“That’s not what I—”
“I know.” I took his hand and pulled it closer, curving him tighter around me as we lay in bed. “It just feels so amateur. This is a film I made with my friend from school—and now we’re at Sundance, hinging our whole future on this one moment.”
This was not quite true. I thought the film could do well,I thought it might be an opportunity. I did not think it would make me; I just thought it might give me some leverage that I could work with.
But that felt callous to admit, that I was using this, them, the art we worked so hard to create.
“You’ve never been amateur, Nadine,” Oisín whispered, pressing his lips to the back of my neck. “When a camera lands on you it exhales, like it’s been waiting to know how. Now the whole world is going to learn what it means to breathe.”
———
When I emerged into the foyer of the hotel, I was accosted by Ruchi Sharma.
“Nadine! Nadine Heywood, right?” A tall South Asian woman strode toward me in alarmingly quick steps for the height of her heels. She had a distinctly American sensibility about her, a sort of no-nonsense, all-business approach apparent from her walk to her firm handshake as she said: “I’m your publicist. I’ve been asking Ivan for your contact details, but, well, you know what he’s like.”
It occurred to me that no, in this regard I did not know what he was like. But she continued: “The authenticity thing. I’m down. I think it’s a great hook to have you all watch the film for the first time at the screening. But not letting us strategize is stupid, and I’m overruling him. It’s all very well for him to present himself as the genius behind it, but he’s not a woman in the spotlight.”
No, he wasn’t.
“Let’s talk,” I agreed.
We grabbed coffee, Ruchi pushing platters of cakes at me insisting it was on her while I refused, wondering if it was some sort of test. I wasn’t going to eat carbs at Sundance of all places—not if I wanted a career out of this.
She just shrugged and bought herself a flapjack, and then she demanded a list of everything controversial I had ever done that might potentially be used against me. (I was too embarrassed to tell her about CADS, but somehow pocketing the coins from the leisure center lockers made the cut.) She probed about background information I was concerned about leaking and finished up by asking whether there was anything potentially damaging that I was currently doing that she should know about.
“I’ll be honest, Nadine. Your relationship with Oisín is excellent publicity. If you’re having an affair, I need to shield that from view.”
I assured her I was not.
Briefly, I wondered if she’d had the same talk with him.
But no, I knew Oisín couldn’t be—hewouldn’t, and that was the truly essential part, but he also didn’t have time—he was at work or he was with me, together always, enough that I could call this sudden doubt exactly what it was: irrational. And that was a problem.
“I think I might be susceptible to gossip and rumor,” I admitted. “It’s a weakness I need to fix. I don’t want to doubtmy friends or my boyfriend because the press asks a leading question.”
“We’ll work on it,” Ruchi said, making a note. “And how willing are you to be hated?”
I did not ask what she meant—I knew. I’d considered this for a long time, watching other actresses like I could learn the part. A woman in a spotlight was a hateable thing for many.
“I’d prefer to avoid it for as long as we can,” I said. “But someone is going to hate me for something eventually. Just let it be fueled by jealousy. Let them hate me because I’m everything they’re not.”
Ruchi smiled. “We can make that work. And what is your goal here? What are you hoping for?”
“The film’s success.”
Ruchi looked up from her flapjack to give me a hard look. “I know you’re hungry for something, Nadine. And you’re allowed to be.”
I almost denied it again. That’s what I was supposed to do—show how much I wanted all this but never give it voice. Nothing was as detestable as a girl who wanted more than she had.
Want it because you want it.
Harper’s voice, her echo. Everywhere.
“I want it all,” I admitted. “Awards, accolades, recognition. I want my name on the credits. My face on the posters. More immediately, I want to move to LA. I don’t think London isthe right place for me. It loves theater too much. And the film studios might be there, but the opportunities aren’t.”
“Better.” Ruchi smiled. “So you’ll need money, contacts, a studio to sponsor a visa.” She listed all this like they were not enormous hurdles. Maybe with her they weren’t. “I’m not an agent, but I’ll see what I can do to get you in front of the right people.”
“Thank you.”
