5. Finn
FINN
T he conference room buzzed with tense energy after the final interview concluded. The time had come to make the decision on costume designer.
I paced, hand on my chin, my eyes flicking to the board where we’d pinned up the sketches from the costume designers in consideration.
I’d brought Brenna in, just to get her used to these kinds of meetings, along with Jillian, my PR manager, in case she saw any prospective issue with either of the candidates, and Zev, the primary screenwriter for the adaptation.
We’d let them pick through the sketches without any outside influence, and the two designs that ended up on the board belonged to Elias Tucker… and Sierra Banks.
Now it was down to me and X to make the final call. If I had it my way, I’d tear down Sierra’s sketch and pretend she’d never walked through the doors of my production company, but for some annoying reason, X was being stubborn.
“Elias Tucker’s track record is flawless,” I said, turning to X and the others. “He’s been a high-profile, high-prestige costume designer for years, with a stack of awards to prove it. I don’t even know why this is a discussion at this point.”
“He does have an impressive track record,” Jillian said. “Which looks very nice on paper and adds to the legitimacy of the project. Just saying.”
X waved her off. “ I’m on the project. It already has all the legitimacy it needs. And I only want to work with the best. Not who the critics or the Academy tell me is best, but the actual best. The one with passion and dedication.”
“I like Sierra’s design,” Brenna said, holding her notebook to her chest like protective armor as I glanced in her direction. “It’s more…detailed.”
“Precisely,” X said.
“We only gave them five minutes,” I pointed out. “I’m sure Elias intends to be more detailed on the actual costumes.”
I also knew by reputation that he would work fast enough not to gum up preproduction, and he wasn’t the type to make waves or push back.
He’d get in, do the job, collect his paycheck, and leave.
He was the perfect employee. To hell with passion or dedication—I wanted efficiency and reliability.
And the prestige attached to his name wouldn’t hurt, either, no matter what X said.
“I’ve got no complaints,” Jillian said.
Zev shrugged. “You all know costuming is out of my wheelhouse. Both options look…fine to me, I guess?”
X grimaced at me. “Elias is all style nowadays, no substance.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked him as he sat there in his metallic olive-green leather jacket.
He wore it fitted over a burgundy turtleneck with wide-legged pants and chunky, futuristic sneakers.
This man was all about style. How could he complain about that from Elias?
“They don’t give Oscars out for no substance. ”
“He’s coasting on his previous successes,” X said. “What’s he won recently?”
“That’s a fair point,” Jillian conceded. “Elias is old news.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. Traitor. “He’s been nominated.”
“Out of nostalgia and habit—but he hasn’t won. I doubt he will again, unless he gets a serious wakeup call,” X said. “This may be a period piece, but I don’t want us stuck in the past. You need to move forward, Finn. Roll with the times. Get some fresh ideas around here.”
I rubbed my eyes. I did not want Sierra Banks working on my movie.
X stood and pulled Elias’s sketch down, dropping it on the table in front of us. “This is a basic outfit for the time period. I could have designed this.”
“No,” I protested. “That’s…that’s what the scene called for.
Something simple. Understated. But he still captured crucial details.
” I gestured vaguely because the truth was Elias hadn’t actually made all that many connections to the characters when he’d explained his designs.
“Look at how tight the vest is cut. It’s a nod to Tommy’s strict upbringing. ”
X cocked his head and arched his eyebrow. “ Sierra was the one who pointed out that the suit shouldn’t be flashy. But she still managed to give it personality—and she showed that she understood the character, the period, and the importance of the scene.”
I scowled.
“Elias is the safe bet,” X said. Brenna, Jillian, and Zev muttered to each other .
“There’s nothing wrong with safe,” I growled as X started to sway them. “Safe is good in this world. We all know that.” Besides, the script, the directing, and the performances were the centerpieces of this film. Everyone else’s job was to not get in the way and not gum up the works.
“I think we need to go with Sierra,” X said. “I’ve worked with her before. She’s talented, creative, a real collaborator?—”
“She’s too green.”
“She’s been in the biz ten years,” X protested.
“And yet she’s never worked on a production of this caliber.”
“What you mean is she’s never won a big award,” X said. “She doesn’t have the prestige behind her name. But once upon a time, neither did I. Didn’t mean I was any less talented.”
My gaze strayed to the board with Sierra’s design. Damn it all, I did like it better. She had an eye for detail—small pockets, buttons, the subtle cuts and shapes.
It all felt so much more real. She clearly had a deep understanding of the character. And yet…No. No ! “She’s going to drag the preproduction schedule out,” I said, latching onto my last argument.
“She gave you a very reasonable timeframe,” X said.
“Which you know is never the actual time frame. People always lowball in interviews.” I needed this movie to be a success, and I shouldn’t be risking production by bringing in an unstable element who could throw everything out of whack.
The article with my mother’s comments appeared in my mind’s eye. Hart of Gold was going to put out an award winner, whatever it took. We were going to be synonymous with more than just mindless action flicks .
“She’s the right choice,” X agreed. “I want her on my team, Finn.”
I heard the words he wasn’t saying. I want her and if you tell me no, I’ll start questioning my commitment to this project . Frustration coiled inside me. Signing X was the only positive press this project had gotten so far. I adjusted my watch.
He wouldn’t actually consider walking if I didn’t hire her, would he? I couldn’t take that chance. But I also wasn’t going to compromise for nothing, either. Maybe X would be up for a little quid pro quo. I didn’t want Hart of Gold to be a one-hit-wonder with Every Day Is Sunday .
“Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll hire Sierra if you agree to sign on for another production.”
X snorted. “We haven’t even finished this one.”
“But after we do…after we take Every Day all the way to the Oscars, I want you here, working on our follow-up.”
X rubbed his chin, mulling it over for a moment. I knew he had other options, that he was always chasing his next creative vision, but what I was building here was important to me, and I wanted the best.
“Big budget?” X asked.
I nodded.
“And I get input on script selection?” X asked.
He could have input, but Hart of Gold would retain final say. “I’ll agree to that.”
X stuck out his hand. “I guess we have a deal.”
We sure did. And I might just have back-to-back Oscar contenders. For that, I’d be willing to put up with Sierra Banks .
“While we’re negotiating,” Zev said. “It might be wise to hire a historical consultant.”
“I already started to look into that,” I said. “I reached out to the author of the biography to see if they’d be interested in consulting, but they’re overseas working on another project.”
“Too bad we can’t get the author, but I do think we need to find someone,” Zev said. “I’ve obviously done as much research as I can for the script, but I don’t want us to overlook something glaring. Nothing worse than finding out you’ve flubbed it when it’s too late to actually fix it.”
“I’ve got a list of other potential alternatives started.
” I turned to Brenna where she sat with her notebook.
“Add that to your tasks for tomorrow. I’ll send you the details later so you can start making calls.
” I turned back to X. I wasn’t happy about this, but if Sierra was what it took to keep production moving forward, I’d deal with it.
“All right, people. Let’s make a movie.”