“I need some time to consider this,” she said. “I want to fully understand all the details before I commit.”
Wes’s shoulders sagged, and she heard Pierre release a sigh, but otherwise no one seemed overly upset about her indecision.
“We’ll need an answer within the next few days,” Mr. Steinberg said. “We wanted to approach you first, because we think you’re the best, but we can’t wait for long. We’re already behind schedule.”
Dawn snorted on another laugh and covered her mouth with one hand. The best. Really? These folks really didn’t know a thing about her. Wes must have really talked her up.
“We all have deadlines to meet,” Mr. Steinberg added.
Her belly did a backflip at that dreaded word: deadline. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad when she had others to rely on and help her meet those deadlines. Maybe team composing was the way to go. She couldn’t know if she didn’t try.
Their meal arrived, and Dawn was relieved that she’d ordered some sort of chicken. She wasn’t sure what the green and purple leaves on her plate were, but everything else was not only beautiful to look at, but also pleasing to her taste buds. She wondered if Kellen would like to eat here sometime. Assuming she became famous enough to get a reservation. She was glad when conversation turned to politics, because it was easy to pretend that she didn’t have an opinion and let her thoughts wander to her own situation. She wasn’t sure she could handle making conversation at the moment. As her entree had been about the size of a naked chicken nugget, it didn’t take long to finish her meal. She found herself trapped between the heated debate of Everlong and Steinberg—one a centrist, the other very liberal. She waited for an opening in their incessant arguing about their not-really-so-opposing views on how to handle illegal immigration before she excused herself to go to the ladies room.
She was surprised when the only other woman at the table—the legendary actress turned producer Jillian Calipso—joined her. Dawn had a sudden and strange longing for Lindsey’s presence. Lindsey could have distracted Jillian with excited fangirling while Dawn did her business. She was surprised the actress needed to pee at all. Jillian Calipso was on par with a goddess, and Dawn was certain that goddesses didn’t answer the call of nature.
“Too much testosterone at that table for my liking,” Jillian said as they entered the bathroom in single file.
Dawn laughed like a preteen talking to her crush for the first time. She was starting to think she had some sort of laughing Tourette’s. They all must think she was a blubbering idiot. “You must deal with that a lot.”
Jillian smiled and caught Dawn’s arm before she disappeared into a stall. “I don’t actually have to use the facilities,” Jillian said.
Hah! Dawn had been right. The woman didn’t lower herself to perform natural bodily functions.
“I want to encourage you to sign with us.”
“Oh,” Dawn said flatly. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from frowning any more than she could stop giggling. Coincidentally, she sucked at poker.
“There aren’t nearly enough women in your profession.”
“Which is one reason I hesitate,” Dawn said. “If I become an extension of Dr. Everlong instead of rising to the top alone, I might never find my own footing.”
“You will,” Jillian said with a smile. “It’s hard to rise in this business, especially for women and minorities—don’t let anyone convince you otherwise—but instead of fighting the establishment, use it. Use it for your gain, not theirs.”
Dawn wasn’t sure she was capable of using people to climb her ladder of success. She’d rather create her own ladder than patch together the ladders of others, but she had to admit Jillian’s advice was sound, and she was speaking from experience. She wasn’t a composer, but she was part of the Hollywood elite.
“You might think you want to reinvent the wheel here, hon, but take this opportunity. If it doesn’t work out the way you hope, you can always find a different path to the top.” Jillian touched Dawn’s bare arm, and the small action made her seem far more human and far less godlike. “You do want to rise to the top, don’t you?”
Dawn smiled. “Somehow.”
Jillian returned her smile. “Good. Now go out there and tell those men you’ll do what they want, when in reality they’ll be doing what you want.”
Was that how women became successful? Not all, Dawn realized, but utilizing other’s might make obtaining success easier, assuming she could hold her own with the men who were already at the top. She doubted she’d get far if she kept breaking into fits of giggles for no justifiable reason.
“Thanks for the advice, Jillian. I appreciate your guidance. I have to admit I was flipping out a bit.”
“That’s what they want. That’s why they didn’t tell Wes what to expect, why they scheduled this meeting when you didn’t have time to meet with us. Why they invited several people who don’t have anything to do with the movie’s score, myself included. I’d better head back, or they’ll be on to me.” Jillian squeezed her arm and offered her the signature wink that she’d likely trademarked. “You look out for yourself, hon.”
Jillian left, and Dawn stared at the back of the closed door until another woman entered the restroom and startled her out of her thoughts. She went into the stall and sat there long after she’d finished tinkling, wondering if she should follow Jillian’s advice and use this opportunity as a shortcut to her future or if she was even strong and smart enough to do so. When she finally left the restroom—the entire table must be wondering what she was giving birth to in there that would take so long—Pierre was milling about just outside the door.
“I was about to enter and see if you’d drowned yourself.”
She chuckled. “I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. Long time, no see, Teach.” She lifted her arms to hug him, thought better of it and started to lower them again, but he closed the gap between them, drawing her against him for a tight squeeze.
“You’ve grown into such a lovely woman, precious one.”
“Having second thoughts about turning me down now that I’ve grown into my awkwardly long limbs?”
He caught her face between his palms and kissed the tip of her nose. “You do know I’m gay, right?”
Dawn’s face fell. Pierre was gay? No, she hadn’t realized that, but then her gaydar was perpetually broken.
“Your song, ma petite, is miraculous.”
“Miraculous?” She laughed. “You mean ‘Ashes’?”
“That piece was stirring. It deserved the Grammy. This new song, what is it called?”
“‘Blue’?”
“Ah, perfect. Yes, ‘Blue.’ It grabbed me from the first note, ripped my soul from my body, stirred it into a frenzy, smoothed it like warm butter, and put it back inside me at a higher level.”
She laughed. “You always did exaggerate.”