8. Finn
FINN
“ T ony, don’t make me angry,” I snapped, phone pressed to my ear as I strode down the hallway toward the conference room where Sierra and X were waiting to talk with me about the background costumes. “We sorted this out yesterday. You told me you’d make this look period appropriate.”
Tony muttered about a backlogged delivery of inlaid wood.
“I don’t want to hear about the problem, I want to hear about the solution.
” Unfortunately, when he threw out a potential fix, I had no idea if it made sense.
“The historical consultant starts today.” They were supposed to be at this costuming meeting.
“I’ll bring them by to have a look at the sets in an hour. ”
I hung up, hearing the clack of heeled boots behind me. I didn’t slow down. Brenna reached me, slightly out of breath as she held out a tablet. “This needs your approval,” she said.
“What is it?”
“The shooting schedule adjustment you asked for,” she said .
About time. I scribbled off my signature and passed the tablet back. “Get that sent out to the crew ASAP. And when you’re done with that, track down the delivery Tony’s waiting on and find out what it’s going to cost to get the materials here today .”
“Got it,” Brenna said, falling in step behind me as I walked through the door of the conference room. Everyone turned to look my way. I scanned the faces, stopping so hard my shoes squeaked against the floor. My eyes almost bugged out of my head.
Because there, standing in the middle of the room with Sierra and X, was my mother.
“Mom?” I said, at a complete loss for words. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!
“Hello, darling,” she said, crossing the room to greet me with a hug and a bright smile.
I just stared back at her as she pulled away. What the hell was she doing here? And then it hit me. The historical consultant .
My fingers curled by my sides, and my eyes cut across to Brenna who’d slunk into the corner of the room, clutching the tablet to her chest. She seemed to be holding her breath.
“Brenna,” I bit out, working hard to keep my tone ruthlessly controlled. I inclined my head to the door. “A word.” I stepped back out into the hall, and Brenna scurried out the door after me.
“My mother!” I hissed.
“Okay, just hear me out?—”
“Hear you out?” I snapped. “I gave you a list of potential historical consultants.” I’d done the research myself, coming up with five suitable options, including my top pick. “Did you not receive the list?”
Brenna bit her lip, nodding. “I did. ”
“So why is Cathleen Lockhart standing in my studio?” I asked through clenched teeth.
My immediate reaction was to walk away and pretend like my mother wasn’t actually working on my movie.
And then to obviously fire Brenna. But I couldn’t do either of those things.
These kinds of situations had a trickle-down effect, and I couldn’t risk throwing off the movie’s timeline because I was caught off guard by some insane decision made by my PA.
“Your first pick wasn’t available,” Brenna explained.
“But when I spoke to him, he brought up Cathleen’s name.
Apparently, he’s one of the advisors on her dissertation.
He said she was the perfect one for the job, since she’s originally from Boston and her dissertation is about Boston history. It just…seemed like the right fit.”
My pulse beat so hard in my temple I thought it might explode out the side of my head. I was not working with my mother.
“She just finished defending her dissertation,” Brenna added. “So her knowledge is fresh. And she’s built up a list of contacts who can help her go digging if she needs to track down anything specific for us.”
I pulled at my collar; it was choking me. I wanted to read Brenna the riot act for overstepping—but what would be the point? The damage was done. And I could hear Sierra and my mother chatting up a storm inside.
Christ, the last thing I needed was the two of them bonding! Time to get back inside—but not without a word of warning first. “Next time this sort of thing happens, I want to know about it. Immediately. Is that understood?”
Brenna nodded furiously, like a bobble-head doll, and I stalked back into the room, trying to ignore the fact that my mother was now going to be hanging around the set for the foreseeable future. Just the thought of it made me shiver like someone had just walked over my grave .
I didn’t consider myself a superstitious man, but having Mom around? I didn’t see how that could lead to anything good. Not when my brothers and I spent our entire childhoods tap dancing at full speed just to keep things together when she kept falling apart.
On the other hand, I couldn’t fire my mom .
I might as well take a wrecking ball to any emotional strength she’d managed to pull together for herself.
It’d hurt like hell when that article came out and proved that she didn’t believe in me and my work—and I was a self-proclaimed asshole who mostly didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought.
For Mom to hear that I didn’t believe she could do the job?
It would wreck her. And I couldn’t live with that.
So it looked like Mom would be my new historical consultant.
And maybe…maybe it would be okay. Connor said she was better now.
Connor said she’d really pulled her life together.
But on the other hand, Connor wasn’t producing the most important movie of his career and depending on Mom to play a major role in the production.
Yeah, no. This was going to be a dumpster fire. It was just a question of when things would go up in flames. Better start preparing backup plans now. And backup plans for the backup plans. When dealing with potential fallout from Hurricane Cathleen, there was no such thing as too prepared.
“Okay, where are we on the costumes?” I said, stepping back into the conference room and interrupting the conversation. My eyes darted to the sketches taped to the whiteboard behind them.
“We’re having a little bit of a disagreement,” Sierra said, catching my eye before subtly inclining her head toward X.
I frowned, confused by the motion. But before I could ask for clarification, X cut in saying, “It’s not a disagreement! I want the background costumes to pop. The audience wants visual excitement. ”
To my surprise, it wasn’t Sierra who put up an argument but my own mother.
“As I’ve tried explaining,” she said, using the voice she’d perfected through decades as a substitute teacher, “the twenties weren’t all glamour. Most people dressed simply. Wool. Cotton. Tweed. It wasn’t a walking fashion shoot for Vogue .”
X scoffed, his arms folding across his chest as he leaned toward her, a scowl tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Look, I get it. But when I took home my Oscars for Best Picture and Best Director on Echoes of the Fallen —which, if you’re unfamiliar, is another period piece—we also won for Best Costume Design. ”
Ah, there was that ego of his. “So I know a thing or two about how to capture the feel of a different period while still grabbing an audience’s attention.
We’re not making some niche, low-budget film here, Cathleen,” he said, eyes glinting with challenge.
“This is a big movie. We need to stand out.”
“But you can’t sacrifice accuracy for flair,” my mother said, talking over him as she gestured to the board. “And Echoes was a musical. A certain amount of theatrics was expected from its costumes.” Their gazes locked like they were the only two people in the room.
Meanwhile, I was very aware of the other person in the room. Sierra worried her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that was highly distracting. She nodded silently, like she was absorbing both their points.
“I’m not trying to make a documentary,” X said. “I’m trying to give us an edge for awards season.” His eyes cut to me, as if daring me to disagree, but how could I argue with that? It was what I wanted, too.
“That doesn’t mean it needs to be some sanitized, dumbed-down version of Boston that never existed. You’re misrepresenting how people really lived,” my mother insisted .
“I’m bringing a spectacle to the big screen,” he argued. “That’s what I do best.”
I caught Sierra’s eye again. She looked as lost as I felt.
Cathleen Lockhart was a soft-spoken, quiet woman who hardly ever raised her voice.
She wasn’t the type to get into heated debates.
But apparently X flaunting his success and experience and that—not so little—ego of his had triggered something in her.
“Costumes can’t just be decoration,” my mother continued, so close to X now they were practically breathing in the same air.
“I never said they were,” X shot back. “I’ve made enough award-winning feature films to know the importance of costuming.” He sneered down at her, and that’s when I knew I couldn’t stand by anymore. Big-deal director or not, no one sneered at my mother.
“Okay, that’s enough!” I said, stepping between them and holding my hands up, interrupting their stare-off. “We get it. There’s a difference of opinion here, but we don’t have time for a debate, especially when there are compromises to these things.”
X and my mother, both of them a little shame-faced, stepped away from each other as I approached the board, looking over the proposed background costumes again. There had to be a way to capture the period authenticity while still making things cinematic.
I turned to Sierra. “Maybe we focus on the accessories to give the scenes extra flash while maintaining as much historical accuracy as we can?”
She nodded. “That’s doable. We can focus on statement pieces. Fedoras and cloche hats. Maybe look at pocket watches and chains. Decorative canes. Period-appropriate handbags.”
“Great,” I said, relieved to feel the tension level in the room drop a notch .
“But…” Sierra said. “There might be a way to achieve both the flash and the accuracy with more than just accessories.”
My narrowed gaze cut back to her. Really ? The tension coiled around me once more. I’d just gotten everything calmed down, and here she was stirring the pot again.
“I’m listening,” X said.
“I’m proposing we make costume doubles,” Sierra said, laying two similar designs next to each other.
I glared at her as heat burned through my chest. “I think we already have a way forward.”
“Oh, are you the head costume designer?” she said. “Sorry, I must have misread my contract.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, biting back my next words. Why couldn’t she just have said yes and dialed up the accessories on the costumes? “That sounds like a lot of extra work, requiring time you don’t have,” I said, reminding her of the agreed-upon timeline. “It’s just not feasible.”
“Not for all the scenes,” Sierra agreed.
“That would be too much. But what if we use it just for the key scenes or the establishing shots that need a more cinematic feel? Think about when they’re in the speakeasy, for example.
Imagine that first shot…we dial up the colors and patterns on the background costumes.
We use jewel tones and metallics that will be eye-catching and dazzling on-screen. Create costumes that have the same vibrancy to our modern eyes that the fashions would have had to people back then.
Then as our hero and heroine enter and become the focus, we shift the background costumes into more period-appropriate colors. Same exact costumes, but more muted, automatically drawing the eye to Tommy and Evelyn. I can work closely with the art department to maintain a consistent color palette.”
“I like it,” X said, nodding.
“It’s…interesting,” my mother agreed.
“I really don’t think there’s time to create two sets of costumes,” I repeated, massaging the ache in my temple.
“We can make time,” X said.
Absolutely not ! “We’re still waiting on Tommy and Evelyn’s wardrobe. You’re really telling me you can get all this done in less than eight weeks?”
“I think it’s doable,” Sierra said. “And I’ll prove it. I’ll mock up a version of one of the costume doubles by tonight, and I won’t even pull my assistants away from their work to do it.”
“Good,” X said. “Let’s see how that turns out, and we’ll make a final call tomorrow.”
“Works for me,” my mother said. “I’m happy to weigh in once we see the finished product.” So glad it works for her , I thought sarcastically.
Sierra turned to me, one delicate eyebrow arched. “Well?” she said.
“Fine,” I relented, “but if it doesn’t work, we’re scrapping the entire idea and going back to focusing on the accessories.”
“Don’t worry,” Sierra said, stepping close. “It’ll work. Remember, you’re paying me for my expert consultation after all.”
I barely managed to refrain from rolling my eyes sure that between my mother and Sierra, I would have a head full of gray hair before this movie was finished.