Reel (Hollywood Renaissance 1)

* * *

CAL

It’s a mess out there. The city’s just coming out of those riots, and all them white folks are tight as a bow. Got management worried.

* * *

DESSI

And what’s that got to do with us?

* * *

CAL

They’re afraid the light’ll hit you just right and the audience might think you’re a white girl onstage with a bunch of Negroes.

* * *

DESSI (LAUGHS)

Whoo. They come up with some stuff, don’t they? And what they want to do about that?

* * *

Cal pulls a small tin out of his pocket.

* * *

CAL

They . . . uh, got this grease paint for you to wear.

* * *

DESSI

The hell I am, Cal. I ain’t singing in no black face.

* * *

CAL

We got a contract, Dess. They won’t pay us, and not only that, but they’ll spread the word. Maybe mess up bookings for the rest of this trip. It’ll ruin things for all of us.

* * *

DESSI

But I’m the only one gotta wear it! Not you. Not them.

* * *

CAL

It ain’t right, but what choice do we have? What choice do we ever have?

* * *

DESSI

Cal, no. If we play down South, I’m pissing in cups and shitting in the woods. Eating on busses. And up here, this?

* * *

CAL

It’s all America, Dess.

* * *

DESSI

Well, I’m good and damn tired of it.

* * *

CAL

We all are. Look, I’ll take you somewhere nice for dinner. Just . . . put it on? For me? For the band? So we can get paid and get outta here?

* * *

Dessi wipes away a tear and nods. Cal squats down in front of her and gently smears on the grease paint.

* * *

CLOSE SHOT ON DESSI

She stares at her darkened face in the mirror before standing and following Cal out.

* * *

INTERIOR – THEATER STAGE

* * *

Spotlight on the band and Dessi, who sings an upbeat song in the dark makeup, forcing herself to smile.

23

Neevah

As soon as Kenneth calls cut, I flee the set, stumbling past the craft foods table and the cluster of cameramen breaking for coffee. My heart is a runaway coach led by a team of wild horses. Rivulets of sweat streak through the thick grease paint Trey smeared on my face for the scene. I trip up the short set of steps into my trailer and collapse onto the couch. Even seated, my legs still shake, my hands tremble. I touch my face and my fingers come away streaked with paint, smeared with pain and degradation. In my right mind, I know this didn’t actually happen to me. It was Dessi’s burden, not mine. I’m not in my right mind, though. I’m not in my mind at all.

I’m in hers.

And her outrage claws its way from the grave to burrow in my thoughts. Her humiliation lingers in my bones and cages my spirit. I glance up into the mirror, shocked to see my haunted face instead of hers.

A knock at the door jolts me to the present.

I don’t want to see anyone, but I left the set without even asking if we needed to do another take. We probably do. I lost it at the end of that scene. Swallowing my tears and trying to steady my breathing, I answer. “Come in.”

Canon steps inside, and any composure I had regained dissipates. I figured I screwed up the scene, but his heavy frown and tight lips confirm it. He rarely comes out other than at the beginning and end of each day, or occasionally to adjust a camera shot. We haven’t really talked one-on-one much since the rooftop, so seeing him now in these close quarters, his tall frame dominating my trailer, only disconcerts me more.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a rush, lowering my head into my hands, seeking refuge from his scrutiny. “I know. I lost control of my emotions. I just . . . I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He doesn’t reply, and the silence gnaws at my ears, nips at my vulnerability. For a scene like that, I dig into my heart to find someone else’s soul, and it lays me open, leaves me bare. I need time to recover myself, to find myself again after pouring everything into Dessi, but there is no reprieve. No time to regroup when the man who unnerves me most stands here, watching me. Judging me? Wondering if I’ll break? Tears blossom at the corners of my eyes while I wait for him to say something.

He moves, but not toward me. I stare at the rug beneath my feet, but peripherally see him walk toward my vanity. When he sinks to his haunches in front of me, I sit back quickly, my eyes going to his face. He stares back, and the now-familiar electric current passes between us. The same thing I sensed brewing in Katherine’s back room, on the roof, stirs the air again.