Everything Leads to You

by Nina LaCour

  Theo nods and I notice some suppressed amusement and realize that I’m seeming young again. Of course the different sets should be cohesive in some way. That’s probably something people learn in their first production design class, but I haven’t taken any classes and even though it’s probably something I knew on some instinctual level, I didn’t totally understand it until Morgan and I watched the dailies.

  So I stop talking about things I should already know and instead show Theo what I’ve planned so far. I’ve refined some of the vignettes and now that we’re sure we’re using Toby’s place for Juniper’s apartment, I’ve been able to figure out what should go where to make the most impact. And I stop feeling young and start feeling brilliant again because everything I show him gets him more and more excited. The shade of blue I chose for the curtains makes him clasp his hand over his heart.

  “Isn’t it amazing,” he says, “what a certain shade of blue can do? How it can make a person feel?”

  “And I also found these gorgeous botanical prints.”

  I’ve been saving this for the meeting’s finale because I am certain he will love them. But even before he looks at my laptop screen where I’ve pulled up a photograph, his tone changes.

  “Mmmm.” He squints and shakes his head.

  “What?”

  “Not botanicals.”

  I push the screen closer to him. He must just have a different idea of what botanical prints would look like.

  But he looks at the image and says, “These are lovely. Perfectly lovely. But they aren’t going to work.”

  I stare at him. I don’t understand. They are so perfect for her. They cost so much money.

  “Why not?”

  “Juniper loves plants, yes. But you’ve covered that with the actual plants in her apartment. She’s more than just a botany student. We need to see a different side of her.”

  “Okay,” I say. “So what do you have in mind?”

  He smiles and points at me.

  “That’s your job. I don’t know what should go on her walls, but I do know it isn’t botanicals. Now, I know you were planning to scout Juniper exteriors today but I was in and out of sleep all night with nightmares that we didn’t find a store. We were all gathered and ready with the costumes and equipment and then we realized we had nowhere to go.”

  “So grocery stores today,” I say, trying to recover from the shock of the botanical rejection. “I’m on it.”

  ~

  Theo is right. So clearly, painfully right.

  I drive away feeling, once again, like such an amateur. Botanicals are the obvious choice, the first impulse meant to be replaced by a better one. I have to tell a better story with Juniper’s set, but I don’t yet know what that story should be.

  Charlotte texts that she’ll join me on the grocery search after she gets out of a producer’s meeting with Rebecca, so I drive down to the Silver Lake café and wander outside, under telephone wires, past grand houses with bars on the windows, waiting for her to be finished.

  “Emi,” Rebecca says, appearing behind me on the sidewalk with Charlotte at her side. “I’m so glad I caught you. Please tell me that you don’t have five a.m. plans for Sunday yet.”

  “Um, does sleeping count as a plan?”

  “I’m getting us VIP access to the Rose Bowl flea. Can I bribe you with cappuccinos?”

  “VIP access to the Rose Bowl is enough of a bribe in itself. Should I meet you at your place?”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  On the drive to the first grocery store on the list Theo gave me, I fill Charlotte in on what Ava told me about Lisa and running away, about our trip to Leona Valley. She is less shocked than I thought she’d be.

  “Aren’t you at least a little bit impressed?” I ask. “Ava threw a flower pot through the window. We trashed the house and stole things.”

  “Tracey deserves it,” Charlotte says. She seems distracted so I ask her what she’s thinking.

  “I just feel like we’re missing something important. Maybe Ava will get some answers reading through Tracey’s stuff.”

  “Probably. She took a lot.”

  “But I wish there was someone we could talk to who knew them all.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “Was there a dad listed on the birth certificate?”

  “It said ‘Unknown.’”

  “That doesn’t give us much to work with.”

  “I know,” I say. “And we still don’t know who Lenny is.”

  It takes us five grocery stores to find one that I would consider using. We don’t want it to look like a chain or a liquor store, and because Charlie, the DP, shoots using almost all natural light, we need a relatively small space with a lot of windows. The Great Foods Market is exactly what we’re looking for. Rows of bright produce take up most of the store, with just a few racks of dry goods. It’s light and airy, but small enough to read immediately as independently owned.

  Charlotte and I approach the cash register together, and I think of the way Toby can hand business owners his card, flash the name of the studio, and be immediately legitimate. We have more explaining to do about who we are, what this film will be. At least we have the stars to name. A girl around our age slips into the back to get the owner, and soon emerges a sixty-ish, pudgy white guy with slicked-over hair. At first he looks unsure, but when I name Benjamin James and Lindsey Miller, his entire demeanor changes.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I might be able to do this.”

  I beam at him.

  “Your store will shoot so well. It’s a really nice space. I’m so glad we discovered it.”

  “I’m glad you like it, honey. My guess is you’d like to have a few full days to shoot. I mean with no customers, besides what you’ll be shooting at night.”

  “That would be amazing,” I say. “Would that work?”

  “Yeah, it’s possible, it’s possible.” He beckons us over to the dry goods and we follow. “You’d probably want to move some things around, right? See, all the shelves here, they look like they’re attached to the floor but they can be pushed. It’s not impossible.”

  I shake my head in happy disbelief. This is going so much better than I thought it would. I glance at Charlotte but she doesn’t share my enthusiasm. She’s staring at the owner with skepticism.

  “How much do you want for this?” she asks.

  He pauses, stands a little straighter.

  “Ten grand a day,” he says.

  Charlotte laughs.

  I feel like I’ve been punched. How could I not have realized that this guy was only after our money? I’m sure there are legends out there about how much shop owners have been paid to have their stores turned into movie sets.

  Sadly, I tell him, “This isn’t that kind of movie.”

  “I could accept five,” he says.

  Charlotte shakes her head. She pulls the list from my pocket where a corner is peeking out and unfolds the paper. She reaches across the counter and helps herself to a pen, then scratches out the name and address of the Great Foods Market.

  “Next stop Figueroa Street,” she says.

  ~

  We return with nothing.

  “It’s quite all right, Emi,” Theo says. “We’ll keep on the search.”

  Charlotte disappears to another room with Rebecca so I go outside and sit on the front stairs of the house. Soon she will be finished and we will head home.

  For now, though, I call Ava. I can’t help myself.

  “I found it,” she says when she answers, her voice rushed and urgent. “The Restlessness.”

  “We need to watch it,” I say, glad for the distraction.

  “I know.”

  “Want to come over?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re in Echo Park, but we can
be back soon. Give us an hour?”

  “Can I bring Jamal with me?”

  “Yeah, of course,” I say.

  Charlotte meets me outside and I drive us out of Echo Park, past the Silver Lake bars and cafés and boutiques, into downtown with its towering buildings, and onto the freeway.

  “This must mean something, right?” I ask, after filling her in.

  “What?”

  “That she wants to watch it with us? She must really like us. We have a connection.”

  “We should probably prepare ourselves for another emotional night,” Charlotte says.

  “I think we’re really good for her. I think she likes being around us. We’re exactly what she needs right now.”

  Charlotte turns to me from the passenger seat. I can feel her disapproval even though I’m merging onto the freeway and not looking at her.

  “What?” I ask.

  “She’s been kicked out of her house, she’s been living on her own for a year, practically homeless, and she’s about to see her mother, basically for the first time other than a photo, in a tiny role in an obscure movie. I do think we’re good for her, and I hope that’s all you’re focused on.”

  “Don’t you think she’s so great, though?”

  “Yes, I think she’s great.”

  “Don’t you think the way she bites her nails is so charming?”

  “Yes.”

  “I really love red hair. I never really thought about red hair before, but it’s so pretty.”

  “Emi.”

  “Okay. It’s not like I’m going to do anything about it, I just think she’s—”

  “Really great,” Charlotte says. “I know. She’s really great.”

  ~

  It turns out that what Ava tracked down is a VHS tape. I open the door and there she is, standing next to Jamal, holding the video in her hands like the rare and precious object it is.

  “Uh-oh,” I say, and her face loses all its excitement.

  “Thought so,” Jamal says to her, and then he sticks his hand out for me to shake.

  “Jamal,” he says.

  “Emi,” I say, and he smiles and nods, What’s up? and I like him immediately.

  Ava says, “I thought you’d have one. You have all those records, all this old stuff . . .”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Record players are romantic. VCRs? Not so much. It’s fine, though. It just means we have to go to my parents’ house.”

  “Which actually might be a good thing,” Charlotte says, appearing from somewhere behind me. “Because they will feed us.”

  Charlotte is out of gas so we take my car and Jamal has a laughing fit over the lock situation.

  “Hey, at least I have a car,” I tell him.

  “What makes you think I don’t have a car?” He shoots a mock-offended look at me. His face transforms from friendly to hostile, and it’s so sudden and calculated that even though he’s joking I get a glimpse of what his life might have been like before the shelter.

  But I shrug off the thought and say, “I heard all about those long bus rides to Home Depot.”

  “So you’re giving away all my secrets now?” Jamal asks Ava.

  “What secrets?” Ava says. To us she adds, “I tell him everything about my life and he tells me very little.”

  “What can I say? I’m a good listener.”

  Ava rolls her eyes, and we begin the short drive from Venice to Westwood, up Venice Boulevard past Venice High and a costume rental shop and several beauty parlors. Charlotte calls my parents to give them a heads-up that we’re coming over, and when she hangs up she turns around to see Ava.

  “We told them about Clyde and you and everything,” she says. “So don’t be surprised if they’re excited to meet you.”

  But excited is an understatement.

  We walk through the door and my mother breezes past Charlotte and me and basically swoops down on Jamal and Ava like a mother eagle saving her lost children from the wild.

  “Ava,” she says, placing her hands on Ava’s shoulders. “The girls have told me all about you. You are a strong and beautiful young woman. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And what is your name, young man? Jamal: handsome, grace. Welcome, both of you, to our home. Would you like water? Tea? Perrier?”

  I am mortified, but I try to tune her out and join Dad in the kitchen to peruse the take-out menus while Charlotte sticks with our new friends, hopefully ready to snatch them from the eagle’s claws if her grip gets too tight. Dad and I look through seven menus only to decide on Garlic Flower like we always do, and he pretends to consult the menu before he orders all the dishes we always get.

  When he hangs up, he comes in the living room but kind of hovers on the periphery. He’s a pretty outgoing guy. It’s weird that he isn’t introducing himself, especially since my mom is talking to Jamal about the rich and tumultuous history of his hometown and Ava is perched on the edge of the sofa, looking uncomfortable even though Charlotte’s sitting with her.

  “Dad,” I say. “Come meet Ava.”

  Dad takes two strides toward her and sticks out his hand.

  “P-pleasure to meet you, Ava,” he stammers.

  And then I realize what’s held him back. My father is star struck.

  “Hi,” Ava says, standing to shake his hand.

  “I’m a huge fan of your grandfather’s work,” Dad says. “I wrote my senior thesis about his pivotal role in creating the mythology of the American West.”

  “Okay, Dad,” I laugh.

  Ava looks nervous.

  “I never actually met him,” she says. “But Emi and Charlotte showed me one of his movies. Well, part of one.”

  “You have his nose,” Dad says. “And his freckles.”

  “I didn’t know he had freckles,” I say.

  “Most people don’t know,” he says. “The studios thought the freckles made him look too boyish, so he wore heavy makeup to cover them. In 1966, when he was presented the Oscar for best actor in The Stranger, the public first got a glimpse of them. It was in all the gossip columns.”

  Ava cocks her head and her hair falls over one shoulder.

  “Really?” she says. “It was gossip-column worthy?”

  “Yes. In fact,” Dad says, “I have a collection of Dorothy Manners columns in my office. I have the one where she talks about his ‘boyish appearance at the Oscars last Monday.’ Want to take a look?”

  Ava nods and stands and follows Dad down the hallway, and then Charlotte and I are together on the couch while Mom is saying, “Really? You didn’t learn about the Watts riots in school? In Watts? What on earth were they teaching you if not that? You have to know the history of where you come from. Okay, so it started like this . . .”

  I say, “I felt kind of bad about us all descending on their mellow evening just because we wanted them to buy us dinner, but I think we just made their night.”

  Charlotte nods. “This is a dream come true for the Miller-Price household.”

  Finally, our buddy the delivery guy rings the bell.

  He waves at me from the other side of our glass door as I open it.

  “Hey, Eric,” I say.

  “Hey, Emi,” he says. “Big order this time.”

  “We have guests,” I explain and, when Mom joins us with an article she clipped from the Sunday Times for him, I mouth, Good-bye, and take the food to the kitchen.

  Charlotte and Jamal and I pull out plates and silverware.

  “Hey,” Jamal says. “I think your mom likes me.”

  “Yeah, probably,” I say. “Why?”

  “She called me handsome and graceful.”

  “She was telling you what your name means,” Charlotte says.

  “My name means ‘handsome and graceful’?”

  “Apparently, yes,” I tell
him.

  He laughs.

  “I didn’t even know you were black,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “My grandpa’s black, so I’m a quarter.”

  He leans back to get a better look at me.

  “Yeah, I can see that,” he says. He drifts to the refrigerator and studies the photographs hanging there. “Who’s this?” he asks, pointing to a photo of Toby and me. We’re dressed up for the premiere of a documentary Dad was featured in, and I see it as Jamal must be seeing it now: Toby several shades darker than me, his hair thicker and curlier, his eyes dark brown to my amber.

  “My brother,” I say.

  “Same dad?”

  I nod. I could tell him about all the teachers who had Toby first and who tried to mask their surprise when they discovered that I was his little sister. Or the times when I was a kid when strangers mistook my mom for my babysitter.

  But I decide to keep it simple for now.

  “The mysteries of genetics.” I shrug.

  “For real,” he says. And then, a moment later: “You have a cool family.”

  I don’t know what to say in response. I don’t know anything about Jamal’s life, but the fact that he lives in the shelter with Ava obviously means that his home life wasn’t exactly ideal. I suddenly feel very shallow for being embarrassed when they first came in. There are far worse things for parents to be than overinterested in their daughter’s friends, than a little too excited about telling them things about themselves that they might not know already.

  So I just smile and say, “Thanks,” and my dad and Ava reappear from his study carrying two Clyde Jones biographies and a few books about Westerns in their arms.

  “Should we set the table?” Dad asks.

  “Actually,” I say, “we’re here to watch a video, so I’m thinking we’ll just coffee-table it in the den.”

  “You have a den?” Jamal asks.

  I nod yes, and Mom, now back to us, clasps her hands and says, “A movie!”

  Charlotte and I exchange glances.

  “Guys,” I say to my parents. “I don’t want to be rude but—”

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Dad says.

  “Yes, right,” Mom says. “We don’t mean to intrude. Gary, we could watch our own movie. That sounds fun, doesn’t it!”