Page 3 of Score
“Yeah,” Evan pipes in. “We’ve actually spoken with their daughter. Kitty’s great.”
My pulse pounds at my temples, excitement and adrenaline flooding my nervous system. I don’t want to presume, but why would Canon Holt be asking me about a relatively obscure historical figure if he didn’t have a project in mind about her?
“It’s a remarkable, uniquely American—uniquely African American, to be more precise—story,” Canon says. “We plan to tell it and wondered if you want to help us do it right.”
I can’t even play it off. My hands fly to my mouth and I’m pretty sure I squeak like a little mouse coveting a block of cheese.
“Are you for real?” I gasp. “You’re making a movie about Dessi Blue?”
“We are.” An open grin transforms Canon’s face, his excitement for the endeavor palpable. “I’m putting our team together now, and you’re the first writer I thought of.”
“I am?” I press a hand to my chest. “Thank you. I’m so flattered.”
“We think you’re uniquely qualified to write Dessi’s story,” Evan says.
“I agree,” I say, smiling to take some of the cockiness out of my statement. “But why do you think so?”
“Obviously you have an incredible background, graduating from USC film.” Canon extends a fist to bump. “Go, Trojans.”
“Go, Trojans.” I smile and return the bump, recalling Canon also attended USC’s film school. “Took forever, but I finally finished after working in the industry for years. I was only a few credits shy of graduating when I moved out here to LA, so I figured why not?”
“For sure,” Canon says. “But you also spent a year at Finley, right?”
I’m not sure how to respond. My time at Finley, though brief, was extremely formative for me as a writer. As a person.
Had it not been for all the drama in my junior year, I would have gladly finished my degree at the Georgia HBCU. However, that year was also one of the most painful of my life, as confusing as it was illuminating.
“Um, yeah,” I reply into the expectant silence. “Actually, I wasn’t there even a full year. Really only a semester and a half.”
The server brings out our entrées, so I endure the few moments it takes to get our meals served and replenish drinks. Back on edge at the mention of Finley, I bounce my foot under the table, nerves strung tight.
Canon and Evan take first bites of their meals, so I force myself to eat, though the salad may as well be glue I’m so distracted by the turn the conversation has taken.
“I’m surprised you even heard about Finley,” I say as casually as I can between bites. “It’s such a fantastic place, but I was there so briefly.”
I leave room for Canon to elaborate on why he brought it up, but he shifts gears.
“One of the reasons I see you as uniquely qualified to write Dessi’s story,” Canon says, “is your double major in film and African Americanhistory. I’ve seen a few interviews where you discussed the Harlem Renaissance specifically, and your passion for the era really came through.”
“Hmmm,” I grunt neutrally, and take another bite of my salad, letting him lead where we go next.
“There’s no doubt in my mind I’m supposed to direct this film,” Canon says. “I’d never heard of Dessi until I was in Alabama a few years ago doing research for a documentary and saw a sign on the road that readDessi Blue Was Born Here. That sent me down a rabbit hole.”
Canon puts his fork down and leans back in his seat, giving the conversation his full attention. “I know I’m supposed to direct this biopic, but I also know a Black woman should write it.”
I can’t hold back my smile because not all male directors recognize the importance of a female gaze even with stories so uniquely a woman’s.
“That’s pretty amazing,” I say. “That you want to protect her legacy that way.”
“And I’m not looking for someone who’ll deliver the script and then disappear until the premiere,” Canon goes on, not bothering to acknowledge my praise. “If you accept the project, I’d want you deeply involved. I’d want you on set to consult and be accessible for rewrites, revisions. You’d help me shape it the whole time.”
This kind of opportunity comes along maybe once or twice in a lifetime. It starts to sink in that this could be a real turning point in my career. The dramedy I won the Golden Globe for would be dwarfed by a project of this scope. My fingers go numb I’m clenching my fists so tightly in my lap.
“We honestly think you’re perfect for this script,” Evan adds.
“Thank you very much.” I rest my chin in my hand. “This sounds amazing. I don’t know if you’re waiting to formally offer, but it’ll be an immediate yes.”
“You don’t need to talk to your agent first?” Canon queries.
