Chapter Twenty-Eight

I'm sure Cannes, France, is gorgeous in May, but I'm not given a single chance to find out for myself. Like, I'm talking airport → car → hotel → car → Cannes social function → hotel → Cannes-adjacent party → hotel for all of Wednesday going into Thursday morning. Whirlwind, sure, exhausting, yes, but god the Klonopin is a fucking miracle drug. I have nerves and butterflies when I take a last look in my hotel room mirror before I head out for my final junket before Oakley's premiere tomorrow night, but it feels like everything is going exactly the way it needs to go and things are just okay. No, not okay. Honestly, this is fun. I've forgotten about the rush I get from all the cameras and the elation of walking down red carpets and laughing my ass off with Mason sneaking pissaladière and wine into our hotel. Suddenly it feels ridiculous and heartbreaking that I was so nervous to be at a festival again. Now I actually feel ready.

Or, well, I would if Maeve were here.

I try not to linger on the pain of Maeve not seeing me this way, happy and shining.

I sit at yet another makeup chair getting touch-ups, this time for Natalie Rockwell, an interviewer who writes for a smaller outlet. Her program is a bit longer, a bit more intellectual, and airs exclusively on a popular YouTube channel. When she reached out to Trish after my Winston interview to say how awful it was that he had treated me that way, I knew I wanted to talk to her someday.

Trish, dressed to the nines in a purple suit, grabs me as soon as I'm mic'd.

"How ya feeling?" she asks me.

I told Trish I had switched to meds out of, like, a concern about health and safety. I dunno, managers like knowing more about your medical history than actual doctors do for liability reasons. Still, I rub the back of my neck, thinking about it.

"Pretty good. Way more mellow than the last premiere. I think the new meds are doing the trick."

She smiles a genuine smile. "Love to hear it."

I turn to her, warmth spreading through my chest. "Thanks for poaching me a year ago."

She pats my hand. "Best decision I made."

The warmth hasn't faded yet. My film's about to premiere at Cannes, and I feel as open and relaxed as I do midway through a therapy session. "I'm sorry for causing you so much stress over the last several months."

"Your apology is noted." She smiles again.

"Promise, I know what I want now. I'm not done yet." I pause, trying not to laugh as Trish eyes me. "But I also appreciate you letting me try something new."

"I'm a romantic at heart," she says, giving me a few pats on the shoulder before I'm called out.

Natalie greets me with a handshake. The two of us are sitting in seventies art deco–type chairs in a room with huge windows, no audience in sight. Out beyond us, the cerulean ocean sparkles in the May sun. Natalie gives me a big smile when we sit down.

"You have no idea how excited I am to have you here," she says, a hint of blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Honestly, I don't think anyone else would want to talk to me the way you do, so it's mutual," I say.

Natalie smiles. "Well, we all know you're here for Cannes with your directorial debut, and we'll get to that, but I believe that's not the only thing you've been doing."

I smile, electric pride sparking in my chest. "No. I've also been teaching a couple of courses at USC. On music and movies, adjacent to my dissertation."

"So, no one except for the students in your classes gets to see that side of you, Valeria the professor. When my producers and I were talking through discussion topics, we thought maybe it'd be fun to do something a little different and ask you to give a little intro lecture."

I nod, my blood pumping. "Just for you." I laugh a little. "Promise, it'll come around to relate to Oakley in Flames."

By the time I finish recording my mini lecture and the rest of the interview, it's 3:00 p.m. in France. Maeve is probably still on her morning run. The timing isn't exactly as romantic as I would've wanted, but time zones are a bitch. I sit outside a Cannes venue knowing Mason, other producers, and Important Hollywood People are waiting for me. But as I dial Maeve's number, I'm hoping that she makes me very late for this party.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

"Hello?"

I heard her voice only a few days ago, but somehow she sounds softer. A subtle change that feels monumental now. She sounds softer, and I'm starting to wonder if she was always this soft-sounding and gentle and I let my anxiety fill in the gaps and turn her into something closer to Emily.

"Hey. Can you check your email when you get home? I made some filler for today's class."

"When did you make filler? What does that even mean?"

Her breath is quickening, and I assume she's trying to get back to her apartment faster.

"I made an introduction for the lecture as part of this interview I did at Cannes. I know you love having an extra ten minutes to get psyched up, and I know today's class is so important. Plus, the interviewer was nice."

"Wait. You recorded for lecture at a Hollywood interview? Your people must be—"

I find myself chuckling. "Annoyed? Maybe, but who cares. You're still my number one on your important day."

"Jesus." She pauses. "Is that what you called about? To tell me to queue a video five hours before class?"

I swallow, my throat suddenly thick. "No. I called because I know you like to be informed of things in advance. Charlie's still ready to do the lecture, but he's also on standby to head to Cannes." I pause. "I can do the lecture here over Zoom. We had incredible feedback on this class last semester and it's perfect to showcase you. I couldn't miss being your supporting act. The switch might cost Goodbye, Richard! 2 a few financiers, but Mason tells me the movie will stand on its own if it's meant to be made."

"Wait, are you—?"

"Giving you the choice. Who you want to do the lecture with. Either option is cleared with Ashlee."

Another pause. "Val…"

Val. Not Valeria.

It might be nothing, but it gives me the hope I need.

She sighs. "Yeah, I'd love to have you there."