When I turn, I see he’s wearing his classic sunglasses. He has a race-car red suitcase behind him and his camera bag strapped on top. I nod, and he opens the hatch without so much as a wince. After he tucks my bag underneath his, he hugs me. It’s jarring in public like this, but I mold myself into it.
I let him pick our seats when we board, much to the driver’s obvious chagrin over being delayed.
There’s a nice spot near the back away from the already snoring man in Row 7 and the lady talking loudly on her phone in Row 10. We get a quiet corner to ourselves. Derick pulls a pair of tangled, wired headphones from his pocket, plugs them into the jack on his phone, and hands me the right bud. He’s queued up two hour-long episodes ofDon’t You Forget About…to get us in the right mindset for the next two days.
During the opening piano theme song, I ask, “You packed the box Alice gave us, right? I want to make sure she’s happy and that we don’t lose anything.”
He points to the floor. “In the suitcase in the undercarriage. No worries.”
He’s always saying that. Never in my life have I had no worries. I sigh, acknowledging my anxiety and trying to let the feeling pass. “What if the movie is…bad?” He tips his head toward me. “I know, I know. It’s just I have such high expectations, and I’ve done all this research, and if it’s bad, how can I responsibly screen it and be sure she won’t get raked over the coals again?”
“I get that you’re nervous. I’m a little nervous too, but just remember that this movie is a piece of Willow Valley history. Alice wouldn’t have given you permission if she wasn’t ready for her second act.”
“Second act? I like that. We should use that in our marketing.”
He smiles a knowing smile. “Already ahead of you.” He switches away from the podcasts app and opens some mock-ups for Alice’s event. Since we have a date and time, he created a social campaign where a zombie hand emerges from the ground, hearts float in the air, and Alice’s old, glamorous headshot from the seventies is featured and left-aligned.
It reads:
ASecond-Chance Story
by a Director Ready for Her Second Act…
Chompin’ at the Bit (1978) by Alice Kelly
Witness the Premiere That Never Was…
Rising again on August 14
It’s so perfect, I tear up. I’m a waterworks factory lately.
“I’m guessing you like it,” he says.
“I love it.” A deep breath escapes me, relief coursing through my system. “I really need this to go well. Alice’s reputation and Wiley’s future depend on it. It’s a lot of pressure, and you’re really helping. There is so much riding on this for me.”
“For me too,” he says. That’s music to my ears, even if I’m unsure exactly what it means.
I fiddle with the earbud still dangling between my fingers, debating whether to ask: “Would it be the worst thing in the world if I stayed at Wiley’s past this summer?” Well, it’s out. Derick bites his lip in answer. “I only ask because Avery says it’s not anadultjob and that I can’t expect to be there forever, but what if, well, uh, what if it’s the only job I’ve ever really seen myself at?”
Derick’s silence stretches out for longer than I’d hoped. Finally he says, “What about Oscar? Isn’t this whole meeting so he can introduce you to new contacts? I think it’s probably smart to start thinking about life beyond Willow Valley and Wiley’s.”
It’s strange to even consider how one interview on a long-lost movie could catapult me onto a career path. In all fairness, I didn’t have any idea what I’d do with a film studies degree when I declared it as my major in my second semester of freshman year. All I knew was that I liked watching movies, writing about them, and finding new ways to relate them to their historical context. I never imagined Oscar Villanueva would be opening doors for me, let alone be sitting in the same room, at the same table.
But still, I worry about Alice. I’ve seen her still-healing wounds, and I want to protect her at all costs.
And, even more, I worry about Earl. He’s past retirement age. I know he’s not itching to give up the grind, but with no partner, no kids, who’s he going to pass the drive-in on to? This isn’t the first time I’ve asked myself this question, and each time I ask it I come to the same logical conclusion: me. And each time I come to that conclusion, I grow a little fonder of the idea.
But Derick is searing me with his pressurized gaze, so I say, “You’re right. I can’t stay there forever.”
He sighs, nods. Says nothing more on the topic.
He’s about to restart the episode when the bus comes to a bout of bumper-to-bumper traffic. “Hey.” He pokes me instead. “I saw you posted a picture on your stalled Instagram account the other day. Coming back to the social-media dark side?”
It weighed on me for most of the day. I adore the photo of the 3Bee Gees and Brandon at the top of that hill, Willow Valley laid out behind us, and I wanted to share it. Being around Derick has made me realize that social media has its advantages. It can be a tool. A platform where I can shout about the things and people that are important to me. A digital soapbox of sorts.
“I figure once this episode goes public, people on the internet are going to start looking for me online. I don’t want to be one of those people who’s unreachable.”
“You mean you don’t want to be a grandpa at twenty-two?”
