My heart was pounding in my chest and I really couldn’t decide if I needed to go to the bathroom or not. It didn’t matter—there wasn’t time anyway. If I had to go, I would have to hold it for the next twenty minutes—through Emily’s pitch and my own.
When Emily finally emerged, I barely had a chance to catch her eye before Yvett was calling my name. I managed a furtive wave before I gathered up my drawings and followed Yvett into the conference room.
* * *
I was glad Sloane had suggested practicing in the space, because when I walked in, I knew exactly where I needed to go.
“This is Hayley Saffitz,” Yvett said. “Hayley, if you have drawings, you can place them on that stand, or hold them. Whatever you’d like.”
Sloane had prepared me for that as well.
“Thank you,” I said, quickly unzipping the portfolio and placing my foam-board pictures on the easel in the middle of the room. The first board was blank—Sloane and I had decided not to give anything away until I was ready to speak.
There were six people sitting behind a desk, facing me. I recognized Josh, but everyone else was a stranger. All of them were men, wearing either suits or T-shirts, though it was hard to see too much of them. Most of the lights were focused around the easel, where I was expected to stand.
“You have five minutes, Hayley,” Yvett said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I removed the first board, revealing the title.
“My pitch is called Golem Goes West,” I said.
I heard people shifting in their seats, and when I glanced up, I saw that at least two people had leaned forward. That gave me a surge of confidence, and I continued—the entire thing flowing from me, perfectly and without any missteps. When I was done, I felt as if I had run a marathon, my heart pounding, my skin hot.
“Thank you, Hayley,” Yvett said. “Any questions from the board?”
“Could we see the picture of the golem again?” one of the members of the brain trust asked.
I put the corresponding foam board back on the easel, making sure to keep all of my images in order. Even though I knew this pitch had gone well, I still had to do it again and even better, if possible.
“Your story takes place during the Gold Rush, is that correct?” another one asked.
“The 1850s, to be exact,” I said.
I saw some nodding heads. “And golems existed then?”
“Well, golems are fictional creatures,” I said. “But the most famous golem story occurred in the sixteenth century, so we’ve been aware of them for a while.”
There was a slight chuckle from the brain trust. I was so thankful that Sloane had prepared me for questions like these.
You need to know everything about your material, she’d said. Be the authority.
“Thank you, Hayley,” Josh said. “Very impressive work.”
I beamed. “Thank you,” I said.
I gathered up my things, trying to balance the poster board and the empty portfolio. That was one thing I hadn’t practiced and I felt awkward trying to hold both at the same time. I scooped the drawings up under my arm and held the leather case in my hand.
“Good luck,” Josh said.
I nodded and followed Yvett to the door on other side of the room.
She opened it and led me in. “Bryan?”
He was sitting there, in a room almost identical to the one I’d just been in, behind a similar desk. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like this space was a little darker, because it was even harder to see him than it had been to see the brain trust.
“This is Hayley Saffitz,” Yvett said.
I put my pictures on the easel, feeling a bit of déjà vu. I mentally gave myself a slap; I had to be just as good—if not better—than I’d been a few minutes ago.
Bryan didn’t say anything.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Yvett said. I wondered if she was going to be tired of saying that by the end of the day.
“My pitch is called Golem Goes West,” I said.
This time, however, there was no shifting, no leaning forward as I revealed my first drawing. In my mind, I stumbled a bit, but thankfully my mouth didn’t.
“This is a story about a girl,” I said. “And a golem. Miriam has traveled to America with her family during the Gold Rush, but instead of opportunity, they’ve been met with hardship and tragedy.”
I spoke, telling Bryan the story of a girl who had lost her parents and gained a golem—a friend she doesn’t want and believes she doesn’t need. Together, the two of them travel across the country, looking for her brother.
“And when Miriam reaches out her hand to the golem, she discovers that he has returned to his original form—his journey over, just as hers is beginning.” I revealed the final image—of Miriam sitting in the wagon that carried her and the golem to her brother’s home—her hand full of dust.
There was silence. I cast a look at Yvett, who then glanced over at Bryan.
“Thank you, Hazel,” he said.
A dismissal. I gathered up my things and followed Yvett out.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “Really good job.”
I hadn’t heard her say that to anyone else.
“Thanks,” I said, but she’d already closed the door.
I stood there for a moment. I’d been prepared for Bryan to say nothing, so I knew I shouldn’t be disappointed. The handshake fantasy had been just that, a fantasy. My pitch had been good. I hadn’t stumbled over any words, and none of the poster boards had gotten stuck together. I’d done my story justice. That was all I could hope for.
It wasn’t until I was halfway down the hall that I realized that Bryan hadn’t gotten my name right.
CHAPTER EIGHT
To mark the end of our first week in the program, BB Gun Films held a little banquet for us in the cafeteria on Sunday night. It was a chance to mingle with employees who weren’t part of the internship and would be where Bryan would announce the projects that had been chosen.
I kept telling myself it didn’t matter that Bryan hadn’t remembered my name. There were forty-one of us, after all. As long as he remembered my pitch, that was all that mattered.
“Bet you wish you packed a dress,” Mom said. “You know, there’s still time—I could bring one over if you’d like.”
I wasn’t going to admit it to her—because she would drive to campus—but I did sort of wish that I had packed something other than my uniform for an occasion like this. Sally and all the other girls had been in the bathroom for the last hour getting ready, and each of them had come by the room at least once to get my opinion on which of their multiple dress options they should wear tonight. Every time the door swung open, I got an earful of the Disney music they were blasting down the hall.
I felt separate from them. Distant. Different.
“It’s okay.” I shifted my phone to my other ear. “I have my bow tie. And nice shoes.”
“Your oxfords?” Mom asked. “I do like those shoes.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“We missed you at Shabbat dinner,” she said.
It was a tradition—having family dinner every Friday night. We weren’t religious—we didn’t even go to temple anymore—but I think Mom liked the ritual of lighting candles and saying prayers.
“I guess I should start getting used to it,” she said. “After all, it won’t be long until you’re off at college.”
The college talk again. Acting like it was a foregone conclusion. Bryan went to college because his parents had wanted him to as well.
“But it wasn’t long before I realized that my time—and talents—were wasted in a classroom. It was stifling me,” he’d said in his CalTED Talk. “I got my first job as a story artist less than a month after dropping out.”
I’d been a little surprised the college hadn’t edited that out.
“Uh-huh” was all I said to Mom.
“How is the internship going?” she asked. “You seem like you’re bus
y.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Are you learning a lot? Making friends?”
“Uh-huh.”
“ ‘Nooooooo… oooooooooone… fights like Gaston!’ ”
Caitlin had just appeared in the doorway, holding up two dresses—one black and one gray. I pointed to the black one. She held out the gray one—Do you want it?
I shook my head and mouthed But thanks. She was the only one as tall as I was, but we weren’t remotely the same size. I didn’t have the curves to pull it off. The door closed behind her, cutting off the music.
“Do you want to talk to Zach?” Mom asked, calling out to my brother before I could respond. “Zach! Your sister’s on the phone!”
There was a muffled shuffle and then he came on the line.
“You didn’t have your DVDs organized in any particular way, did you?” he asked.
He was joking. I was pretty sure.
“Stay out of my room,” I said.
“Sharing is caring,” he said.
“Dad will be disappointed he missed you,” Mom said when she got back on the phone. “Maybe you could call back in an hour or so.”
“That’s when the banquet is,” I said, even though I’d told both my parents—numerous times—that they’d be announcing who would be directing the shorts tonight.
“Of course,” she said. “You’ll tell us how it goes?”
“Yep.”
Hanging up, I sat on my bed and laced up the oxfords I’d found at a secondhand store last year. They definitely made my uniform look a little fancier than usual. I checked my tie—the knot had taken me twenty minutes—but it looked good too. I’d decided to forgo my usual bun, so my hair was down. I pushed it back over my shoulder and then brought it forward, unable to decide which looked better. No matter what I did, my brown mass of waves just seemed to sit there.
I’d felt a little unmoored ever since Friday. Before, when I was focused on the project, there hadn’t been enough hours in the day. Now, the hour until dinner at the studio seemed to stretch out forever. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I thought about texting Samantha and Julie, but none of us had been great about keeping in touch these past few days. My phone buzzed.
Zach had sent me an Oompa Loompa GIF. I texted him back: Thanks, Dr. Saffitz, MD. I knew he’d hate it.
“It’s redundant,” he always told me. “Say ‘DR’ or ‘MD,’ not both.”
Sally swanned into the room wearing a pale blue dress and black heels. She fell dramatically onto the bed. “How do I look?” she asked, hand against her forehead, eyes closed. “Do I look fabulous? I feel fabulous. Extremely fabulous.”
“You look extremely fabulous,” I said. “What about me?”
I felt underdressed compared to her, but when her eyes popped open, she grinned.
“You look great!” she said. “Very Hepburn-esque. Like, I could totally see you bantering with Cary Grant, all like—” She sat up, shuffling her shoulders a little like she was having a conversation with someone. “You don’t say. You don’t say!”
I laughed. “Thanks.” I looked at my feet. “Sally, do you think… do you think you could help me with some eyeliner?”
She let out a squeal. “I would love to!” She grabbed her makeup bag and directed me to sit down on the bed next to her. “Can we do something more than just a regular wing tip? Something fancy and different? Please?” she asked, holding up a sparkly gold liner. “It will look so gorgeous and dramatic on you. Maybe a red lip, too?”
It reminded me a little of Sloane’s style—her gold glasses and bold lipstick. That was exactly the kind of energy I wanted to harness going into tonight.
I closed my eyes. “Do your best,” I said.
* * *
The studio looked different at night. There were all these twinkly lights in the trees that I never would have known were there, and they all conspired with the dense foliage to give the illusion of a fairy ring. I knew that Bryan would never call it something so fanciful, but it was still beautiful.
Looking around, I felt a little less out of place than I had getting ready with the girls. Most of the guys were wearing the same thing they always did—a few of them had thrown on jackets, but there were one or two wearing hoodies and flip-flops. The same went for the male employees. It seemed like most of the women at the studio dressed nicely—like Sloane, they wore colorful dresses and did impressive things with their hair—while most of the guys wore cargo pants and sneakers. There were a few who followed Bryan’s uniform, but they never looked quite as good as their boss.
The studio cafeteria was different tonight. All of the buffet bars had been rolled off to the side and in their place were round tables covered in tablecloths and decorated with fancy flower arrangements. There were nice plates and very shiny silverware. We were all given yellow bracelets when we entered, which would keep the waiters from serving us alcohol, something some of the guys were already complaining about.
I didn’t care. This was already the fanciest party I’d been to in my life and I didn’t need a drink to enjoy it. In fact, I’d rather be clearheaded when they announced my name. I wondered if Ron was in the kitchen, helping with the food.
“Hey, Hayley.” Nick appeared out of nowhere. “You look… different,” he said.
I couldn’t tell if it was a compliment from the way he was squinting at my face. Suddenly I felt self-conscious about the lipstick Sally had applied. I wore makeup sometimes but usually more subtle stuff. Sally had definitely gone for dramatic. I’d liked it when I saw it in the mirror back at the dorms, but now I wasn’t sure. Was it too red? Too bright? Did it make my mouth look like a clown mouth?
Nick was wearing his usual white polo shirt and black pants, but he’d added a tie as well. I was close enough to see the metal clip that attached it to his shirt.
“How’d your pitch go?” he asked.
“Good,” I said. “Yours?”
“Fantastic,” he said.
He was still staring at my mouth. I ran my tongue over my teeth, wondering if I had gotten lipstick on them.
“You look like Sally,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “She did my makeup.”
He nodded as if that explained something. We just stood there for a moment, him bobbing his head, me waiting for him to walk away so I could check my teeth.
“Well,” he said, and swayed forward. “Good luck tonight.”
“You too,” I said.
He walked off, and I reached for my phone so I could use the camera to look at my makeup before remembering that I’d left it at the dorms. I’d just have to go to the bathroom or find one of the girls, who could tell me what was wrong with my face.
“Hey, Saffitz,” Bear said.
I jumped, putting my hand up to my mouth. If I had red lipstick smeared all over me, I really didn’t want Bear to see it. He glanced at my hand and gave me a weird look. I had expected to see him in his usual well-worn jeans and gray T-shirt, but to my surprise he was wearing a nice button-down shirt and dark jeans.
“Cool tie,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Good luck,” he said, and walked away.
“Is there something on my face?” I found Sally in the crowd.
She peered at me. “No, why?”
“Anything on my teeth?” I bared them for her.
“Nope,” she said. “You should let me do your makeup more often. You have such big eyes—makes it easy to do fun stuff with eye shadow. It looks really good.”
I relaxed, and the two of us wove through the crowd until we found a mostly empty table. Across the room, I saw Bear sit down at a table with his dad and Josh.
“Did you hear anything about his pitch?” Sally asked, her eyes following mine. “I overheard Nick and Karl talking about how they both nailed it, but they didn’t say anything about the pitch itself. Did they tell you how it went?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
Sloane had
sent me a text before I left the dorms, apologizing profusely but saying a family emergency had come up and she wouldn’t be able to make it. We’ll celebrate tomorrow, she’d texted, complete with lots of horn and confetti emojis.
Sally’s mentor—Maurene—joined us, and it wasn’t long before the rest of the girls found our table. I was a little disappointed that Sloane wasn’t there, but everyone else’s mentors made a point to include me in their conversation.
“How did you feel about your pitch?” Maurene asked. She was wearing a beautiful linen sheath dress, her dark hair brushing the top of her shoulders. “I heard it was very unique.”
“I waited until after the pitches started before I told her,” Sally said. “I had to tell someone. I’d never heard of anything like your story before—I wanted to know if Maurene had, but she hadn’t. You’re not mad, are you?”
I shook my head. I knew it would be silly to be mad at her, especially since she had been saying nice things. And she was right—the pitches were over—whatever was done, was done.
“Thanks,” I said to Maurene. “I think it went well.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Rachel said. “I was so nervous, my hands were shaking.”
“I dropped my cue cards,” Emily said. “Totally bungled it.”
“During the pitch to the brain trust or to Bryan?” Jeannette asked.
“Bryan!” Emily wailed.
Everyone at the table sucked in a sympathetic breath. I was glad I’d chosen to memorize mine instead of relying on cue cards.
“It’s okay,” Emily said. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
Except it wasn’t over. It wouldn’t be over until they announced the four directors.
It was then that I realized that everyone at our table was a woman. Looking around the room, I saw a few more women—like Yvett—but they all seemed to be sitting at the PA table in the corner. The exceptions were the two seated with Bryan—Gena and a white, brown-haired woman I didn’t recognize.
It made sense, I supposed. I spent most of my free time with the other girls in the program and all of us had female mentors. And we weren’t the only ones grouped together in a certain way. The room was a sea of white, male faces except for our table, the PA table, and one other, where the few interns and mentors of color were seated. I spotted Isaac among them, even though I was pretty sure he wasn’t part of the internship. He waved and I waved back.
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