On the Come Up (14 page)

The doctor told her she’d given herself a front-to-back tear and that’s why she in so much pain. AnnMarie laid back and cried. What my thing look like? There some huge gaping hole down there? The doc said, Don’t worry, we stitched you up, you’ll be fine. Blue ice packs cooling the swell, one after another, melting to mush between her legs. Stayed in hospital two days, then she out.

Back at home, she sat on those hospital-brand ice packs Blessed had to keep refreezing, crab-walking to the bathroom, trying to sit without wincing on the toilet seat. Star nestled in Blessed’s good arm, her mother humming a little tune like she gave birth her own damn self. Getting phone calls from Dean and the girls. They’re cheering, shouting, Congratulations. CONGRATULATIONS!

Dean sent flowers. Pink roses with white baby’s breath. Sonia mailed a little outfit, Tommy Hilfiger on the label, with a matching baby hat and booties. AnnMarie squealed when she opened the box. All her friends came by bringing gifts, rattles and a silver spoon and a mobile for the crib. The room filled up with balloons. Everybody wanted to hold Star. She kept saying, Wash your hands. Wash your hands.

Two weeks ’til the movie, AnnMarie tried to relax. Tried to enjoy the little things, like the sound of Star’s cry and her tiny toes, watching Darius nursing her with a bottle, his face bent close, eyes on her like she the most precious thing in the world. But she felt the panic at odd moments—in the shower trying to
lift her leg without wincing, or when she was brushing her teeth, glancing in the mirror and seeing tired eyes staring back, hearing a door slam or a quiet settle over the room … In these moments, she felt the sensation like a hand squeezing her chest. How the fuck am I supposed to do this.

Roll Sound

Speed

Roll Camera

Scene 5, Take 3

Mark It

AnnMarie heard the clap and Dean call
Action!
and they were moving down the school hallway, her shoulder brushing against Melody’s, her eyes on the floor right in front of Bobby who wasn’t more than a few feet ahead of them, walking backwards with the big-ass camera up on his shoulder. Her first line was
Why you bugging
, and when she said it Melody shoved her into the locker and AnnMarie laughed ’cause it was funny how she did it this time, her arm held in the air, wrist bent in a mock
fuck y’all
, and AnnMarie was smiling inside too ’cause Sonia had stood up at the right moment, zipping her drum in its case—all of them getting it right, Bobby swinging around behind them as AnnMarie said, You coming or staying? Sonia said, I’m coming.

And AnnMarie thought Now, so she pushed the handle on the door and they went out to the school yard, felt the heat on their skin, Bobby trailing behind them but the camera still rolling. Out the corner of her eye, she could see the project kids hanging on the fence but no one was talking, all the crew peoples quiet too as Sonia slowed, knowing they supposed to let Bobby move in
front again so the camera could capture their expressions when they talked about the birthday party.

What we gonna do, Lanisha? Sweet Sixteen, you gotta do something special.

They heard
Cut!

Good job, girls, Dean hollered, then he turned and got in a huddle with Bobby as one of the crew guys lifted the heavy camera off his shoulder.

Sonia said, That felt pretty good.

I forgot my line, AnnMarie said. I was supposed to say,
What up, what up, what up
.

Sonia said, That’s okay. It still sounded natural.

No one spoke for a minute, waiting for feedback from Dean, the three of them sweating in their band uniforms, the afternoon sun bouncing off the asphalt. They heard the neighborhood kids holler but their words were swallowed by a passing car, Nas thumping from the speakers.

Then Dean was approaching, telling them they gonna do it again, how they all need to slow down once they come out the door—Bobby needs to get in front of them, otherwise everything be outta focus.

And AnnMarie, try not to look at the camera, okay?

Oh, sorry. I didn’t know I did that.

But she was embarrassed. Knowing she messed up. Hoping they didn’t have to do Take 4 ’cause a her.

She heard Sonia say, Are those kids gonna stay there all day?

Her eyes drifted to the fence as Dean turned, looking at them hanging there, nothing better to do on a Thursday, four o’clock in the afternoon, summertime in Crown Heights.

Dean said, Whatever’s going on around you, whatever the camera can’t see …? Use it. Stay in the moment. Kids yell something, what would your character do?

You want us to beef wit’ them kids, AnnMarie asked.

Melody laughed.

No, AnnMarie, I want you to stay in character and not lose your focus. Do you understand, girls?

Yes, I think so, Sonia said, thoughtfully.

Let’s go again then.

The girls headed back inside, AnnMarie glancing over at the fence where Maya, the assistant director, had gone. She liked Maya. Got her hair up in a big ol’ afro like those Black Power bitches. AnnMarie’d seen pictures in history class once but so far no one like Maya in real life. She had taken the walkie off her belt and was letting one of the younger boys hold it through the fence. He pressed his mouth up to the speaker and AnnMarie could hear him say,
Roll sound
as the others cracked up, grabbing for a turn.

AnnMarie yawned. She was tired.

Seven a.m., day six of shooting, AnnMarie felt like she was sleepwalking. Three weeks since the birth and she’d been living on Star time, not her own. Long days on set, sometimes twelve, thirteen hours. It don’t matter. Every four hours, Star need formula. Twice in the middle of the night. She don’t wake, you got to wake her, the doctor had said. She can’t grow on her own.

Seven a.m., she supposed to be on set but everything had gone wrong the day before and all that wrong had drifted into those early-morning hours after Star woke and she and Darius had got into it. When the tiny cries pierced through the fog, AnnMarie groaned, her body dead. She nudged him but he didn’t stir. She sat up, frowning, fighting sleep. She said, Darius … We gotta do a bottle. He didn’t answer. Darius, she said again, the bottle. Then his voice came through the dark. You get it. She groaned, Please Darius … But he threw off the sheet, saying, Stop fronting like you somebody an’ act like a mother. She tsked, Oh so you ain’t in this. No, I ain’t. I’m out. And when she reached for his arm, he wheeled around and punched her, rattling the teeth in her head.

She bit her tongue, spit blood in the sink listening to the door slam. Blessed didn’t even stir. Three a.m. Mix formula. Heat water. Heat bottle. Feed Star. Star fussy, refusing the bottle, squirming in her arms. AnnMarie wanted to cry. Finally Star drank. AnnMarie changed her diaper. Set her in the bassinet, rocked her to sleep. Four thirty, she got back into bed, the ice on her cheek
turning to water in the plastic bag. Then the alarm was clanging. God damn. She had to be on set in forty-five minutes and hadn’t even looked at her lines.

She called up Dean. She said, I’m sorry Dean, but I’ma be late.

She told him she need to shower, get her mother woke and ready for Star, three bottles mixed for the day and still she hadn’t looked at her lines. Dean said, Calm down, AnnMarie. We’re sending a car for you.

And when she arrived on set, a hour late, she felt a weight lifting, the whole ride out patting on the pancake powder where the swell was, forgetting about Darius and even Star, secretly happy to be here and not at home, the Lincoln Town Car pulling up to the curb where Dean and the crew people was waiting.

Before they got started, Dean gathered them. He didn’t say nothing about her making them wait. Instead, he rallied them. He knew they was tired, he said. But they had to keep it together, each and every one of them, so they could get it right and make something special. He put a hand on her shoulder as she looked across at all the crew people standing together listening, and Maya the AD said, Remember, people, we’re guests here in this neighborhood. Be respectful. Say please and thank you, ’cause they letting us be here—it’s a privilege not a right. AnnMarie lifted her hands and clapped for that one.

’Cause in the beginning, she’d wondered how it would go down being out here in Crown Heights. Project kids hanging on the edge of things, riding their BMXs across the cables, passing the PAs and equipment or gathering on the benches of Albany Houses, watching with wary eyes as the movie crew bounced from location to location. Kids in the step band were all right. Mothers and grandmas coming by to pick them up after practice, or standing next to Maya watching a rehearsal.

Still, she wondered what would happen. Outsiders come in, thinking they all that.

When they broke for lunch, AnnMarie borrowed Dean’s phone and called home. Her mother said, Star is fine. She drank off the whole bottle and is sleeping. AnnMarie hesitated, then asked if Darius had come by. Blessed said she ain’t seen him. AnnMarie hung up and stood there for a minute, crew people mingling, going in and out of the church where they got food catering set up in the basement. She thought about the fight—not the three a.m. punch to the face, but the other one that had started the day before.

What he say about my mixtape, Darius had asked and AnnMarie realized right then she’d made a mistake, dangling the possibility in front of him. Straight off, Dean told her the only music in the movie was gonna be from the step band. It’s the style, AnnMarie, sorry. It’s called realism. She didn’t know what
realism
was but Dean could be matter-of-fact like that. No bullshit.

She hadn’t known how to tell Darius so she said, He ain’t got time to listen to it yet which made Darius go quiet. Hostile quiet. She said, Why don’t you come out to set, meet Dean yourself. Meet everybody. Maybe you could—but he cut her off. He said, I don’t give a shit he listen to it or not. Who he anyway? Just some white dude making a chick movie ain’t nobody gonna watch.

What the fuck that supposed to mean, she’d snapped.

AnnMarie stood in front of the church, watching a couple homies step out the doors of Albany Houses. Passing by the crew van, red bandanas wrapped around the leg of their jeans. Crown Heights don’t look much different from Far Rock, AnnMarie thought. But at least a camera be rolling. Something she could tell Star about when she get grown.

The apartment they were using as a set belonged to one of the kids from the step band. It was hot up in there with all the lights and flags on stands, no fans or air allowed when the camera rolling—Albert with his sound cart stuck in the bathroom, the space so tight.

Today they getting ready to do the scene where she pick up Melody to go to the movies. The actress playing Melody’s mother supposed to get up off the couch, get in her face the way mothers do.

They did all the mother’s lines first. It came out good. AnnMarie sat by the sound cart and listened with the headphones on.

In the hallway, they moved the camera to the bottom of the stairs and pointed it up at the apartment door where the girls would exit. Okay girls, Dean said. You’re up. He reminded them that Melody was supposed to still be angry at her mother. AnnMarie’s character supposed to be clowning around but supportive.

AnnMarie heard
Action
.

They moved out the door and down the stairs.

AnnMarie said, I woulda told her to go fuck herself.

Melody shook her head like she
over
it.

Dean called
Cut
. He said, AnnMarie, please don’t improvise.

Just come down the stairs, no lines.

You don’t want me to say nothing?

No, I think it’s better to
see
her anger, instead of using words.

Melody shrugged. I kinda liked it.

Yeah, but we’re going to do it without any words.

They climbed the stairs to do another take. Melody said, Well I liked it.

AnnMarie said, Yeah but he in charge.

Melody said, So. You got a opinion, you can say it.

They went inside the apartment, closed the door and waited for Dean to call
Action
.

AnnMarie stood there, thinking. Then she whispered, You got a father, Melody?

Melody looked at her, puzzled.

Through the door they heard
Roll sound …

Sometimes she forgot what the story was. Dean would tell her, it’s about friendship, it’s about change, you goin’ your own way, making new friends, leaving the old behind. You’re in this step band and the step band
is
the music. It’s the rhythm. It’s the flow. She’d be like, Okay, I got that. It’s about the music
you
make, AnnMarie, and I know you understand that. Yeah … she’d say. Yeah, I got you …

She liked those conversations, and there were times in between setups or on lunch break when Dean would throw an arm over her shoulder and say, How are you, AnnMarie. Everything okay? She would say, Everything fine, Dean, and they’d talk about the small
things, the day-to-day things, like Star gaining a whole pound or Blessed trying to string beads again. She didn’t ask again about Darius and his music. Carrying the mixtape music around in her shoulder bag. Sometimes Dean would tell her about his neighborhood in the Village. How there be a rice pudding shop and a graffiti mural and a grown man who sang a cappella out on the corner for money. A picture start to form, slowly, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

When the AD called
Check the gate
, AnnMarie knew they be taking a break for a while so she drifted over to the sound cart where Albert sat on his apple box, messing with his cables. She said, You want your mic back now, or should I keep it on.

Keep it on, he said, you’ll need it for the next scene.

She liked Albert. He was a big guy, big arms, thick-chested, with a Fu Manchu running down the side a his lips.