Everything Leads to You

by Nina LaCour

  “Sure,” I say. “I’d love to do that.”

  “We have the read-through tomorrow,” Charlotte reminds me.

  “Right,” I say. “Ava, are you ready for that?”

  She nods.

  “We’ll see you then,” I say.

  Before Charlotte and I step into the elevator, I turn around to get a last glimpse of them for the night: two formerly homeless kids, sitting in front of a bare rooftop penthouse with an empty bottle of champagne.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I wake up nervous.

  Today is the day all the actors assemble in Theo and Rebecca’s apartment and read through the script from the first scene through the last. This usually happens earlier in the preproduction schedule, but because Ava signed on so late, it’s happening now, just two weeks before the shooting begins.

  I should have told Ava what to expect from the day. Should have told her how important it is. I start to worry that I’ve gone overboard with all the Clyde stuff. What if she takes her rags-to-riches glory too far? What she wore yesterday was the perfect costume to score a penthouse, but today shouldn’t be an act. As an unknown in a lead role, she has a lot to prove.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Charlotte says as we climb into her car.

  “But what if she shows up like all hung over or something?”

  “She wasn’t even drunk last night. How would that be possible?”

  “I don’t know how it would be possible. All I know is that my stomach hurts for her.”

  “Just relax and focus on your own job. Let Ava’s stomach hurt for itself. Or, even better, trust that she’ll do well. We have no reason to doubt her.”

  And when we get there, I see that Charlotte, as usual, is right.

  Ava is making the rounds with Rebecca as her guide. She is holding her hand out to shake, confident but modest, professional but warm.

  The actors are gathering around the table while members of the crew find spots to sit on the periphery. Charlotte and I scavenge two chairs just as Rebecca and Ava reach us.

  “No introductions necessary in your case,” she says.

  Even though we were together yesterday and last night, seeing Ava in this context makes my heart race. She smiles at us and widens her eyes, almost imperceptibly, but enough to let us in on the secret that she’s a little bit nervous. I watch as they move on to meet Grant and Vicki, who apologize for the bad timing but whip out their measuring tape anyway.

  “We still have all your costumes to figure out,” Grant says as Vicki measures Ava’s waist. “Nice tank, by the way,” he adds.

  Her outfit is deceptively simple: tight jeans and a silk navy top that makes her shoulders look amazing. A couple of bangles hang off one wrist and delicate gold earrings appear every time she brushes her hair from her face. When she steps away I notice her signature boots and think of them kicked off on the Marmont floor, when we were sitting so close to each other.

  I wonder, again, if I made a mistake.

  Charlotte and I get out our scripts and pens. This is only the second time I’ve been included at a read-through, and the first time I was surprised by how much I picked up on that I hadn’t when I read it to myself, even though I had studied every scene. So I’m ready to be inspired, to be reminded, to find new opportunities to bring the sets to life.

  Then, behind me, I hear Ava say, “Hi, Morgan. So nice to meet you.”

  I can’t help it: I turn to see them.

  Rebecca is the one talking but Morgan is looking at Ava, and I can only imagine the things she is thinking. When she told me about the vastness, I’m sure that the Avas of the world were what she was imagining: talented and gorgeous, utterly free and a little bit wild. But as Morgan looks at Ava, Ava turns to look at me, and I suspect that the Morgans of the world are not who Ava would want in return.

  At least I hope they aren’t. I allow myself to believe that flirtatious and fickle isn’t what Ava wants. That, more than invitations to Hollywood parties and Silver Lake brunches, Ava wants someone who will love her back.

  “All right, everyone.” Theo’s voice carries through the room, a happy, festive thunder. “Please take your seats.”

  Soon, the chatter dies down; the people all settle.

  “Look at you all,” Theo says.

  We have filled the apartment, everyone smiling.

  All the actors for all the speaking parts, from Juniper and George to the nameless customer with only one line, sit around the dining room table, Ava, Benjamin, and Lindsey next to one another at one of the heads. Those of us in the crew have taken over the adjoining living room. Charlie and his volunteer camera operators and key grip got here early enough to snag the sofa. Michael and his brother sit on the floor. They got here the latest because Kim, the USC student who is assistant directing, forgot to tell them about the meeting until a couple hours ago.

  “Everyone always forgets the sound guy,” Michael grumbled as he came in, but even he looks happy now.

  As the weeks have gone by, word about the project has been spreading. Instead of our bare-bones crew we now have a script supervisor and an onset photographer, who stand, holding hands, in the doorway, peering into the dining room. We have gaffers and a best boy and three grips who will set up the lights and keep track of equipment; they sit next to the buffet eating cookies and sneaking glances at Ava and Benjamin. There are others, too: a girl with pale blond hair who looks about my age, a guy with an ironic mustache. I don’t know what they’ll be doing yet but they have notebooks out and look ready to work.

  “Can you feel the energy in this place?” Theo asks. “My God, it’s beautiful. Most of you are doing this for free. Those of you who are getting paid are getting nothing close to what you’re worth. I know that and I thank you. Sincerely. I thank you. I couldn’t imagine a better group of people. If I had ten million dollars to make this movie, I would still choose you. I mean that.”

  He takes a breath, extends his arms to the people at the table.

  “These actors,” he says, “are about to stun us with their talent. Let’s begin.”

  He and Rebecca share a love seat, each of them with their own copies of the script.

  Rebecca begins to read:

  “Scene one. Interior. A small Los Angeles grocery store. Bright summer light shines through the windows. Juniper, 19, stocks jars of baby food in an aisle. George, mid-40s, stands behind the register staring out the window. Enter Miranda, in a blue dress. She picks up a red plastic basket, a grapefruit, a box of oatmeal, a bar of chocolate. She falls. Juniper drops a jar of baby food. End scene.

  “Scene two. Interior. Grocery store. Juniper stands behind the cash register. George places lemons in a basket near the window.”

  Ava has the first line. I can feel everyone in the apartment holding their breath.

  “The jar cut her ear,” Ava says. She has her script open on the table but she isn’t reading it.

  Benjamin James, however, has his eyes fixed to the page when he responds, “It did? I didn’t notice.”

  Ava touches the top of her right ear.

  “Right here,” she says.

  And with these few words she’s already proven herself. She’s understated, wistful, everything she’s meant to be. Theo and Rebecca exchanged pleased looks, and I turn to my script, my stomach not hurting at all, and read along as the scene continues.

  GEORGE

  Her skirt was blue, like this.

  (points to a magazine)

  JUNIPER

  Lighter, I think.

  GEORGE

  Maybe, but not much.

  Silence.

  GEORGE

  You know, in ancient times, when someone

  had a seizure people thought it meant they were inhabited by demons.

  JUNIPER

  That’s ridiculous. How do you know that?<
br />
  George shrugs.

  JUNIPER

  What do you mean ‘in ancient times’?

  GEORGE

  Ancient. You know, people in Babylonia or something.

  JUNIPER

  Babylonia? Did you read this somewhere?

  GEORGE

  I don’t remember. It’s just something I know.

  JUNIPER

  How do we know she even had a seizure?

  GEORGE

  What else could it have been?

  JUNIPER

  It could have been just some weird reaction to something, or an anxiety attack, or something. We don’t know.

  GEORGE

  Okay! Whatever. It was what it was.

  Someone comes into the market. They look up; it’s not her.

  GEORGE

  I was not implying that she was inhabited by demons. Obviously.

  JUNIPER

  You weren’t implying anything. I know.

  ~

  I have a canvas bag full of home-decorating magazines and catalogues, four tacos from my favorite truck, and a large aguas frescas to share. Thankfully, a man is leaving Ava’s apartment as I arrive, and he holds the door open for me. I press the call button to the elevator with my elbow, then P, then 3-2-3. The doors shut and send me on my way to Ava’s.

  I am arriving unannounced.

  I want to surprise her.

  We haven’t spoken since the read-through and I didn’t even get a chance to tell her how amazing she was because Morgan caught me right after it was finished to talk about the next steps for the sets. And now two days have passed, bringing me closer to the looming deadline for Juniper’s apartment.

  But I can’t stop thinking about Ava.

  So, here I am, setting down the bright pink juice to knock on her door, armed with everything I need to help her brainstorm decorating ideas.

  She opens the door in plaid pajama bottoms and a thin T-shirt and I try not to look at the gorgeous way it clings to her.

  “Surprise! I come bearing lunch and decorating ideas,” I say.

  “And I am still in my pajamas at noon,” she says.

  But she smiles and lets me in anyway.

  She glances down at herself, blushes, says, “Let me just, um . . . I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure,” I say, and she pats off down the hall.

  So I find myself alone, for the moment, in Ava’s place. Though it’s only been a couple days since she moved in and it’s still mostly empty, she has filled one corner, under a skylight, with the things that she owns. And I realize that I have never seen how Ava lives. I never went inside the shelter. She didn’t let me into her old room. She didn’t have any of her own things in the Marmont, and the only other time I came to the penthouse it was bare.

  I cross the room to the kitchen and set the tacos and juice on the counter. I see that she has bought herself a few things:

  Two heavy red skillets, one large and one small.

  Three cookbooks: on baking bread, on making jam, on French desserts.

  A deep copper pot that looks almost too beautiful to cook with.

  A small yellow bowl full of peaches.

  I notice the faint sound of music and voices. It’s coming from the other side of the living space, so I cross to the corner under the skylight, where Ava has laid out a colorful blanket. Sitting on the blanket is an old TV/VCR, playing The Restlessness with the volume down low. Next to that is the paperwork for her lease. I hadn’t seen her signature before. It’s simple, assured: a strong A, G, and W with flowing lines after each. The screenplay to Yes & Yes rests there, too, opened to the audition scene. Next to the line, “I threw them away,” Ava has written, “Remember: long pause.”

  And then there is the photograph of Caroline out on the sunny street in her ripped jeans and flannel, neatly placed next to Clyde’s letter. I take it out of its envelope. Reading it again, now, the phrases feel different.

  some kind of beginning . . .

  the possibility of a change of heart . . .

  I don’t know how a father is supposed to say heartfelt things, or express regret, or give a compliment . . .

  It’s possible that you feel alone in the world . . .

  It’s like they suddenly mean more, and I can’t even finish reading because I’m afraid I might cry.

  A perfectly sharpened pencil and a pink highlighter sit next to a to-do list. Practice lines. Buy plates, cups, silverware. Decide about boxes. Find a good coffee shop. Finish letter to Jonah. Humane society?

  Footsteps come from behind me. I turn around to find Ava dressed for the day, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her mouth pinker than usual, as though she put on lipstick and then changed her mind.

  She says, “I always wish there was one last shot of Caroline’s face. Like, the camera would just linger on her looking out the window, waiting to see if Max comes back.”

  Instead, the screen goes dark and the music for the credits begins.

  “I haven’t gotten plates yet. I couldn’t find any that felt right. And since I’m starting from scratch, I want everything I buy for myself to mean something. Maybe we can find something in one of those.”

  She gestures to my bag full of magazines as she heads to the kitchen.

  Even though I chose them all carefully and brought only my favorites, I now realize that I don’t want to use anything in these magazines. Not Anthology with its full-page spreads of the warm and bright houses of the creative and fortunate, not Apartamento with its international flair and naturalistic feeling.

  I don’t want to open any of them. I don’t want to look away from what Ava has already placed in her home.

  My eyes tear up again and I don’t know why. I’m not even thinking about Clyde’s letter. I don’t even understand what’s happened.

  Until Ava comes back with the bag of tacos and the aguas frescas and two gray-and-white-striped cloth napkins. She sits on the edge of her blanket, in front of the few things that she owns.

  “We can pretend that it’s totally normal to eat without plates or forks, right? Picnic under the skylight,” she says.

  And I understand what this is.

  It’s the opposite of the collapse of the fantasy.

  It’s what happens when the illusion pales in comparison to the truth. I’m seeing her for the first time. Not Ava Garden Wilder, the rags-to-riches granddaughter of Clyde Jones. Not a tragic, romantic heroine.

  Just Ava.

  And I am utterly in love.

  ~

  “I always wait to see her name,” she says, looking at the screen.

  I lower myself next to her, grateful that she’s looking at something other than me.

  I can’t eat. I can feel how close she is to me. There is a square of sunlight on her knee. A diamond of sunlight on her face.

  I force myself to look at the names as they scroll by.

  It always amazes me to think about how many people work on a film, especially big studio productions, so I try to distract myself with the credits. I don’t even understand what all of the jobs are. The names roll on and on, and Caroline’s name flashes by but I don’t look away yet. The Yes & Yes credits will be so short, and my name will be there early, all by itself in the center of the screen, and I’m thinking about that as I watch the names of all these strangers and wonder what they’re doing now, if they made it to the positions they wanted, or if not what became of them, and then I see a name that leaps out at me but it’s gone in a moment and Ava says, “Okay, I’m sorry, you probably don’t have much time,” and I say, “No problem,” and try to shrug off the feeling that I may have seen something important.

  “These tacos are delicious,” she says.

  She takes a last bite and I have to look away. Even that is so beautiful it hurts.

  “We should
sit outside,” she says. “Look through what you brought. Did you see the view when you came up? It’s totally different in the daylight.”

  “That sounds great,” I manage to say.

  She stands up first and we get as far as the doorway before I blurt out, “I saw something in the credits that I didn’t notice before.”

  She turns around to face me.

  “A second assistant director credit for a guy named Leonard.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “It’s probably nothing,” I say.

  But she’s already heading back to the corner. She kneels on the blanket and rewinds and then we watch the credits again.

  “When is it?” she asks.

  “Later on.”

  “But you said director?”

  “The second AD gets people coffee. It’s not exactly high profile.”

  Caroline’s name passes.

  “Soon,” I say. “Here!”

  Ava presses pause. The name vibrates at the top of the screen: Leonard Pine.

  I pull out my phone and search his name.

  “Something’s here,” I say, opening the first link that appears, and I don’t tell her that it doesn’t say Leonard—it says Lenny—because I can’t stand the thought of disappointing her if he isn’t the right person. “He’s a producer now.”

  “Is there a number for him?”

  “Yeah, for his office,” I say. “I don’t know if—”

  “What is it?” Ava asks.

  I tell her and she dials.

  “We don’t know it’s him,” I say. “It’s such a long shot.”

  “May I speak to Leonard?” she says into the phone. She waits for a moment. “Ava Garden Wilder. Yes, okay.”

  She looks at me and shakes her head. “She’s never going to connect me. We’ll have to go there.”

  “Let’s just see what happens. Maybe I can find someone who knows him.”

  “Yes,” she says into the phone. “Yes, Ava Garden Wilder. Is this Leonard? Lenny?”