She’s a PM (a production manager) on We Are Calloway and takes care of logistics like location, budget, and scheduling, but whenever we need an extra camera operator, she takes over with ease.
And I need Ambrose. A whole show can make or break on sound.
My leg jostles underneath the table a little bit. “I figure I can handle the lighting and story myself.”
Ali takes a long breath, and her tone changes considerably. “Jack, you know how much Ambrose and I love you.”
Fuck.
Ambrose nods. “You’re one of the best producers we’ve ever worked with, especially considering how young you started.”
“But,” Ali says, “we’re already booked solid with side projects. We have two music videos we’re doing just this weekend, and Charlie is a risky bet.”
“I’m not putting all my chips on him this year,” Ambrose agrees. “You know how much a week in Malta costs?”
Ali gives me an encouraging look. “I’m not even sure you need a PM, Jack. It’s just a pilot.”
“You do need a sound mixer,” Ambrose says, and adds to his sister, “Looks like I’m the important one.”
She gives him a pointed look. “You wish.”
Ambrose reaches for his iced water. “And I thought you were going to date more this year.” I did tell him that at his wedding reception, but only after he asked about my lack of a plus-one.
“I’m fine being single,” I say, but that hot feeling returns. The only thing that cools it is this project. This goal. I want it. So badly.
“You could be playing the field, instead of ignoring the field,” Ali notes, and Ambrose nods vigorously.
“This could be the one though. The white whale.”
We all talk about the white whale. That one project that puts you over the edge. That has your name on it and catapults your career. Being the exec producer of We Are Calloway has its merits and accolades, but it’s not the one.
Ali shakes her head. “You do know how Moby-Dick ends, right?”
Sure. The white whale ends up killing the guy obsessing over it, but I’m not obsessing. I just don’t want the whale to swim away before I even have a chance to see if it’s the one.
“Hey, maybe I won’t die if I have you two on my team?” I flash a smile. One that’s opened some doors and driven me further in life.
Ali laughs. “Nice try. I can put you in contact with another sound mixer.”
“But he won’t be as good as me,” Ambrose chimes in.
“No one is,” I say with a brighter smile. “But can I trust him?”
Ali hesitates. “It won’t be the level of trust like on a WAC production. I’d…make him sign an NDA. And maybe also talk to a lawyer. We’re talking about filming Charlie. You can’t be too careful.”
“Speaking of WAC,” Ambrose says, “filming starts for the next season in August, and Google calendar keeps incessantly reminding me that August 1st is in five days.”
Five days left of pre-production is nothing at all, and with that blanket of urgency, we spend the rest of the time in the weeds of budget and schedule.
No matter the side projects, We Are Calloway is the number one job. The production and crew have dedicated years and heart and sweat into this docuseries. And we have the awards to show for it.
If I prioritized a Charlie Cobalt spin-off over We Are Calloway, the other exec producers—who are decades older and more seasoned than me—would be irate.
Ali, Ambrose, and I finishing discussing next season and the famous ones before saying our goodbyes. On the table, I bury my head in my arms. I’ve got to figure this out.
My phone vibrates next to me. Lighting up. I click into the text.
We should talk. Can you meet me at the penthouse tomorrow morning? – Oscar
Blood drains from my body, and my hand falls slowly down the side of my face.
We should talk.
Three notorious words that no one likes hearing or reading. My high school girlfriend said that before saying, “We’re going to different colleges, Jack. Let’s just do our own thing. We should see what else is out there.”
I agreed. Time to move on. Find the college sweetheart. Settle down after the career is built.
But I never found anyone I loved more than my ambition.
But Oscar and I aren’t a thing, so he can’t break-up with me.
He can bail on the show.
Lump lodged in my throat, I scrape a hand across the back of my neck. But what if he does want to bring up him and me? Our flirting?
I drop my hand and focus on the meeting spot.
The penthouse.
About a month ago, Maximoff, Farrow, Jane, Thatcher, Sullivan, and Luna all moved in together in a glittering Philadelphia high-rise. I’ve been to their penthouse a handful of times.
Over the years, after filming them for so long, I consider myself friends with Maximoff and Jane, and more recently Sulli. It’s not a typical friendship, but they’re American royalty. Not much about them is typical.