Reel (Hollywood Renaissance 1)

“Is that why you look at me the same way no matter how my appearance changes?”

He studies me for long, silent seconds. “No, baby.” He caresses my cheek with his thumb, smiling into my eyes. “That’s just love.”

His words, spoken with such surety, untie the last knots of anxiety and self-doubt tangled in my thoughts. He’s right. When you love someone, you truly see who they are beyond the surface. And whether I look like the headshot I proudly passed all over New York when I auditioned, or I look the way I do right now, I have to see and love myself beyond the high gloss. That first taste of unconditional love and acceptance—we should feed it to our own souls.

I reach up to pull the headscarf away, and then I peel off the sweatshirt covering the silk camisole I wear instead of a bra. For a moment, the air kisses my skin, cools the heated plane of my self-consciousness, and then, under the heat of his stare—an equal, unwavering mix of love and desire—I grow warm. I lean back on my palms and stretch my legs in front of me. I am battered. This body is a battlefield, and my limbs, once flawless, carry the scars. I trust, I hope that they will fade in time, but I must accept who and how I am right now.

Today.

“You said before that you’d like to photograph me,” I say.

“Whenever you like,” he replies, his voice soft, subdued.

I connect my eyes and his by a single thread of no turning back and nod to the cameras displayed on the wall. “How about right now?”

65

Canon

“It’s a match.”

I look up from the desk in my home office. Neevah stands in the doorway, cautious excitement in her expression.

“What’d you say?” I slam my laptop shut and focus on her.

“Terry finished all her tests, and she’s a match.” She covers her mouth, catching a tiny sob/laugh, then rushing over and throwing herself in my lap. We hold each other and I absorb the sigh of relief that shudders through her. I don’t know if it’s hers or mine, but our bodies share it. I pull back to rain kisses on her cheeks and nose and lips, resting my forehead against hers for a few seconds to let this sink in.

Neevah has a kidney.

She’ll always have to manage this disease, but getting a new kidney should drastically improve things for her.

She cups my face and smiles down at me. “I can finish the movie.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s get through the transplant first. And then Dr. Okafor will say when.”

“But Canon, everyone is going their separate ways soon. Trey has another project, and I know Jill does, too.”

“Let me worry about that. It’s my job to figure all that out, and I don’t want you thinking about it.”

“Of course I’m thinking about it. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s your health. It’s your life, and I don’t give a damn about Dessi Blue if you’re not well.”

Saying it aloud is liberating. Mama would be pleased. Her wish for me—that I would find someone to love more than my work, than my art—has come true with a vengeance. This thing that threatened Neevah’s life and our future together shifted my priorities. Changed my lens and brought everything into focus. There is no question what—who—is most important in my life.

Neevah.

Dessi Blue may be the best movie I’ve ever made—may be the best I’ll ever make. That remains to be seen, but I know it means more to me than everything I’ve done besides The Magic Hour. And still it stands pale and insignificant beside my love for Neevah. I’ve known it, have conducted myself that way in every meeting when Galaxy demanded a timeline for the finished product. When will Neevah be back? When can we start editing? I’ve made it very clear that she is the priority, not just because she’s my girlfriend, but because that is human decency. That’s the way we should approach it. I hope I would feel that way for any actor who trusted themselves to me for a performance, but I know I feel that way for Neevah. Anyone who pressures her to come back a day sooner than she’s ready has to go through me.

That includes Neevah herself.

“We’ll talk more about the movie later. What’s the next step for the transplant?”

“The counselor still needs to talk to Terry and make sure she understands the risks and really grasps what this means. She’ll only have one kidney for the rest of her life.” Neevah presses her lips together, shakes her head. “It’s so much to ask of someone, especially when you’ve been at odds with them for this long.”

“It is, but she’s your sister. Something like this has a way of cutting through all the bullshit that comes between us and keeps us apart. You would do the same for her.”