“I was close by.” He walks over to the camera, closing one eye and peering through the lens. Adjusts a button on the side and sits at the table beside Mallory. “I have an appointment in thirty minutes three blocks away.”
In other words, let’s get this over with.
Mallory must hear the unspoken command same as I do. “Right,” she says. “So on page seventeen—”
“Do you know why I want this cold, Neevah?” Canon interrupts.
I look up from the script in my hands to find his dark, disconcerting gaze trained on my face.
Is this a trick question? If so, it’s working.
“Um, I guess—”
“Let me just tell you because again, I’m short on time. When I do a documentary, it’s with real-life subjects—people with true stories to tell. You don’t know anything about this movie, but it’s a true story. It’s a life story, and though I’ll take some creative license, I’m looking for someone true. In a documentary, the subject usually doesn’t rehearse to be on camera because it’s about honesty and about instinct and immediacy. There usually aren’t takes. You’ve never read what’s on page seventeen, so I’m not judging if you trip over words or anything like that. I’m looking for truth—who you really are as an artist and as a person. That’s moreimportant to me than if you can memorize lines for an audition and polish up real good to impress us for ten minutes.”
That’s the most words he’s ever spoken to me and I’m trying to absorb them. Trying to use what he just gave me to do my best. To show him who I actually am and to tell the truth.
“Okay,” he says. “Now in the script, turn to page seventeen.”
EIGHT
Dessi Blue
DESSI BLUE
Screenplay by: Verity Hill & Canon Holt
Story by: Verity Hill & Canon Holt
WORKING SCRIPT
P. 17
EXTERIOR – LAFAYETTE THEATRE – NIGHT
132ndStreet & 2ndAvenue: Odessa Johnson stands outside the Lafayette surrounded by hundreds of people waiting to get in. The lit theater marquee sign above readsMacbeth. Scalpers wave tickets to the mostly Black theatergoers, men in their coats and sharp-brimmed hats, women dressed in their finery with freshly pressed hair. Odessa cranes her neck, trying to see above the crowd, obviously looking for someone. She’s jostled by several people.
DESSI
Hey! Watch it!
She clutches her hat when it’s almost knocked off her head and she’s shoved into a girl in the crowd.
DESSI
’Scuse me. Everybody’s trying to get in.
TILDA
It’s alright. And if they ain’t got a ticket, they can forget it. ’Lessen they plan to pay five dollars.
DESSI
I was kinda hoping I’d get one. A friend of mine was bringing me some money she owes me so I could buy a ticket.
Dessi cranes her neck again.
DESSI
