Documentary

by Sand, A. J.

  “Just adjusting, Professor J,” she said, unable, or maybe unwilling, to meet her eyes right away. “I’ll tell my mom you got it.”

  Professor Jordan scribbled something quickly on a sheet of paper and handed it to her. “This is the information on the interview timeslots and the email address of the contact. Let her know either way, even though I want to insist that you go. I’m not saying your grade in the class depends on it, but…” She winked at her. Dylan laughed and relaxed a little as she raised her bag to her lap. Her excitement started to bubble up again as she read the document. It wasn’t just the information on the contact; it was the actual email from the contact announcing that she had been picked. Nina Sanchez, Kai’s manager and publicist, had stated that she was thoroughly impressed by Dylan. Dylan read back through the chain of emails until she found the actual job posting about filming Kai on the part of his multi-city tour preceding the Wintervention Music and Arts Festival in Fort Lauderdale and Miami where the film would screen. Professor Jordan was right. This was the door to her future she had been working so hard for. Now was the time to be confident and ambitious, not timid and worried.

  “Okay, I’m in!”

  “That’s what I like to hear!” Professor Jordan said with an enthusiastic clap. Dylan stood as she watched her beckon a student inside the office. She gave him a polite nod when she walked out and mouthed a thank you over his head. Outside, she ran back across the quad toward where she and her friends were supposed to meet. Winslow’s free time was over, but she would still be able to catch Kate before her class. As she neared the campus coffee shop at the student union, her phone buzzed and she answered it completely out of breath.

  “Why are you breathing so hard? A little afternoon delight?” Kate said after a short gasp, and Dylan laughed through the tightening pain of exertion in her chest.

  “I was running! I started up again, like, a week ago, so I’m totally out of shape.”

  Kate giggled. “I know. I can see you. You should’ve heard me going up the stairs in Evans the week the elevators were broken. I sounded like a freaking donkey.”

  Dylan swiveled around and spotted her friend’s flailing hand over a bench. Golden sunlight saturated the outdoors, and many students had fled the buildings. It was a nice day out, a relatively warm fall day in San Francisco. It was still boots and jacket weather—that was the city nearly year round, it seemed—but it was comfortable.

  Dylan ended the call and strolled over to Kate, who was waiting with a steaming Grande Mocha for her. Kate had to clear the bench of a few of her books to make room for Dylan. Textbooks were always within reach of Kate due to her heavy double major course load.

  Kate freed her wild brown curls from the enormous bun she so frequently kept them in. “We should do the pub crawl this weekend,” she said as she handed the cup to Dylan.

  “We’re not twenty-one,” Dylan said, tilting the cup to her lips.

  Kate scoffed. “When did that ever stop us? I was thinking you could wear those really cute red pumps… Remember the first time you wore them freshman year and we got lost in the city? We were freezing and our feet were hurting. You didn’t wear them again for months. That was a fun night though.” She aimed a big grin at Dylan.

  “Yeah, it was. Just not this weekend, Katie.” Dylan sometimes referred to her by the nickname she had gone by freshman year. “But you guys should totally go,” Dylan said, letting her gaze drop. “I have a lot to do. My film project partner isn’t a major, and he has a pretty heavy workload, so we’re going to try to get as much done as possible this weekend.”

  “Okay. Low won’t sell the ticket until Friday night or even Saturday.” Her smile was smaller and full of disappointment. “Just in case.” She squeezed Dylan’s arm to reiterate the point before turning back to her work, but her offer had hinted at something more, even if Kate would never say it out loud. It had been five months since Dylan’s brother, Mac, had died of non-Hodgkin lymphoma, and Dylan had come back to school this year as a version of herself her friends would have to adjust to.

  Going out had become something she often declined, giving the excuse of having a lot of homework or wanting to get a jumpstart on it. It wasn’t a lie, Dylan had always been a hard worker, but the sudden, ardent dedication to academia came in the aftermath of seeing her twenty-two-year-old brother in a casket, the epitome of life being too short. He was the smart and funny and focused one. It felt so unfair sometimes, given that even when he was well, he was the one who didn’t spend as much time partying or thinking about prom and homecoming or being angry because he couldn’t hang out with friends. Or all the countless things in college she had spent the last two years being so involved in. She missed doing them, but they felt so insignificant now. While he was dying, he had still been contemplating what good was left to do in the world, as if he’d had every tomorrow ahead of him to start. He didn’t; he had so few.

  Dylan was left wondering why him. Something had been peeled away from her after his death, and she knew she was re-building it with something artificial. School and filming, she loved, but in a way, they had become a barrier around her, her new way of life, sloppily stitched together for survival.

  “So,” Kate said when she looked up, “Low says she plans to axe you in your sleep. Where were you?”

  Dylan rolled her eyes and took another sip of her coffee. “She’ll axe herself when she hears what I have to say.” As Dylan relayed her earlier conversation to Kate, she watched her friend’s jaw nearly unhinge.

  Kate used her phone’s web browser to look up Kai White through Google. “Released a solo album. He’s made a ton of money from songwriting and producing. Cool endorsements here and there. He lost some after the fight. He worked on a clothing line with a rapper friend of his. He likes to surf, too. Ew, he threw up on stage once during a concert. He’s gotten into tons of fights after concerts. Sounds like a winner,” Kate mused out loud as they read through sites. She pulled up Google Images next and made complimentary noises when the screen filled with photos of him: some old magazine covers, some of him performing and a few of him in a wetsuit. He was gorgeous, and exactly what Dylan was attracted to: dark wavy hair that hung wildly, almost to his shoulders, ever-present facial hair, and blue eyes.

  When Kate came to a shirtless picture, she enlarged the sheet of tan muscle that stretched down his torso, scrolling to check out the muscular indentation at his hips that Winslow often referred to as “the panty droppers.” And if the celebrity gossip websites were true—and sometimes they were—plenty of panties had been dropped. In an instant, Dylan’s whole body felt like she was sitting in a sauna.

  But Kate made a disgusted face when she lowered her phone. “Cute or not, he seems like a disaster, and not the kind where you’re both tolerable train wrecks, and in the midst of the fucked-up-ness, it just sort of works out due to some sort of cosmic fuckery.”

  Dylan held her gaze on her friend in silence before she laughed. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. Like you and Ryan?”

  “Exactly,” Kate said with pointed emphasis and a nod. “You totally get it. Kai just seems crazy crazy.”

  Dylan laughed. “The fighting makes things a little iffy, but I’m definitely going to the interview. I might as well.” Her tone probably came off as deceivingly nonchalant, but her hopefulness was mounting. This was the chance of a lifetime. Even though she was interested in full-length documentaries, she would be directing her own web series with a famous subject, as a college student. She wanted this, much like she had wanted to be in Professor Jordan’s class two years ago. Another thing driving her was the aspect of losing her brother that had hurt her as much as his actual death. They had been unable to complete the bucket list they had created together for him. They were five short, including the one about seeing his sister’s major directorial debut.

  Dylan typed out a short email to Nina Sanchez and listed preferred dates and times for her interview. Her phone soon emitted a short buzz, and
it turned out to be a response. That was quick. The interview was scheduled for Friday at 10 am.

  “I saw Low’s schedule of winter break fun. She is not going to be happy with you.” Kate tucked her belongings into her bag when the quad’s tower clock gonged, and embraced Dylan before dashing toward one of her insanely difficult classes. Dylan and Winslow had planned to hang out for a few days during Christmas break when they were both back on the East Coast. While Kate was trying to ease Dylan out of this newly developed shell, Winslow was going at it with a pick and a sledgehammer. And maybe she needed both methods.

  “I know,” Dylan shouted after her as she stood up too, but she could handle Winslow not being happy with her; it was Kai’s people she was worried about.

  The Interview – Chapter 2

  Dylan pushed the bathroom door open and let some of the steam waft out before she stepped in. It had to be over a hundred degrees in there, but Winslow’s showers were usually scalding. Dylan brushed her hand across the foggy mirror. She drew on a light, almost nude shade of lip stain that a saleswoman had cajoled her into buying after she swore that it complemented Dylan’s olive complexion. She pulled her thick, dark hair into a ponytail and fashioned it into a high bun. She laughed at her reflection, thinking she looked like a porny librarian with the addition of the suit. “What exactly would you like to…check out, sir?” Dylan purred at herself, shimmying.

  “What the hell are you talking about out there?” Winslow called from the shower. Dylan trilled out high-pitched, nervous giggles. It was interview day and every time the clocked picked off an hour, she got more anxious.

  The amount of experience necessary to shadow someone like Kai for the project was probably beyond what she had attained so far. CSFC was not a film school by any means, so she didn’t have access to the breadth of courses and opportunities that an actual film program would offer in a place like L.A. Probably if not for Jordan being there for as long as she had been, CSFC wouldn’t have even had the present courses in film in the catalog. Dylan had spent the past two summers in film workshops at other schools to fill in some of the creativity gaps on her transcript and résumé. At the start of her sophomore year last year, Dylan had even considered applying to the celebrated film programs at USC and NYU’s Tisch School, but her parents’ finances would not have survived as they were still paying off Mac’s medical bills that had exceeded the life insurance payment, in addition to her tuition and her sister Taylor’s private school tuition.

  How many other students from small schools were on the interview list? How many students? What if she totally blew this chance? What if she stumbled over a question? She had woken up panicked and sweaty, remembering the beauty queen who had rambled inarticulately during the question and answer portion in a pageant. Dylan had laughed at that video on YouTube for days, and she hoped that she wouldn’t leave that kind of lasting impression.

  Winslow stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel with another one heaped on her head like a woven basket.

  “Well?” Dylan asked as she rotated. Her blood was pumping so quickly that her knees wobbled. Her nerves were frayed; it wasn’t just the high ass heels she was wearing.

  Winslow secured the end of her towel by tucking it deeper around the edge before she circled Dylan. Her brow was furrowed because she took the question seriously, inspecting her friend with meticulous attention to details: the bun, the heather gray knee-length skirt and matching blazer, and the white button down with thin, light pink and gray stripes. When she finally looked up, Winslow’s brown eyes widened and her forehead smoothed out. “Well, if I had to rate it on a scale from ‘one’ to ‘I hate you for deserting me over break,’ I’d say, you look amazing. You’ll be great too! You’re definitely going to get the job, Dee.” She smiled and went in for a hug, but Dylan stepped back.

  “Air hug. You’re wet,” she said, spreading her arms. Winslow did the same and they planted kisses from afar.

  If she had to choose which of the girls she was closest to—and it would only be by the length of a straight pin—it was probably Winslow, even though the three of them had become friends at the same time when they got stuck in the Terrible Triple in Jones Hall freshman year. The legendary Terrible Triple was a double that been turned into a triple without any additional room space actually being created. One of the beds had simply been “bunked.” That kind of living situation could only breed one of two extremes: sworn enemies or lifelong friends. They were the latter and amongst the lucky few freshmen roommates who had stayed friends after living together, but they were determined not to jinx it, so they maintained their friendship and went on to new living arrangements. Winslow moved off campus and Kate moved to the unofficial “science dorm.” Dylan was fortunate again in her next roommate situation and ended up staying in Jones the following year. Now, she was in a dorm nicknamed “City Apartments” with the same girl from the year before. They weren’t close friends, but she and Grace got along well. Other than late at night, Grace was rarely there, so their room was essentially a single for Dylan most of the time.

  Dylan attributed the closeness between her and Winslow to the fact that although they had never met prior to orientation, they had grown up only ten miles from each other in metropolitan Northern Virginia, right outside Washington, D.C., and had attended rival high schools. They had bonded over that almost instantly, but as she had gotten to know her, Dylan had developed steadfast admiration for her best friend’s strength. Unlike, Kate and Dylan, Winslow was completely on her own financially, and she had been since her parents cut her out of their lives when Winslow got married during the summer between their freshman and sophomore years. She married her high school sweetheart, Steve, right before he shipped out to Afghanistan.

  They eventually drifted into Winslow’s bedroom where she unceremoniously and without warning shed her towel as Dylan sprawled across the bed, careful not to wrinkle her suit.

  “Jesus, Low!” Dylan exclaimed.

  “I have on underwear, prude! I grabbed it from the basket and put it on just for you before we came in!” Winslow yelled as she padded across the room to her closet. In a flash, she was dressed in her usual: boyfriend fit jeans and a loose t-shirt. She hardly ever wore anything to show off her fit and shapely figure. She always said, “I’m married, so my goods are out of stock.” She tousled her blond pixie cut to perfection in the mirror and put her contact lenses in.

  “How’d interview prep go with Katie?”

  “You mean schoolmarm? I kept waiting for her to cane me over her knee when I stuttered. She was tough but it was good.” Dylan checked her watch and a rip of terror pulled across her belly. She flopped onto her back and hoped for the feeling to go away.

  “Want to run through it with me?” Winslow made a thoughtful face with her hand on her hip.

  “Sure. Your questions can’t be any worse than hers,” Dylan said, shrugging.

  “And suddenly I wonder if you know me at all.” Winslow rolled her eyes, and she pushed her feet into her sneakers. “Okay, here goes. Being so young, do you think you’ll be able to handle this project…and Mr. White?” Winslow made no effort to restrain her devilish grin, indicating that the question was sexual in nature. “Are you sure that if you take this position you won’t let Mr. White put you in any positions on his bed?”

  Dylan catapulted herself straight up, speechless. She blushed over pink completely before she launched a pillow at Winslow. It hit her square in the face. Winslow retaliated by wielding it like a nunchuck and smacked Dylan with it a few times.

  “I’m going there to work!” Dylan stressed, and she was so flustered, she managed to dodge none of the blows. Attractive or not, Kai White was a job. She had worked with attractive classmates before and managed to navigate those late night projects in her dorm room without anything happening.

  “So, all work…and no play?” Winslow held a skeptical smirk as she plopped down next to Dylan.

  Dylan shook her head. “None. Have you seen m
e play lately?”

  “I forgot you’ve closed up shop.” Winslow popped the “P” sound off her lips. “Actually, now that I think about it…not since that night at the SAE 80’s party last school year. What’s that kid’s name? The one who was wearing the acid wash jeans and gold chains? Thomas? He’s in Chem with me and he literally chases me after class to ask about you. In fact, yesterday he wanted to know if you’d be at their Jungleball.”

  “I hope you told him I’m not going.” Dylan chuckled and gave her friend a playful push. “And we kissed for all of ten minutes when that one Maroon 5 song I like was playing, when they gave us a break from the 80’s music.”

  “Oh, right, blame Adam Levine…” She narrowed her eyes on Dylan. “Anyway, we were talking about Kai White.”

  “What about him?” Dylan asked, trying not to smile as she stood in preparation to go meet with Nina Sanchez. Yeah, so maybe she thought Kai was really cute.

  “Um, you’re going to be in intimate quarters with one of the most beautiful guys—I saw an Internet poll—for weeks, following him around, sleeping right next to him on a tour bus. Those types of odds would challenge even the most pious amongst us.” Winslow cocked a crooked smile at her.

  “Well, in that case, I’ll be sure to hang the ‘open for business’ sign,” Dylan said sarcastically before she blew a kiss at Winslow and jetted out of the apartment.

  Dylan’s gaze flew to the door of Il Bistro every time it creaked open, and the sound was shredding her already worn out nerves. Each time, it had only been a San Francisco professional getting breakfast and coffee. She regretted selecting a table so close to the entrance, but she wanted to make sure Nina Sanchez didn’t miss her. It was 10:30 now though, and Nina still hadn’t shown up. Dylan had double-checked the date, time and location four times since arriving at 9:45.

  She stabbed the last piece of omelet on her plate, knowing that her stomach was reaching a critical level, but she couldn’t sit still; she was just trying to keep busy. Dylan reminded herself that her strong body of work had gotten her here, and she could probably pull off a great interview, but she was ready to just get it over with. She managed to make eye contact with the waitress who was attending to her while she was entering a charge into a cash register. Her comforting smile loosened up some of Dylan’s anxiety. Dylan motioned that she was going to the bathroom—not running out on the check—where she refreshed her makeup and preened. That shot of confidence she had gotten from her prep with Kate had mostly evaporated.