But the funds were drying up, and so far, the couple of investors he’d pitched hadn’t bought in. They’d told him they’d wait to see how the film did at one of the big festivals before they took a chance on an unknown. He was already working like a dog, running with a team so small that it was a wonder they weren’t already dead.
And he knew—knew there was something in her that might be perfect for this film. If she could create something like what he’d heard on Saturday morning, it would all be worth it. He’d wanted to use the opening scene as her audition piece because it was intense and edgy and would need a hard-rocking track to do it any justice. He wanted to hear that song again, the one she’d been playing the other day. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he wanted to make her admit that she’d written it.
But the lake scene? It was a tranquil, reflective moment in the movie. Perfect for the sappy kind of easy violin music that she’d talked about wanting to compose.
“Any inspiration yet?” He knew he was smirking, probably making it look like he was mocking her, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Like he’d said to Daria the other day, he wasn’t trying to be an asshole. It just seemed to happen around Minh. Like he needed to deflect her attention away from whatever she saw inside of him.
She set down her pen and looked up, frowning. “I think so. I have an idea, but—” She stopped abruptly and pushed back from the table, bending to pick up her violin case. She set it on the table and opened it up, pulling out her instrument and putting it to her shoulder. She began to play, her bow moving over the strings in big, sweeping arcs. It was a beautiful melody, actually. Not quite the sappy crap he’d expected, but definitely familiar. It sounded like something that would make the audience feel good. Comfortable, like they knew the character in this scene and could identify with him.
In this case, it was actually a pretty good fit.
He didn’t like it.
After less than a minute, she stopped playing, brought the violin down to her side, and turned back to Chris. “What do you think?”
He scowled. Her face fell. She looked hurt. Damn. He sighed. “It’s actually really good. I think you should expand it out and it would be an exact fit for this scene.
“But you don’t like it.” It wasn’t a question.
He shook his head. “I like it well enough. It’s what’s behind it that I don’t like.” He waved his hand at her, trying to explain. “You composed that with zero effort, like you’ve composed a billion of those same things already. It’s like you took a manual and checked off some boxes and there you go. Insta-song.”
Her eyes were wide now and her lips were parted, like he’d hurt her and she was about to retreat into her wounded feelings. Part of him felt bad—enough that he almost backed off—but another part of him was angry at the way she hid from herself. He was not about to let her keep hiding from him. He shook his head and held up a hand. “I’m not trying to knock your art.”
Fuck, he’d just sneered that last word at her, but he wanted to see that fire of hers come back. He wanted her to give him what he already knew she was capable of. Something incredible and uniquely her, instead of this recycled crap that any half-decent composer could write.
He backed up a bit. “It’s sedate and easy and really pretty, but that’s really the only scene that can afford to be so expected. But I’ll come right out and say it. I’m worried that you’ll end up writing a dozen more just like it.”
He hoped she wouldn’t be insulted again, but it was the first thing that had sprung to mind and out of his mouth.
But instead of looking offended, she surprised him by sighing and shrugging, looking surprisingly like she agreed with him. “Okay. I get it. I understand.”
“Good.”
“But I think it’s ridiculous.”
“What?”
“You told me to come in and audition. You gave me a scene, I wrote a piece for it. You yourself just said that it was an exact fit.”
“Would be, if you expanded it.”
He knew he was being ridiculous, but he didn’t like the way she was painting him. “You know as well as I do that I’ve passed your little test. Don’t hire me if you don’t like me, but don’t pretend it’s because you’re questioning the quality of my work.”
Her eyes flashed and her shoulders were tight, visibly bristling. At least she wasn’t shrinking away, like she’d been about to do earlier. He felt a rush of satisfaction at that.
But then she put the violin back in the case and the chair squeaked as she sat back own again, and he had to suppress a wince. Most of the studio’s furniture was discards they found on the street, so nothing matched and most things were broken in small but irritating ways. Usually, he didn’t care. But for some reason, he found himself wishing things were nicer, just for Minh.
Simply being near her was making him feel inadequate. No. Not quite. It was making him want to be better. For her.
Just then, Shen walked in from downstairs. “Hey. We’ve just done a couple of changes to the lake scene. Do you need to see them?”
Minh flicked a glance at Chris, then shook her head. “No, thanks. I think we’re done here.”