My Leading Man | Timothée Chalamet

chapter eight

The next two months flew by like a car chase in a cheesy movie; it was busy, chaotic, and I could barely keep track of everything going on. It seemed nearly every day for the rest of March and April were filled to the brim with movie preparations and schoolwork. Each day I went to school, then afterwards I spent countless hours contacting my new crew of students at USC, scouting out filming locations - which was not always easy, considering it was all done online - and occasionally messaging Timothée Chalamet, but more often than not it was his agent I was working with. School had ended a week ago though, and my past week had been mostly filled with my mother and I shopping for some last-minute essentials for my trip, including a small film camera to document the process of making my first real film, and ironing out any minor details with my crew so we could begin production as soon as possible.

I hadn't seen Timothée since that day he asked to be in my film, and when I talked with him over the phone, it had started to feel like someone else; a separate person I was talking to instead of the beautiful actor who I really was in contact with. I hadn't even talked to him many times at all; all I knew was that he was busy learning his lines, and he would sometimes call me, asking how to best interpret a scene. His agent also informed me that he rented out a short-term studio apartment airbnb near L.A., on his dime. When I asked if he was okay with that, she told me that he offered it because he had the money and liked the idea of doing what he could to make production on our indie film as "smooth as possible" for me by taking care of that detail himself. I blushed profusely when I heard that, and thanked the heavens that I was talking on the phone where no one could see my reaction.

As much as I sometimes wanted to, I refrained from ever contacting him directly, unless it was vital information related to the movie. I knew he was used to crazed fans and I wanted to be a breath of fresh air for him, and I also knew I had to keep our relationship strictly professional; otherwise, I feared he might back out of the movie. But sometimes just knowing I had his contact made my phone feel about a million degrees and would surely burn a hole through my pocket at any moment. 

I zipped up my last suitcase (I only had two, but it was massive so it took a while), and I took a big sigh of relief. It was Saturday evening, and Syd and I were leaving for L.A. the next morning around 4 am. I rolled my suitcase out of my room and to a stop by our front door, ready to leave the next morning.

Now that I had finished packing, I wandered into my parents' room, hoping to say goodbye to my dad. My mother was taking me to the airport in the morning, but he would stay home so he could keep sleeping, which meant I had to say my goodbyes before I went to bed. He was ironing one of his dress shirts for the next day at work, when he saw me and set the iron down. My father walked over to me and smiled sadly. "All packed and ready to go?"

I nodded. "Yep," and took a big step into his arms. He folded me against him and smiled.

"You're going to have a great summer. I'm excited to hear all about it and watch your movie." I nodded into his shoulder, but couldn't say anything as I felt a sob crawling up my throat. I wiped away my tears and pulled away, and saw his eyes glisten with tears as well. My father was a quiet and sensitive man, opposite from my mother in many ways. Both loved me and supported me in everything, but where he was careful and thoughtful, my mother was robust and spontaneous, often apologizing after acting, rather than considering the effects of an action beforehand.

My father smiled down at me. "Dayna is planning to pick you up from your flight tomorrow, and she said she has her guest room all prepped and ready for you. She's thrilled about you coming."

I gave a small chuckle. "Well I'm excited too. And I'll see you in August, or sooner if we wrap up quicker than expected." After one last hug and goodbye, I returned to my room, going to bed early that night in preparation for tomorrow's travels. As hard as I tried, though, I couldn't fall asleep. My mind was racing with all that was about to happen. What if Timothée and the crew don't like my directing style? What if I'm an absolutely terrible director? I bit the inside of my cheek in worry. What if I hate L.A.? What if- I sat up quickly, forcing myself out of my thoughts. I stood up, went to the kitchen, consumed a high dose of melatonin, and promptly fell into a thick, dreamless sleep.