How had Sana not told her mom that they had broken up.
Rachel blinked a few times, trying to get her vision to clear back up. And if a couple of trails of moisture fell down her cheeks while she did so, that wasn’t unusual. She often got dry eyes when she was working in the editing bay, and she’d been staring at her screen for hours at this point. She really needed a break. Away from her screen. She checked the time. It was two thirty now. Filming was at a lot in the valley. It would take at least an hour to get there, plus time for parking. If she left right now, she’d be able to make it on time. She’d be able to see a real female director in action with a real budget on a real set.
Rachel had had pride, it was true, but her pride always took a back seat to her ambitions. That she was about to hang out on set with Sana’s mom on false pretenses, well, that was something Rachel was going to have to swallow down for the sake of her ambitions.
It was worse than swallowing her pride.
Rachel drove until she was close enough to be able to follow the bright yellow filming signs for the movie. It was easy enough to reach where the security stood. Farrah was waiting for Rachel there.
It should have been easy, to lie to Farrah, or at least slide through by omission, and keep her in the dark for an afternoon for the chance to watch Ida Begum at work.
But once Rachel got a look at Farrah full in the face, she blurted, “I dumped your daughter.”
It was the eyes. She had Sana’s eyes. Like she’d be exposed one way or another so she better get it out of the way right now.
Farrah didn’t smile, but the side of her mouth twitched upward. “I know.”
“You know?” Rachel was aghast. Had she been invited to set for some sort of public humiliation?
Would she ever in her life not have that be her first thought?
“Then why am I here?”
“Because I thought you’d like to see a woman directing a big-budget production.” Farrah walked across the threshold, waving Rachel through, and the security guard let them pass without incident.
“But.”
“But what? Don’t you want to see a real movie being made?”
“More than anything.” Again with the confession. Again with the raw, naked exposed feeling. What was with the women of this family?
“So why are you sabotaging yourself?” Keen, observant eyes looked at Rachel for a moment, then darted back to a clipboard. Farrah said something into her mic, then clicked off comms.
“I’m not sabotaging myself.”
“Yes, you are. You want me to kick you off of set before you even get on for breaking my daughter’s heart. Sure. I could kick your ass for what she’s like right now. She’s a train wreck who hasn’t showered in two days. But sometimes people come into your life and they kick you in the ass and make you take steps to become the best version of yourself. I thought I’d see you for myself.”
“You curse” was all Rachel could say in response.
Farrah laughed. “Yeah, me and my kid. We’re nothing alike. We’re everything alike. Mothers and daughters.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Rachel, looking down.
Farrah studied her for a moment. Like she was contemplating something. Like she needed to see something in Rachel’s face before she came to a decision. “Look.”
Rachel looked up, because Farrah would maintain her silence until Rachel did. They stood there, toe to toe and eye to eye in the middle of a set that was bustling all around them.
“You will get shit you don’t deserve. Sometimes because you’re dating the right person. Other times, because people have suddenly decided you matter. A lot of women were stomped on, and as that starts to shift, you’ll get opportunities—ones that didn’t exist before—because you are a woman. There are so few women who make it to the top that when someone offers you a chance, a chance with little to no strings attached, you take it. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Rachel.
Farrah looked sad. Those keen eyes. No wonder Sana looked like she could see your secrets. Farrah had the same assessing look. Like they had had to learn to read people in order to survive. Like they’d had to learn to look into the devil’s own soul just to survive.
Farrah nodded. “But come on. Bask in an opportunity you’re getting right now. Come and meet Ida.”
Rachel felt her eyes basically fall out of her head. Bug out. “Are you kidding?”
“I never kid, kid.” And Farrah walked off, with Rachel trailing behind her, hopeful, cautious, and skeptical all at once.
27
Wipe That Face Off Your Head
Rachel
Rachel couldn’t believe it, couldn’t fathom it. Ida Begum had said hello, asked her sincere questions about what Rachel wanted to do in film. Sure, they had been interrupted a few times. She’d had to make some actual directorial decisions while they were talking. But when her attention had been on Rachel, it had been the full force of it.
Rachel was in awe of that single-minded focus; she knew she wanted to emulate it on her own set, in her own life. Focus on what was important; focus on what was in front of her. Not get distracted by the noise. Ida didn’t. If it was important, she turned her attention to it. If not, she let the set handle itself. Ida was in charge, in control, but not controlling.
It was so different than Rachel had been. It was so different than Douga was being.
Rachel had been inspired; she went straight to the Royce campus. Inspired to fix what she had broken. With her film, with Sana. With everything. She was going to go into the lab and she was going to figure this all out. She was going to sit in the editing bay until she had an answer. She wasn’t going to move, even if she had to be there all night. As long as she gave her dad a call and let him know, she’d be fine. She’d get this film project done and she’d figure out how to do it on her own terms.
On the terms she’d promised Sana.
That’s when she collided into a force moving directly into her.
Diesel’s arms were outstretched. “Dude, are you okay?”
Rachel shook off her disorientation. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I mean I was standing there the whole time,” Diesel said. “Are you okay?”
“Not really, no.” Rachel stared.
The whole hallway was behind her and she was worried they were starting to draw a crowd. Nobody could figure out why the water polo god and the film nerd were just hanging out and chatting in the middle of the lockers.
“What’s going on? Is it something with you and Sana?”
“Why do you ask that?” Rachel was posturing, and they both knew it.
“There’s no way Sana’s sick. She never gets sick. She gets injured hanging around you, but never sick,” Diesel said.
“So automatically it’s my fault?” It was Rachel’s fault, but she didn’t need to confess that to Diesel of all people.
“Dude.” Diesel reached an arm out.
That’s when Rachel started pushing. “You have always had it out for me. Always think I’m not good enough. Always think I’m the bad person. Always think the poor scholarship girl is the one who’s gonna crush your friend’s heart.”
Diesel took hold of Rachel’s hand. “That’s not it at all. Deep breaths. Take a deep breath.”
Rachel screamed this one. “Go the hell away.”
Diesel went very, very still. So, too, did Rachel.
Diesel was big and tall and strapping and he looked horrified that he’d gotten that reaction—his eyes were wide and his whole face looked taut and slightly pulled back. There was a thread of tension, of fear in him. He clasped his hands together behind his back. He was frozen by shock to his spot, but soon he’d probably flee the sight of Rachel. Run fast and far and away from her just like everyone eventually would.
Rachel began to laugh. She was in the process of scaring away a giant of a boy. She knew she was intimidating. Her role on set had confirmed that for her again and again. But
those were people in the arts. This boy was so controlled and athletic and had the looks like he could break most people in two. Then Rachel’s laughter went over an edge, changed into something else altogether.
“Oh no. Don’t cry, goddammit,” said Diesel.
But Rachel couldn’t help it. She would have stopped had she any control over the expression of feeling. One minute she had been all energy, all fight. Now she was practically unable to hold herself up. “I screwed up. I screwed up so bad.”
Diesel sighed. “Big-time. You screwed up big-time.”
Rachel snuffled, collapsed to the floor. “I screwed up hard.”
Diesel let go of his two hands that had been still grasped together. Rachel expected Diesel to leave then, to get up and move along with his life. But instead, Diesel sat down, scooted closer next to Rachel, put his arm around her, and cradled Rachel’s head to her shoulder.
Rachel could only cry harder. “I cut the film so she looks like a terrible Helen of Troy. The worst. The kind you’d see in a big action movie from the nineties. She’s so much better than that. I made her look like that and I went back on our deal and then I was terrified she’d hate me forever.”
“You broke her heart before she could break yours.”
Rachel nodded. “I did.”
“You idiot.” There was kindness in Diesel’s voice. Real, honest-to-God kindness. “That sounds like something I would do.”
“It does?” Rachel sniffed.
Diesel nodded. “It does.”
“Does it always have to be this way? Do feelings always clash with ambition?” Rachel took a breath, trying to steady herself.
“God, I hope not. I don’t know, but I hope we can have both. Maybe not everything, but at least both.” Diesel exhaled. He looked at Rachel. “I hope we can all figure out how to live a good story.”
“I have literally never thought that,” said Rachel. “And I want to make movies for a living when I grow up.”
Diesel laughed at that. “Are you hungry?”
“What?” Rachel startled, looked up.
“Are you hungry? Because I’m starving.” Diesel raised his eyebrow into a question.
Rachel really hoped that this wasn’t some kind of elaborate joke. “I could eat.”
“Then come on, asshole. We’re getting Thai food.”
Sana
Sana had finally managed to put on some pants.
She hadn’t listened to Massoud’s pep talk, not really. But for some reason she’d felt like taking off the polar bear pajamas after he’d left. He had tried to coax her into dinner. She had wanted to be alone. But after he left, she’d kind of wished she was around people. So maybe she’d ought to take off the polar bear jammies and put on some real clothes. That had been her line of reasoning, anyway.
Leggings. She hadn’t been emotionally ready enough for jeans. But leggings, which weren’t really pants, but were soft and cozy and the kinds of non-pant pants you could go out in, those would do for now. After she’d put those on, she figured she might as well put on a T-shirt that didn’t smell either. She wasn’t quite ready for a shower, but a fresh T-shirt and a fresh swipe of deodorant did wonders for a girl’s mind.
And her appetite.
Sana was starving. She walked outside and the sun was going down. One of those majestic but everyday kind of LA sunsets. Pinks streaking across a bright orange sky. It was, truly, the magic hour.
Sana got out her phone. She figured that taking a ride to grab some food constituted an emergency. That’s what Mom had always said. Don’t take one of those rides unless it’s an emergency. Sana wasn’t sure of the last time she’d eaten. Seemed like an emergency. Even the app button was the same pink color of the sunset. It felt right. She’d get some Thai food at her favorite place. She’d ride through the streets of LA during sunset. The breeze would be pleasant and she’d get some sunlight without it being too harsh, too bright for her mood.
Your driver, Daniel, will be here shortly.
Sana didn’t need the friendly text reminder. She was already standing, waiting outside. Soaking in the fading light and breathing in the fresh air.
Her driver pulled up in a silver sedan that wasn’t quite new, but it was immaculately clean. She hopped in the back seat.
“Hi there, Sana?”
“Yup,” said Sana. “Daniel?”
“You bet,” he responded. “Headed to Echo Park?”
“Yup,” she said as the car started back in motion again.
“How are you tonight?”
There was something about being in a car with a total stranger that gave Sana the impulse to tell the truth. “Terrible.”
“Terrible?” he said. “What’s so terrible?”
I just got dumped by the first girl I ever loved seemed like a good answer. But it was more than that. “I don’t know what I want.”
Daniel laughed. “I hate to break this to you, but nobody knows what they want.”
Sana laughed right back. The sound was strange on her throat and foreign to her own ears. A creaky sort of laugh. “So I keep faking it forever until I die?”
“No,” he said, his voice serious. “Don’t fake it. Just don’t make everything mean, well, everything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I got dumped a while ago,” said Daniel. “My wife left me and I had a kid to raise all on my own.”
“I’m sorry.” Sana didn’t know what else to say.
“Thanks, but that’s not my point. My point is, I cracked. I drank because I was terrified of what it meant. What it meant to be alone. To be the kind of husband you leave. To be the kind of person left behind. To have to be a single parent, a single dad. I was terrified of all of it. And I ran as far away as I could while staying in the same place. I didn’t have much family, but I pushed away my kid. I pushed away my community. I shut it all out.”
Sana took a sharp inhale. “How did you stop?”
“Lotta reasons. They say the opposite of addiction is connection. I read it in an article somewhere. Signed up to drive right then. Decided I couldn’t drive while I drank and somehow I stuck to that. Not everyone can, you know. I still don’t know how I did. And then I talked to people, felt less alone, felt more useful. But I also stopped trying to make everything mean something. Life happens. Symbolism is for poets and artists. For people like my kid—she’s gonna be a filmmaker. The rest of us, we can just live, you know? We can just do what needs to be done.”
“Yeah,” said Sana, her mind in a frenzy. “Sounds nice.”
That made Daniel laugh. “It’s definitely nicer than the alternative.”
They sat in companionable silence the rest of the way to the Thai restaurant.
Sana wish Daniel a good night as she slid out of the back seat and he drove off into the sunset.
A bell rang as Sana walked into the restaurant. The outside was the kind of bright and shining turquoise blue. The walls were white with brown beams interspersed, and brown paneled entryways and doorways. There were old movie posters for Return of the Jedi and Raiders of the Lost Ark on the walls, but in Thai. The tables were dark wood and the floor was a nice slate tile. The chairs didn’t all match but they were made all the same shade. It was the kind of Thai restaurant where ordering a dish with medium spice level still meant Sana needed a tall drink of water and Thai iced tea in order to really enjoy it. Sana recognized the hostess. She was the one who worked most weeknights.
“Your friend just left.”
“My friend?” asked Sana, a little bewildered.
“He came in without you. The tall one who looks like Thor from the movies. I was surprised you weren’t with him. He came with another girl. Big curly hair. Dodgers hat. They ate your usual: chicken satay, coconut mango salad, tom kha kai soup, lad na, green curry. Same order, same boy, but without you.” The hostess’s gaze grew watchful. “But now, here you are.”
“I was sick,” said Sana rather lamely.
The hostess gave her a
skeptical look. “Just one?”
“Just one,” said Sana.
She sat down, didn’t look at the menu. She ordered the usual, even though it was way too much food for one person. Her mom would eat the leftovers. Sana worked her way across the dishes, thinking about what the hell Diesel was doing here having dinner with Rachel Recht.
Sana got out her phone, began a mindless scroll through it. She didn’t want to touch her feed right now. Was afraid of what she’d search, what she’d go looking for. Anything attached to Rachel. Anything attached to filming.
Email seemed safe. Seemed like a place she couldn’t get into too much trouble.
But Sana forgot she’d been emailing with Rachel, too. She found herself scrolling through message threads. Seeing if there were any signs, any hints, of the changes in the film to come. Any hesitations on Rachel’s part that Sana hadn’t picked up on.
There was nothing there.
No signs to read. No extra attention Sana could have paid. No more perfect way to have dealt with working with Rachel and falling in love with her and trusting her. Sana couldn’t quite tell if she wished there had been or if she wished there hadn’t. If she’d wanted to know that the signs had all been there and she’d missed them.
It didn’t matter, really, when the result was that she was sitting here eating Thai food alone while her ex-whatever went out with one of her best friends and neither one of them bothered to tell her.
She put her email away. It wasn’t doing her any good, looking for a paper trail of evidence against Rachel. Or a paper trail of evidence against Sana’s own judgment. It was just breaking her heart even more that Rachel had followed through on so much of what Sana had believed in, but had changed the direction of the film in the eleventh hour.
But Sana caught sight of one of her unread emails. It was from the fellowship foundation. She decided to click it, because she was a masochist and she just wanted to get all of her emotional torture over with in one moment, so she could go back to her delicious curry noodles.
Tell Me How You Really Feel Page 25