Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Monk has taken the seat on one side of Canon, and the seat on the other side is empty. Wordlessly and without looking Monk’s way, I take the empty seat.
“Thank you all for coming,” Canon says, standing and looking back over the small theater. “On a Saturday, no less. I especially appreciate you sacrificing this time since soon your whole life will belong to Dessi Blue.”
He’s only half joking. This film’s scale is massive, with elaborate set design, lavish costuming, difficult choreography, and challenging musical numbers. Monk is not only overseeing the film’s score, but will also be intricately involved in the musical numbers and performances, even writing some original songs.
“I cannot overstate the privilege we have in this film,” Canon says. “Historically, Black creatives have been mined for our gifts and not adequately rewarded, compensated, or acknowledged. Most of them never met their earning or career potential. How could they have in this country at that time? We’re making a biopic about Dessi Blue, but we’ll also be giving voice to many other lesser-known artists and historical figures.”
He gestures to me.
“One of the huge advantages Verity brings to this story is her love of and background in African American history, which has added so many layers to the script. I’ve found some rare clips of Dessi from performances during that time for us to watch, which will tell you some things, but I also encourage you to use Verity as a resource. We have drafted a script, but it’s a living document. It’s like a coloring page with outlined images. I fully expect you to help color in the most vivid parts through music, dance, costuming, set design. Each of you brings something unique that will help this film meet its full potential.”
Canon signals someone in the back, who lowers the lights.
“We’ve pulled the few existing clips from Dessi’s life and career to inspire you. We’re going to do her life justice.”
God, she was beautiful.
And radiant.
And monstrously talented.
That’s all I can think as, transfixed, we watch mere slivers of Dessi’s life. Cal is there beside her in nearly every photo and grainy video clip. I can’t help but wonder about Tilda. How, in another time, it could have been her and Dessi. Based on the letters and journal entries we found in Alabama, Dessi would have been willing to brave public scorn and would have chosen Tilda, but while Dessi toured Europe with Cal’s band, Tilda married a nightclub owner named Hezekiah Moore. Tilda made the safe choice. The conventional one. She did her best with what she had in the time she lived. How could I—someone who grew up with essentially two mother figures and knew she liked girls before she knew she liked boys, too, and was accepted unconditionally—judge Tilda? A woman who was a prisoner of an age when living her life authentically would have cost her everything?
“Questions?” Canon asks when the footage concludes. “Comments? Ideas?”
“Just one comment,” Lucia, the choreographer, says.
“Yeah, Lucia?” Canon folds his arms over his chest and studies the dark-haired woman.
“Thank you.” She blinks watery eyes, but firms her lips and goes on. “It feels like I’ve been waiting my whole career for an opportunity like this. You say we’re filling in the colors, and I keep seeing all these beautiful melanated bodies swishing and swinging and doing the Lindy hop and the snakehips.”
“Exactly,” Canon laughs. “That’s it.”
“We get to re-create the Savoy,” Richard, the production designer, jumps in. “That massive, glorious ballroom. Just the glimpses I saw in those clips have my wheels turning.”
“And the music,” Monk interjects softly. He looks up at Canon. “There is this scene where Tilda and Dessi meet Gladys Bentley, right?”
“Yeah.” Canon nods. “Verity found a diary entry where Dessi wrote about seeing her perform at the Ubangi Club.”
Monk’s eyes don’t flick to me when Canon mentions my name, but he continues. “There was a song she’s really famous for. It’s called… damn, trying to remember the title.”
“‘Worried Blues,’” I mutter.
Monk’s eyes cut to me then, and I’m surprised sparks don’t fly I feel that look so sharply. Like iron striking iron. “Yeah. ‘Worried Blues.’ I think we could add that as a number.”
“Fantastic idea,” Canon says. “Verity and I have some spots marked in the script where music makes sense to us, but I knew you’d go through and identify where we could add a few numbers, songs that will build out the score.”
“We’d need the right voice for it,” Monk says, eyes narrowed and fixed at a point over Canon’s shoulder. “Gladys was incredible. She literally sounded like a trumpet when she scatted.”
Canon’s question and offer to dream uncorks the bottle on everyone’s ideas. Lucia asks him to play one of the dance numbers again. The production designer takes out his laptop and starts a schematic for a few set pieces. Linh even asks if I can send all the material I have about fashion of the era, including any photos we have of Dessi throughout the years for reference as she works on designs and sourcing wardrobe.