Susan Andersen - Playing Dirty

Eyes sober, he leaned deeper into her space. “Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal that I never make with my subjects. If you don’t like the way I capture you, I’ll edit you out entirely. I strongly believe that by doing so I’ll be doing your Miss Agnes an injustice, but you have my word that I’ll bite the bullet and do it anyway. I’ll put it in writing,” he added quickly before it even occurred to her to make a snide remark about his word. “You have an opportunity here, though, Ava—a chance to round out Agnes’s story by telling the world about a woman who had an impact on your life. In any good documentary, it’s the personal knowledge of a film’s subject, the anecdotes the people who knew her tell, that in the end add the texture and richness to that subject’s story.”

“Why have a scriptwriter at all, then, if you think unscripted reminiscences add so much?”

“I’m approaching this project like a feature. There are a lot of very visual aspects to Miss Agnes’s life and I have a budget like I’ve never had before. So I’m shooting the interviews in HD, but shooting the re-creations with the actors on film to give that lusher look of an earlier era. It will give her story a larger, richer look.” Slowly he straightened back into his chair and for a moment simply looked at her. “I hope you’ll agree to be part of it. But even if you don’t, would you give me your friends’ numbers so I can see about getting their input? I want to capture the woman who befriended three girls not just for a single tea at her mansion, but for years’ worth of teas and other important landmarks in their lives.”

Ava knew he was right, that he was offering her an unprecedented opportunity. She hated to admit, even to herself, that a big part of what was holding her back was the knowledge of how that bugger-all camera would add ten pounds. God, how shallow could she get? She’d rarely even thought about Cade during the past decade and now she was worried about what he’d think when he saw her on film or digitized or whatever? What the hell was that all about?

“I’ll do it,” she said before her vanity could sink its claws even deeper.

“You’ll give me their numbers?”

“I’ll participate in your documentary. It would probably be best if I called Jane and Poppy, myself. They’re not exactly your biggest fans.”

His mouth crooked. “You don’t have to pretty it up. You can say they hate my guts.”

“They hate your guts. But they loved Miss Agnes, so even if the request came from you they’d likely do it for her. But it’ll probably fly better coming from me.”

“Thank you.”

She rose to her feet. “You do understand I’m not doing this for you, right?”

“Oh, yeah. I get that.” He, too, stood up. “But thanks, anyway. When I was researching Miss Agnes, she struck me as a woman who was not only fascinating, but unique. I’m happy for every opportunity to showcase as many facets of her character as I can fit into ninety-nine minutes.”

“I’m starting to believe that.” She plucked his coat off the back of the stool and held it out to him. “It’s the only reason I’ve agreed to do this.”

“Yeah.” He shot her a crooked grin. “I figured it wasn’t for my dazzling smile.”

It could have been, Ava thought.

Once upon a time, before he’d wrecked everything, it really could have been.

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