Everything Leads to You

A lot of the scenes are in the market, so I make a list of all the markets I can think of, from small produce stores to larger groceries that still have a small-town feel. Most of the work for this part will simply be to find a place that will say yes to letting us film there. George’s and Juniper’s places will be more complex because they need to reflect who they are.

This is what I love about production design. The writers imagine the story, tell us where people are and what they do and say. The actors embody the characters, give them faces and voices. The directors and producers transform an idea into something real. But the art department, we do the rest. When you see their rooms and you discover that they love a certain band, or that they collect seashells or hang their clothes with equal space between each perfectly ironed shirt or have stacks of papers on their desks or a week’s worth of dirty dishes in the sink and bras strewn over brass doorknobs—all of that is us.

The art department creates the world. When you walk into someone’s house and you see all of their things—the neatness or the clutter, the objects they have on display—that’s when you begin to really know someone. Maybe there’s a guy you think is your friend but then you go to his house and discover his walls are covered in taxidermy animals and trophies and you never even knew that he hunted. Maybe it’s creepy, maybe the mounted heads look deranged, not preserved exactly right. Or maybe they’re perfect and you can tell he’s proud, that he’s really good at something. Either way, it makes him more interesting. All of that is important and a lot of the time it isn’t in the script; it’s something the art department gets to imagine.

Rebecca and Theo have described Juniper’s apartment as small and humble and containing many plants, and it will be my job to decide everything else. Is she neat or messy? Are the plants perfectly lined up on windowsills or are they cluttering every surface with dirt everywhere? Does she have art on her walls? The answer is yes. She has art on her walls, maybe something scientific.

I see her apartment in blues and greens, mostly; she’s a little melancholy.

George is melancholy, too, but while Juniper’s apartment needs to reflect who she is, he’s living in a house he didn’t decorate, a place that’s been preserved for a long time. He’s heartbroken over the death of his parents. In one scene he cooks an egg and eats it and washes the dishes right after, which seems like a ritual. Like the way he was taught to do things by his mother. He’ll keep everything neat, exactly as it was before they died. I’ll need to create a set that looks dated but cared for. He needs to seem like a guest there.

Coral. The color scheme will be corals and pinks and maybe some yellows, like the house is trying to comfort him.

When he eats his sad, single egg, he’ll eat it off a dainty plate with scalloped edges and a floral pattern.

I make long, curving lists. I sketch out a couple of the vignettes for both of the houses. I work on the scenes I remember because Charlotte has my copy of the screenplay and I don’t want to take her out of the story. Then I grab my laptop and browse for images to show Rebecca and Theo so they can get a feel for what I want to create. I find a few pieces of furniture on design blogs that I want to track down for the set, so I look them up and take note of where they came from, and I find the most gorgeous coral-y wallpaper to go in the kitchen of George’s house, and the address of a nursery in West Hollywood that carries all kinds of exotic plants.

And then I hear a sigh and I look up and it’s Charlotte. She’s closing the screenplay. She doesn’t say anything at first, and I can feel myself stop breathing as I wait, and then she says, “You’re right. It’s so moving. I love the characters. The pacing is perfect.”

“Will you do it with me?” I ask her. “They said I can hire one assistant. I need someone to help me stay sane.”

We’re basically finished with our current project at the studio, and since Charlotte’s leaving for school soon, it’s also her last project there. Still, there’s a good chance she’d like to spend her last few weeks at home laying low, getting ready for school and spending time with her family. So I am prepared to beg.

But she doesn’t make me.

“Sure,” she says. “You’d make me do tons of work anyway. I might as well get paid for it.”

“So I should go for it,” I say. “Right?”

I just want to hear her say yes.

“Yes.”





Chapter Eight



The next day at noon, I meet Theo and Rebecca at their house just a couple blocks from the café where we had our first meeting. Their backyard is like a tiny jungle. A white iron table set with sparkling water, lemonade, and three glasses sits flanked by tropical plants.

Before sitting down, I take a look at the details. Vines curl up the fence and in one spot Theo and Rebecca have hung objects from the branches: several hand-carved masks, a few small mosaics assembled from bright pieces of pottery.

“These must be from where you’re from,” I say to Theo, and he nods. “South Africa?”

“Yes. Cape Town.”

“You must have spent a lot of time outdoors. And you still do, obviously.”