Reel (Hollywood Renaissance #1) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,46

the pulse of it beats inside of him. He’s protective of Dessi’s journey, its chief guardian, but he’s also concerned about his actors. For his art, he’s obsessive and distracted and focused and impatient and longsuffering. He’s a million things and he’s single-minded.

It’s getting harder not to want him. Every day I stomp on this unfortunate longing, this ill-advised craving, this dead-end desire. And I cannot make it stop.

The knock at my trailer door dispels my thoughts.

“They’re ready for you, Ms. Saint,” a voice says from the other side.

I didn’t get to review my lines one more time. The question is am I ready?

22

Dessi Blue

INTERIOR – CHICAGO NIGHTCLUB – NIGHT

* * *

Dessi sits backstage in a tiny dressing room with a mirror hung on the wall, waiting to go on. She holds a letter from Tilda.

* * *

VOICEOVER OF TILDA READING LETTER:

Hey, Dessi! How is the road treating you? I hope Cal and the band are taking care of my girl. Thank you for the money you sent. It feels good not to worry about making rent, but I miss you, baby Bama. I can’t wait for you to come home so I can hear about all your adventures. Everybody at the Savoy sends their best. Mr. Buchanan says to tell you he’s holding your spot if this singing thing don’t work out! But I know it will. I’ll see you when you get home. I’m saving all my kisses for you.

Love, Tilda

* * *

Someone knocks at the dressing room door.

* * *

DESSI

Come on in.

* * *

Door opens. Cal walks in, a worried expression on his face.

* * *

CAL

We need to talk before you go on.

* * *

DESSI

You look like somebody killed your dog, and I know you ain’t got no dog, so what’s wrong?

* * *

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