Because Fat Girl

Chapter Sixteen

I couldn’t stop smiling as I turned into Chris Stanson’s driveway. The last time I was here, I was invited to his home out of pity and solely because Emmy didn’t want the invitation. Today, I was arriving as a colleague, here to collaborate with two of Hollywood’s most famous stars mere days after our meeting with a movie executive about the film we are making together.

What is my life?! I thought, my heart beating rapidly with anticipation as I parked and grabbed my things. Stepping out of my car, I couldn’t believe I’d made it this far, and I wasn’t sure I could go any further. Suddenly my feet were lead, dragging me down as I trudged up the steep entranceway and knocked on his giant black door.

“Welcome.” Chris opened it wearing nothing but low-cut jeans. He immediately turned around and walked away, his naked back retreating into his home.

Confused, I stood there in his doorway, wondering why he wasn’t dressed. Did I have the time wrong for the meeting? Was I supposed to follow him? Not knowing what to do, I stayed where I was, awkwardly glancing around at his perfectly kept home, able to experience it fully now that it was empty of people. The building itself was a work of art, the architecture crisp and modern with geometric lines and an open, airy floor plan allowing seamless movement from one room to the next.

“You coming, Coffee Girl?” he called from the other room.

I rolled my eyes, walked inside, and closed the door, which was surprisingly light considering it was a two-story-tall piece of solid wood. There’s so much ease when you’re rich , I thought, trying to figure out the mechanism that made this massively heavy piece of lumber move so effortlessly.

“What are you doing?” Chris asked.

I spun around to see him standing in a doorway, staring at me. “This is so fascinating.” I was aware that I probably looked like a crazy woman repeatedly opening and closing his front door, but I didn’t care. I was so fascinated by how it worked.

“My door?” he asked.

“Yes, your door,” I said.

“You’re a strange one, Coffee Girl.” Chris headed back into the house.

“And you take for granted the things around you!” I yelled after him before walking into the living room, where he was standing topless. “And please stop calling me Coffee Girl.”

“I thought you liked my little nickname for you,” Chris replied. He grabbed a small mug off the side table where it sat next to a pile of scripts and took a sip.

“You thought wrong.”

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” Chris gathered up the scripts and placed them into an expensive-looking black leather briefcase. “You should get laid. Silvia’s assistant told me she thought you were cute.”

“Why?” I asked as Chris walked over to the marble bar in the corner of the room and turned on a small black espresso machine.

“I have no idea.” Chris dumped out old grounds and poured fresh beans from a matte pink Flamingo Estates bag into a grinder. “But apparently people are attracted to you.”

“Thanks for the heartfelt compliment,” I yelled, trying to be heard over the noise of the machine. It turned out that Chris Stanson did get his own coffee once in a while. “I meant why did she talk to you about me?”

“We’re friends,” he said as liquid dripped its way through the machine.

“That’s weird.”

“That I’m friends with her?”

“That anyone would be your friend,” I said, immediately regretting the words. Jerk or not, Chris was now my boss, and I needed to be professional if not friendly. “Sorry. That was mean.”

Seemingly unfazed, Chris handed me the espresso he made. “You need coffee.”

I handed the tiny mug back to him. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“That explains so much.” He picked up the cup for himself.

“Do you have any tea?” I asked.

“That disgusting pond water?” Chris shook his head in disgust. “No, thank you.”

“I love tea,” I protested.

“Must be a lesbian thing.” He led me outside. “Jaqueline loves it, too.”

“I identify as queer, not lesbian,” I corrected, following him to the patio where I’d seen Kali, Beanie Feldstein, and Brad Pitt talking at the LACMA party, still unsure how I’d gotten here so quickly. Chris’s backyard—one of a few he had—was perfectly manicured and decorated. It was a typical smoggy L.A. day, but Chris’s house sat above it all, looking over the haze to the ocean beyond. The view was beautiful, but I was eager to get started. “Where’s Drew?”

“You’re early.” Chris stepped into a sunken area full of plush furniture surrounding a fire pit.

“I was told ten,” I said, sitting down on one of the sofas.

“Ten means eleven around here,” Chris explained as he pushed a button on the side of the building and a shade started uncoiling in our direction. Tucked in corners were switches that controlled not just the lighting, like in normal homes, but the walls, ceilings, furniture, appliances, and technology as well, all of them perfectly labeled for ease of use.

“Then why don’t you just say eleven?” I was grateful for the shade but still very annoyed at Chris.

“Because everyone knows ten means eleven.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Everyone who’s anyone does.”

I stood. Fancy shaded backyard or not, I wasn’t going to sit here and be insulted. “I’m going to go wait in my car.”

“No, stay.” Chris sat down across from me. “I want to chat with you.”

“Don’t you have someone you can pay to listen to you talk?” I shot back, worried I’d ruin this project if I was left alone with Chris any longer.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Chris asked.

“I don’t hate you.” I sighed and sat back down, resigning myself to this situation. “I’m just annoyed by how little you see of the things around you.”

“You hate me because I don’t see you?”

“Not me,” I corrected, although that wasn’t entirely true. It irked me that Chris barely looked my way until he thought my script could bring him money and acclaim, but I didn’t want to open that can of worms right now.

“If not you, then what?” He leaned back into his seat and gestured to the world around him. “Tell me, Diana, what am I missing?”

I looked around his backyard. The outdoor furniture was in better condition than the indoor pieces at our house, and there wasn’t a single weed in sight. I wondered how many people it took to keep this place so pristine and where those people hid when he had guests. “It’s like your door. I bet you don’t even notice it.”

“You hate me because I don’t see my door?” Chris looked confused.

“Your door is a giant piece of wood, and yet you don’t have to exert any energy to open it. It just opens for you. And you assume you deserve that ease because you worked hard to have the kind of life where doors just open for you. But, really, you simply won the lottery of looks. And those same doors that open with ease for you are shoved closed in my face and the faces of my friends. Your ease is our obstacle. Your privileges our burdens.”

“I work hard,” Chris retorted. “I went to Yale.”

“Dropping Yale into a conversation about privilege just makes you sound more pretentious.”

“Fair enough.” Chris chuckled. At least he could laugh at himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m being rude. I’m just…” I stopped, not sure what I was.

“You’re just passionate about this stuff,” Chris continued for me.

“Yes.” I leaned back into my chair. “I am.”

“That’s what makes your script good,” Chris said as a bell chimed somewhere in the bushes. “But it’s also going to be our biggest obstacle.”

As Chris got up, I thought about what he’d just said. Chris and Drew liked me and my script because of my passion, but how many people had liked my fiery nature at first, only to get burned in the end? They might appreciate it now, but I knew I had to reel myself in more if I wanted to make this movie work. There was only so much room fat, feminist, queer women got to take up in this town before they were shut up and shut out.

Drew squinted as he emerged from the house, looking around in the bright sun. “Chris went to go find a shirt,” he said as he sat down on the cushioned bench next to mine.

“About time,” I said.

“Not a fan of staring at Chris’s pecs?” Drew raised an eyebrow.

“I prefer my business meetings to be conducted with clothes on,” I clarified. “And on time.”

“I’m sorry,” Drew said. “I figured you knew ten meant eleven for Chris.”

“Why would I?”

Chris joined us again, this time with a shirt on and carrying a designer tablet Roussard’s sold to rich people who were too good for Samsung or Apple.

“In the future, let’s please have meetings at the time we say we’re going to have them,” I insisted.

“Anything for you, Coffee Girl. Sorry,” Chris quickly added as I shot him an angry look. “Old habit and all. From now on, I will call you Diana and meetings will be at the time we say they are. Happy?”

“Thank you,” I said. “So what’s on today’s agenda?”

“As you heard Silvia say, we need to lock in some of our cast and crew before we can move on to get her approval and funding,” Chris explained, swiping open his tablet and sitting up straight, suddenly very serious. “Today, I’d like us to come up with two to three options, ranked of course, for each of the main positions. I made a list of the order in which we need them, starting with the casting director, production manager, line producer, location manager, director of photography, gaffer, grip, production designer, costume designer, editor, and sound designer.”

I turned to Drew. “When did he get so organized and serious?”

“He’s always this serious. He just plays dumb on TV,” Drew responded, making me laugh and Chris throw us both a dirty look. On Geek Patrol , the show they’d starred in as kids with Kali, Chris Stanson played a sexy-yet-stupid heartthrob, and for much of his early career, Chris played the idiot sidekick. He’d broken out as a blockbuster action star about eight years ago, but he was often still the brunt of dumb blond jokes.

The look on Chris’s face told me he didn’t appreciate our laughter, and I began to better understand his over-the-top philanthropy, the touting of his degree from Yale, and his obsessive need to win an Oscar. Turned out, Chris Stanson also had social stigmas he was trying to shed.

“Silvia suggested Francine Beaumont as casting director.” Chris changed the subject back to the film. “She’s free right now, and I think we should grab her while we can.”

“Francine is great,” Drew agreed.

“Tell me about her.” I didn’t want to accept their suggestions for my crew without vetting them myself as well.

“French woman who worked at the Cannes Film Festival for years, so she knows everyone,” Chris said. “Now she lives here and does casting. I’ve auditioned for her a few times, and she’s great at creating chemistry.”

“You would know.” Drew turned to me. “Chris is infamous for sleeping with his costars.”

“I’m sure you have no room to talk,” I rebutted.

“Oh no, not Drew.” Chris patted him on the back. “This guy is way too sentimental to sleep around. A shame, really. All that working out and nothing to gain from it.”

“Nothing except multimillion-dollar movie deals,” I pointed out.

“Francine’s mother is from Ghana, and her father is from Bordeaux.” Drew brought us back to the matter at hand. “So she understands minority voices and aims to cast diversity.”

“Can I meet her first?” I asked.

“Of course,” Drew said.

“But make it soon,” Chris added. “Francine sells out quickly.”

“Sells out? She’s not a show. She’s a human.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t drag your feet on this.”

“Will do, boss.” I saluted Chris mockingly.

“Now on to money.” Chris put down his tablet. “Focus offered us a preliminary five million dollars.”

“Holy shit, five million dollars!” I yelled excitedly, but Chris and Drew did not seem to share my enthusiasm. “You two are acting like this is bad news?”

“Have you ever tried to make a film for five million dollars?” Chris asked.

“That is about $4,980,000 more than I’ve ever had to make a movie.”

“We won’t get the people we want.” Chris ignored me and talked to Drew. “Jennifer’s already at her lowest.”

“Jennifer?” I asked. “Lawrence? Aniston? Lopez?”

“Conger,” Chris answered. “The director of photography I wanted.”

“Janelle is our DP.” I sat up, not liking where this conversation was headed.

“I hadn’t had a chance to talk with her about it yet,” Drew explained when Chris gave him a look.

“Talk with me about what?” I sat up even straighter, trying to sound as confident as possible. “There’s nothing to talk about. Janelle is our DP. End of discussion.”

“Focus wants a more experienced crew,” Drew explained. “Since you’re a relatively inexperienced director.”

“I’ve directed multiple short films,” I corrected him. “One of which you loved so much you asked me to direct this movie for you.”

“So what if you shot a little film that was better than the other little films submitted to some festival that is now shut down?” Chris said. “You’ve never done a feature. We don’t know if you can hold an audience for that long. Silvia is right; we need an experienced crew to make this movie work.”

“Janelle is a highly experienced cinematographer. Look at her IMDb profile; she’s got loads of credits to impress Silvia.”

“As an assistant,” Chris added. “She’s never run the show. And neither have you. We need fewer amateurs, more professionals. And we can’t get them with only five million dollars.”

“We can afford Janelle at that rate,” I pointed out, but Chris wasn’t listening to me.

“I can add two,” Chris said to Drew, “maybe three.”

“Two what?” I asked, trying to keep myself in the conversation.

“I’ve got one,” Drew responded, “but I might be able to scrounge up another one when Total Destruction 3 is done.”

“So that’s about four total.” Chris typed on his tablet and ignored my glares. “I’d like at least one more.”

“Four of what? I’m the director. Shouldn’t I be involved in the finding of things? I’ve got connections, too,” I lied, not wanting to feel left out. “Maybe I can get one, too, if you tell me what we’re looking for.”

“Sure, Coffee Girl.” Chris smirked. “You go ahead and find one.”

“Great.” I smiled, glad to finally be involved in the conversation. “Now, what am I finding?”

“Millions of dollars,” Chris said, broadening his grin.

“Millions of dollars?” I said, shocked. “You both are putting millions of your own dollars into this film?”

“We believe in its success.” Drew smiled at me.

“But it’s not going to happen with Janelle as DP,” Chris said, his tone final.