris nods. “Which orchestra?”
“New York Phil, most likely. I still have contacts there from my interning days. I already reached out to see if they can do it,” Oliver replies, and both Chris’s and Damian’s faces light up.
“Can’t wait to hear them with that drumbeat for the main theme.” This from Damian.
My confidence soars internally at the mention of my individual contribution to this massive project. As much as I’ve loved collaborating with Oliver—much to my own surprise—it feels so good to hear someone call out my instrument. Especially someone who has the power to hire me in the future.
“Those drums were all Celia,” Oliver says.
I can’t help it; I smile, both at him when I glance over, and then at the screen when I see the look on Damian’s face. It’s one of admiration, if not surprise.
“Oh?” Damian asks.
“Yeah,” I reply, forcing my tone to be nonchalant, as if these compliments aren’t putting in extra work to fix all the times I’ve doubted myself. “I was a percussionist before I became a composer.”
“I just have to say, it’s been a real fucking treat working with you two,” Chris says as he rubs a hand over his chin.
“I was worried about hiring people who are so green, but you’ve been absolute professionals about it.
Took everything in stride and just went heads down to put in the work.
With this many people working on a project, something always goes wrong.
There’s always some drama of some kind, even though I do everything in my power to keep things running smoothly.
When Gus dropped out, I thought we were totally fucked.
Then you two showed up and helped me get this thing off the ground. ”
I nod my head and smile at Chris’s little speech because this is everything I’d hoped to hear from a man who has the power to make or break a career. At the same time, there’s a dark cloud hanging over my head, too. He hates drama—Rebecca’s words of warning. She wasn’t lying.
I have to tread so, so carefully here.
“It’s our pleasure,” I reply. “It’s been an amazing experience working on this show with you.”
“Agreed,” Oliver adds.
“Great. I think we have what we need, right, Damian?” Chris asks. When Damian gives a thumbs-up, he continues, “Will we see you two in New York next month? We’ve got a private room booked at the Gramercy Tavern for the dinner.”
Oliver and I haven’t discussed this since we watched three episodes of Battle for Love three weeks ago.
We’ve spent so much time in the studio, even more so now that the early episodes are considered picture lock, which I’ve learned means nothing in reality because the editing team is constantly changing things around.
We’ve barely had time to come up for air.
There’s a brief, awkward pause. I can’t bring myself to look at Oliver. Instead, I make a split-second decision and say, “Yeah, we’ll be there.”
“Great. I’ll have my assistant reach out with the details,” Chris replies.
“Keep us posted on the New York Phil,” Damian adds.
“Will do,” I say, and then both Chris and Damian drop from the call. I close my laptop and take a deep breath. Time for me to face the music.
“We’re going?” Oliver asks, clearly annoyed, as he pushes away from the studio desk.
I turn around to face him, immediately struck by how much he looks like the college version of himself. His face is back to that chilly mask, his expression dark and his jaw tense. The Oliver I’ve come to know over the last several weeks is nowhere to be found.
In that moment, I know I have two options. I can either play dumb and pretend like it’s no big deal, or I can be honest with him—really honest about how much face time with decision-makers means for my career. How much is at stake for me.
For all the moments he’s shared the truth about himself with me, I know there really isn’t a choice here. I owe him.
“Listen, I know that was a dick move. I’m sorry,” I start, and I hope that he can hear how much I mean it. “I just—I can’t miss that dinner. Do you remember when I told you about how much I need this job to go well?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, along with his legs. He could not be more closed off if he tried, but he does nod. I take it as a sign to continue.
“Well, that’s true, but there’s more to it.
I’m, like, on the verge of having to quit and go do something else.
All of my corporate gigs have basically dried up.
AI is taking over commercial work. My rent is going up and I’m…
scared.” To my infuriating surprise, I can feel tears rising to the surface, the inevitable result of repressing this anxiety for as long as I have.
“I have been working my ass off for so long, and for what? If I can’t get another job after Lineage is done…
I don’t know. I have no skills except for this. What would I even do?”
As I wave around at the studio equipment surrounding us, Oliver’s face softens. I blink back the tears threatening to fall, clinging to the final shreds of my pride.
“I have been knocking—no, pounding—at the door of the entertainment industry for years, basically begging to be let in,” I say.
“Someone finally opened it for me. If I don’t go, it’ll be the final nail in the coffin of my career.
Chris and Damian now know I’m at least somewhat talented, but that’s only half the battle.
It’s the relationships—those count even more. ”
What I don’t say is that it’s also the game—the one I once lost to the same man sitting in front of me.
I’d think he remembers that because it’s the last thing we talked about before we went our separate ways for nine years, but I don’t know if he’s making that connection.
If I bring it up, I’ll completely lose it.
A beat of silence passes between us after I finish talking. There’s a tense moment where I wonder if he’ll say anything at all, but then he untangles all his limbs and lets out a heavy sigh. He scoots his chair closer and puts a hand on my knee.
“I know this industry is tough,” he says, the ice from his earlier tone now gone. “It’s okay. We’ll go. Just… don’t blindside me again, okay?”
Swallowing hard, I nod. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll cry. It’s hard enough letting him see just how dire things are for me when we’re sitting in his family’s beautiful custom home. Instead, I put my hand over his and force a smile.
Even though I got my way, I don’t feel much better.
Not for the rest of the night, and not in the days that follow, spent holed up in the studio, working away.
Forcing Oliver to agree to go to this dinner was just one part of a difficult process.
I still have to network my way into another paycheck.
I still have to make this boys’ club see that a person like me—a Latina from the Heights—belongs there.
FROM: Celia García
TO: Ann Martin
DATE: Wednesday, October 14 at 9:52 PM
SUBJECT: Lineage contract installments
Hi Ann,
Hope all is well with you! Just want to double check something—I’ll get my next contract installment when we complete the score recording, correct?
Cheers,
Celia
FROM: Ann Martin
TO: Celia García
DATE: Thursday, October 15 at 8:12 AM
SUBJECT: RE: Lineage contract installments
Hi Celia,
Yes, that’s correct. They were prompt to pay first installment on signing (rare for studios!) but I’ll stay on top of them to ensure you get paid quickly. When are you recording?
Best,
Ann
FROM: Celia García
TO: Ann Martin
DATE: Thursday, October 15, at 8:14 a.m.
SUBJECT: RE: Lineage contract installments
January. I’ll let you know as soon as it’s done. Thank you!