Chapter Six

Ty's the one who sends me the location for my meeting the next day. It's a café called Literatea and sits on the southeast side of campus, a quadrant I've never been to. It's tucked into the largest library on campus, a behemoth of red brick stacked amid dozens of classical arches. East Coast style in USC's red and (sort of, not really) yellow.

The café itself is unassuming, marked by a small sign off a courtyard lined in baby palm trees, buzzed grass, and redbrick walkways. The students passing through this area feel, for lack of a better word, more normal than the glitzy Greek students around the Tutor Campus Center or the rumpled film students by the cinematic arts buildings. They're baby-faced, weighed down by backpacks and laptop cases, and often decked out in USC apparel I recognize from the gift set the university sent to me before I started.

I open the heavy brown doors into the café, only to find it barely fits fifteen patrons inside. Midcentury faded red-and-yellow cushioned chairs and tiny octangular wooden tables line the two walls to the right and left. Ty and Maeve are already seated on the left side, an artistic pile of leather-bound books stacked up in an alcove behind them. Only Ty smiles and waves me over.

"Great to see you two," I say, my unnecessary friendly instinct kicking in before I can stop myself.

"Same," Ty says. "We figured you'd want to sit with your back to the crowd."

I resist the urge to paw at my throat as Maeve shoots Ty the sharpest look before saying, "I don't think the Philosophy Department is going to bother you."

Once I take my seat, Maeve pushes an iced coffee over to me. It's a kind gesture to have taken note of my coffee order, which means it was probably Ty's idea. Even if it was full of poison, though, I know I'd still drink it to not seem high maintenance to Maeve. But it's just coffee. I'd put in some oat milk, but I don't want to be the first one to get up. Not with Maeve peering my way as she takes a sip of her own blond drink.

"We're going to be sticking to the department-wide standard for a four-hundred-level class, which will be five short essay questions on a take-home midterm," Maeve says.

"So no Scantron?" Ty asks.

"If we're going to test them on key terms and plot beats, the course isn't doing what it set out to do. Convenience for us shouldn't ever trump what students get out of the class." Maeve's gaze flits up to me. "You have time for that, right?"

I had time to come here and be patronized, so…"When's the midterm?"

"October seventh."

So, five weeks from now. It's somewhat of a relief that we're still weeks away. "I'll be there to grade every paper." I punctuate my words with a wry smile.

Maeve cocks her head ever so slightly. "Have you graded subjective material before?"

No. "Yeah."

"Let's get to the essay questions," Ty says. He looks to Maeve, a soft pleading expression. "By then, we'll have had lectures on West Side Story through Chicago. Do we want to give them a theory question?"

"Might as well have one," Maeve replies. "Start them off with a question that could help them navigate the rest of the exam. Let's have them describe what diegesis is and how it informs the narrative in any of the films discussed in the first half of the semester."

"Perfect."

"From there, they can continue to reference diegesis, but the goal would be to encourage them to incorporate other structures and lenses."

Maeve and Ty fall into a perfectly synched tennis volley of pedagogy. It's not exactly like the conversation is in a language I don't understand, but the rust isn't brushing off as quickly as I would've liked. Right as I'm processing the real-world implications of one piece of their exchange, they've moved onto the next. The only real, real thing grounding me is Ty listing off the number of questions as they set them in stone. One, two, three—each number a burst of relief. I find myself tapping the underside of the table as they're said out loud.

I can't sit here like this. I have the skill set for this; they're just using fancy words to come up with essay questions. I think back to Cory asking about how emotion informed the need for reality in a musical. What sort of question would she be excited to answer?

"What if we do one specifically for Rocky Horror?" I blurt out. "They can analyze the callbacks."

While Ty's eyes light up right away, Maeve rubs her chin.

"That could be—" Ty says.

"Would every callback work?" Maeve interrupts. The cutting tone of her voice softens as she turns to her TA. "Sorry, Ty."

He shrugs, and Maeve goes on.

"Some of the callbacks are only one line of dialogue. Wouldn't you want to encourage students to pick a bigger chunk to analyze? Would you give any guidelines to encourage robust analysis? We don't need to see students arguing for two paragraphs that the live audience says ‘say it' during ‘Sweet Transvestite' just because Rocky is hot."

What is she trying to say? If a student did that, then clearly they didn't answer the question well. What is she even critiquing? "Sure, I guess we could spell that out in the question! But isn't that implied?" There is so much more I could say about the richness of theme that can be derived from those callbacks, but I can't keep my thoughts straight.

Maeve glances at Ty. "It's also very specific. We're prioritizing one movie."

I've been inching out of Maeve's space for the past half hour; it's time to break that habit. I lean forward, maintain eye contact with her the way I do with difficult directors trying to intimidate me. I almost miss that dynamic; at least I know how to deal with those egos. "What's wrong with that? We'll have eight movies and only five questions, so there's no need to be egalitarian about it. All you'd have to do is mention callbacks in class."

Maeve raises her brows. "I'm going to do it?"

Why does she keep needling me? I hold my hands at my side, resisting the urge to slap them on the table and spill our drinks.

"Whatever, I will." I exhale. "Again, I'm sorry about the syllabus and the first class, but I don't know where you've gotten this impression that I'm not putting in the work. I've been showing up and teaching the lectures I've prepared each week. Who else would've been doing it?"

Maeve sucks on her teeth, as if whatever she wants to say is too embarrassing to be said out loud.

And, despite her really shitty reaction, that shame does crash over me.

My manager and her assistant. The same people who corresponded with Maeve at the beginning of the year.

I let the shame hit me, then float away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ty fidgeting. But I look back at Maeve, giving her the full force of my eye contact. "I promise you I'm doing the work."

She stands up.

"Where are you going?" I ask, the indignation slipping into my tone.

Ty's gaze flits between us.

"We decided on our five questions, and I have an appointment at an archive in Hollywood in thirty minutes." She looks to Ty. "And you have class after this, right?"

Ty nods. "Dixon's seminar."

Maeve looks over to me and shrugs. "There ya go." She collects her items quickly but hesitates as her fingers wrap around her sweating tea container. "You really want to take charge of this class?"

Embarrassment slaps me again. This sounds like a trick question, like she'll berate me for my answer no matter what it is. Still…

"Yes."

"Well, if you want to do it without training wheels, I have to turn in a big conference proposal and some paperwork for a research grant over the next two weeks."

No way. My heart thrums.

"There are a lot of responsibilities I'm taking on for you behind the scenes right now. So why don't you meet with Ty tomorrow in order to work out how you'll handle the Rocky Horror and Little Shop weeks together? If I'm done early, I'll happily take a back seat to see how you do Little Shop."

Oh, of course.

Cold fear stabs through me. Tomorrow I have back-to-back meetings with producers for some movie Trish wants me in next year, plus I promised Charlie I'd help him do self-tapes. This is going to be more of a circus than a press tour.

But like hell does Maeve get to know that.

I smile through the sweat pooling in my lower back. "Sounds great."

Maeve smiles. "Can't wait to see what your lessons look like."

When I ask Ty if he'll meet me on the Warner Bros. lot in Burbank, his reply is quite literally just "." Which, I'll admit, I think about far more than I need to while I sit through three hours of morning meetings with two independent WB-first-look sets of producers. One is for the animated movie I mentioned to Cory, which I'm still not convinced isn't going to get 3 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. They've handed me the script, and it's kind of baking on a table in the outdoor seating section of the commissary. There's something deeply ironic about fame. When I was starting out, I was only big enough for indie movies drawn from the blood of starving filmmakers. In the middle of an A-list career, I was given everything—the searing indies, blockbusters, and prestige dramas I want along with the kind of movies that these studios vomit out for profit. Then they all got filtered through my sexuality, including the two meetings today. Lesbian detective and lesbian rabbit. The only good things I have I got through Mason, one indie she's doing and Goodbye, Richard! 2 next fall. It only confirms that nagging worry I've had since the interview, that studio executives haven't changed their narrow scope of me even with the directing credit. It's like a weight hung on my heart.

Trish texts me when I'm waiting for him. How's everything?

I could break my thumbs texting her the whole truth: I'm three of six meetings in today and already overwhelmed, and I have a lot to say. Still, I decide a Good! will suffice. Just at that moment, Ty comes bounding in, a WB-stamped iced coffee in his hands. He slides right into my table.

"Whew," he says, shaking his hands a bit. "This place is so cool."

I not-so-discreetly turn over my script, so Ty's innocence can be protected. He doesn't have to know just how not cool this place is. "Glad you're enjoying it. Have you not been here before?"

I got Ty a guest pass today by claiming he was my personal assistant, but nonindustry people have often gone through a tour or two of the studio lots.

"Not yet," he says. "My work sends me to archives more than studio lots."

I scoot into the slowly moving slice of shade that hangs over our table. "Either way, thanks for meeting me here."

"No problem. I'm ready to talk Rocky Horror." He pauses, the pep in his words fading. "About yesterday—I'm sorry Maeve was being like that. She's a third-year professor, and collecting enough accolades to get tenure gets harder and harder every year. She was having a bad day."

"You shouldn't apologize for her."

Ty shrugs. "We all have off days. I TA'd for Maeve last year and accidentally told the students one of the directors we were studying grew up poor when he didn't, screwed up a bunch of midterms. When I apologized to her, she forgave me without question. Another professor would've fired me. Stress can destroy the best of us."

I don't want to say it, but I'm thinking that Maeve must've been stressed the entire time I've known her. Even if I was the oblivious asshole when we started, she's kept being an asshole going longer.

"Maeve's pretty cool when you get to know her," Ty continues.

I cock my head. "Is she?"

"Yeah, and she's obsessed with California locals. She's asked you about it, hasn't she?"

What? Is perfect, poised Maeve actually really fucking weird? "Asked me about what exactly?"

Ty frowns. "Aren't you from Pasadena? Maeve's from Ohio, and she's so starstruck by LA. She used to take local students out to Study Hall with the TAs she was working with to, like, buy everyone drinks and make the one local student feel like someone special. It was kind of sweet, you know? And especially after she saw Needlepoint with me at the New Beverly, she was so excited…"

And Ty just trails off, like he realized he made a huge mistake and hasn't figured out how to remedy it. The fear filling his eyes is so intense that even I have to look away. Which, dude, calm down, I'm confused, but not because of him.

Is it possible that Maeve was so cold and stiff with me that first lecture in particular because she was trying not to fangirl over me? There's just no way. And I swear she mentioned seeing only Goodbye, Richard! when we first met. When did she and Ty see Needlepoint? And Needlepoint—my stomach tugs, and stays taut. It's official. Maeve has seen my sexy movie. Maeve has seen me naked. Maeve has seen me arch my back under a warm body, heard my fake orgasm, knows exactly what my body looks like beyond the slices of skin I expose in professional clothing.

Jamie's weird comment about how I feel about people masturbating to that movie comes back to me as a flush spreads across my skin. That, and the way Maeve was so concerned with not crossing professional boundaries. Because, honestly, I do think about what Jamie talked about. People I've slept with have mentioned Needlepoint in bed. Hell, Luna thought I was using my real orgasm sound in that movie when we were hooking up last year and was baffled when she learned I wasn't. Usually, the idea of my partners getting turned on by one of my films does little more than mildly flatter me. At best, it plays into the dom role I usually inhabit in bed. A little celebrity legend worship as a treat.

But Maeve has made it clear she doesn't worship me. It doesn't seem like she even respects me. The idea that Maeve thinks about me sexually is definitely not work appropriate. But I can't get over the fact that she's seen me naked on-screen and hasn't brought up Needlepoint once.

Is it possible that Maeve did feel something when she saw the movie? The idea of Maeve even possibly getting turned on by that movie, it's stirring something deep inside me…

"Valeria?" Ty says, his voice soft even as he prods. "Are you okay?"

I shake my head, returning to this moment on the Warner Bros. lot, grounding myself in the present. It's like eighty-five degrees. Ty and I are planning a lesson for Rocky Horror Picture Show. We are only two classes into the semester. I cannot be losing it now. As I continue to pursue this teaching thing, I may need Maeve—kill me—to put in a good word for me someday. Meanwhile, I still have Trish's obligations today. I have to meet with HBO after this and demand a gay sex clause in my contract if they want nudity for this limited series they're circling me for, the only project I have in that seems vaguely interesting.

I sigh. I'd never admit it, but the new responsibilities Maeve gave to me are a lot. Ty and I haven't even gotten to the minutia of lesson planning and my leg's bouncing hard enough that the table between us is actually shaking. I clutch my thigh to keep it down.

"Yeah, sorry," I say. "I imagine Rocky will mostly be a history lesson. How it got to be a cult classic. Talking about the shows."

"Have you been to a midnight showing?"

I laugh. It's supposed to be an actual laugh, but the sound chokes off at the end. "Ty, I'm gay."

"It'd be amazing if you or Maeve talked about the queer angle," he says, not skipping a beat. "Students love personal anecdotes."

Personal fucking anecdotes. The blood drains from my face.

Okay, so. Maeve's gay.

And has seen me simulate sex. And she's attracted to women. Which I am.

Wonder if Ty would notice if I left to go throw up in terror.

"Yeah, sure," I say.

What personal experiences do I have with Rocky? Maeve won't even be in class when I do this deep dive into queer culture. And I shouldn't care about that. I shouldn't be thinking about who she does and doesn't fuck at all. It doesn't matter. I wave a hand in front of my face, hoping a breeze can bring some feeling back to my skin.

"Do you have any ideas for Little Shop?" Ty asks.

Work. I'm talking work with Ty. I need said work to go extremely well so I never have to do a half-assed lesbian-representation shit movie and talk about my personal life with scumbags like Winston ever again.

"Well, an obvious talking point is that the original movie aligned more with the off-Broadway ending, but that was cut from the movie because of the audience's reaction in test screenings. So we can discuss what happens when you get too close to or too far from the source material. How movies often sanitize themes, especially anti-capitalist themes like the ones in Little Shop."

Ty smiles. "Okay, I think you got that one." He looks at his notes, and I wait to hear his suggestion. But Ty doesn't speak. He's just looking at me. "Seriously, are you okay?" he finally asks.

I have not interacted with Ty long enough to have come up with a canned answer.

"Yeah," I say. "Just a lot of meetings today. We should keep going."

"Okay, but I'm gonna talk to Maeve. She must be giving you some vibe."

God,did Ty Dhillon actually threaten to do something more embarrassing than the time my mother called Sandy King's mother and confronted her about Sandy making me eat sand in kindergarten?

"Please don't do that," I mutter.

He's gonna do it, though. I can just tell.

And now I know Maeve's seen me naked.