She moved closer to the pictures. The one on the left was a close-up of Mason Star, lead singer of Five Star. His long hair was plastered to his neck in sweaty streaks and his eyes were closed, but there was no mistaking that he was meant to be behind the microphone. Five Star was, after Bruce, the most famous band to “grow up” on the Jersey shore. If she had ever believed in signs, this would surely be one for the ages.
“I’m not staying,” she told Rob as she looked at the next photo. This one showed Five Star walking out the back door of a bar in Wildwood, instrument cases slung over their shoulders. “I need to call Jake but I went out without my phone.” She tried to keep her voice from shaking as she thought about what she was going to do.
Rob pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and held it out to her. “Are you going to yell at him?”
She was touched by his concern for her brother. “Not unless he ate all the gnocchi.”
“You didn’t have any?” And now she heard concern for her, which touched her again.
“I couldn’t eat.” Anna met his eyes. “But if Jake agrees to my plan, I might feel better. If all goes well I’ll be looking for a hearty breakfast.”
Rob shot her a half grin. “That, Nonna would like. She loved gnocchi cold for breakfast.”
Anna turned back to the photo of the Five Star concert. She stared at the faces in the crowd, knowing it wasn’t the show she’d attended but looking anyway.
Jake answered on the first ring. “Rob? Have you seen my sister?”
“It’s me,” she said, cutting him off before he could say something she didn’t want to hear. “I stopped at Traction to borrow Rob’s phone.”
She took a steadying breath as she gathered her courage. Jake said he’d do one last film. One last chance to work with him to find a true story and tell it. Before tonight she’d been lobbying hard for them to make a film about a girls’ hockey team from upstate New York. The competing expectations for on-ice aggression and office femininity created tension for the girls. Overinvested hockey parents with their cowbells and fistfights were a compelling backdrop.
She wanted to tell that story, but if she only had one more project, that wasn’t the one.
“I thought about what you said,” Anna told him as she touched the frame of the picture. “One more movie.”
“The hockey thing is fresh,” Jake said.
“It’s good, but it’s not what I want for our last film.”
“Anna, stop saying ‘last.’ You can get someone else. With your reputation and the commercial work we have lined up, you can keep going. Colin Paige would work with you in a heartbeat and he’s not the only one.”
She nodded. “You’re right. But Blue Maverick is me and you. Maybe I can keep making movies without you and maybe I can’t. Either way, it won’t be Blue Maverick. So I want our last project to matter.”
“You have an idea?” The familiar surge of interest in his voice made her grip the phone tighter. She’d miss the perfect connection she had with Jake.
“I got a fax two weeks ago from a band. They’re making a new album, first one in fifteen years, and they want a promotional film. Something they can show on TV to help sell the album.”
He was hanging in but he sounded confused when he said, “But that’s commercial work.”
“It was Five Star.”
There was a long silence. Anna put her hand over her mouth, forcing herself to give him time to think. “Is that a joke?” Jake finally said.
“I make movies to tell stories no one’s ever heard. The truth. I want to tell what happened to Terri that night on the Five Star bus.”
“What happened to Terri was a tragedy but there’s no story there. It was an accident.”
“The crash was an accident. But no one ever said why she was on the bus or who she was with or anything. It’s like she was just a body and whatever happened to put her there didn’t matter.”
“Digging into that isn’t going to help the way you feel about Terri. It wasn’t your fault she got on the bus.”
“Jake, she was seventeen and she died in that horrible crash surrounded by strangers who couldn’t even be bothered to explain what she was doing on the bus after she died. She deserves to have her story told.”
“So if we do this, if we go after this and find out what happened, what does that get you?”
“The truth.”
He waited for a second. “We shouldn’t do this on the phone. Come home.”
“No. I know this is the one.”
“But you said they want a promotional film for a new album. The tour bus crashing and Terri and those other people dying practically wrecked their band. They’re not going to talk about that when they’re releasing a new album.”
“Jake, please,” Anna said. She straightened and paced to the door, looking out at the well-lit street. “Getting people to talk about stuff they don’t want to? It’s our job. We’re good at it. Let’s end Blue Maverick the right way.”
“I’ll do what you want, Anna,” Jake said. “But I want you to be sure this is the one. I’m in if you want it.” He paused. “Make sure you want it.”
“I want it.”
Jake’s quick “okay” made her miss him more.
She said goodbye and then handed the phone back to Rob. “See you in the morning for cold gnocchi.”
“I’m sticking with Wheaties.” Rob pulled her into a quick hug. “But thanks for not hating me.”
Anna patted him awkwardly. “See you.”
Back on the street, she turned downtown, heading for the Strand, Hoboken’s art house movie theater. Red River was playing. If Montgomery Clift couldn’t distract her, nothing could.
She’d look for Terri’s story—her last shot to find it—starting tomorrow. But for tonight, she’d escape.
Anna handed her money to Stephen, the Strand’s owner/ticket taker/projectionist/popcorn maker, at the ticket window where he perched on a wooden stool.
Stephen had been a friend ever since he screened Anna’s senior film here.
“No date tonight?” he asked.
“Too many offers, didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.” Stephen liked to tease her about her love life, maybe living vicariously since he’d been in what he called a “dry spell” as long as she’d known him. She didn’t want to find out what that felt like. Her situation was different. She’d broken up with her last boyfriend, Boring Bob, on purpose.
“Maybe if you put some effort in you’d get more men,” he said as he surveyed her well-worn track pants, black T-shirt and grey hoodie disgustedly.
“How do you know this isn’t my best effort?” she shot back.
“I’m in a dry spell, not blind. You’re hot under all that I’m-a-bad-dresser camo.” He handed her a ticket, a box of popcorn and a large Diet Coke. “Just once I’d like to see you in a dress.”
“Dream on,” she said, laughing. In fact, Anna didn’t own a dress. She had two suits, exactly identical, one navy, one black. The navy she wore to business things and any time she had to film a dress-up event. The black she wore to funerals.
She pushed open the door to theater one and found a seat halfway back on the aisle. The lights went out and the familiar darkness flowed over her. The projector clicked on, dust dancing in the light streaming toward the screen.