Chapter 59 - The Name on the Production Schedule
The company was called Evermere Arts Finance.
I disliked it before knowing anything about it.
That was not a useful beginning.
Camille asked me to send the complete inquiry and wait.
I did.
Then I waited badly.
Evermere said it held financing interests associated with Duval’s development slate.
It requested confirmation of the production’s rights, revenue arrangements, and licensed materials.
Some questions were ordinary.
A lender supporting a production could reasonably care whether the producer had authority to stage it.
The attachment was not ordinary to me.
It identified The Woman Who Stayed beneath a category labeled Rostova Legacy Properties.
I sat down.
We had spent weeks removing that description from the publicity.
Now it existed somewhere money mattered more than posters.
Camille contacted Duval’s counsel.
Beth continued rehearsal.
I joined her.
For once, I did not let the first frightening phrase consume the day before anyone explained it.
The run went well.
Not perfectly.
Well.
A dancer forgot a transition.
Rossi played too quickly.
I changed my mind about a pause.
Ordinary work.
I held on to it.
Afterward, Duval asked me to remain.
His attorney joined by video.
The financing agreement covered defined producer interests and projected revenues.
It did not give the lender ownership of my choreography merely because the title appeared in a schedule.
That distinction helped.
Then Camille asked why the schedule grouped my new work with Elena’s materials.
Duval looked at the page.
He did not answer immediately.
“The development slate used an earlier working description.”
“Before the final agreement?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Was it corrected?”
His attorney said they were reviewing the transmission history.
I felt anger rise.
Not the old, chaotic kind.
A precise one.
“Your publicity team made the same mistake.”
“I know.”
“You corrected them.”
“Yes.”
“Who corrects the people who supplied the financing?”
Duval looked at me.
“I do.”
I waited.
He continued.
“And I will provide the revised schedule and confirmation through counsel.”
Camille nodded.
We would examine what had been promised.
Which rights were identified.
What the lender had been told.
No one needed to accuse everyone of fraud before requesting the actual documents.
Still, the pattern hurt.
My name became legacy when people wanted access to my mother.
It became opportunity when people wanted access to me.
I left the theater feeling as though language itself required supervision.
Alexander met me outside.
I told him what had happened.
He listened.
Then he said, “Would it help to walk before deciding what this means?”
“Yes.”
We walked.
My ankle remained comfortable.
The evening air smelled of roasted nuts and traffic.
A young woman hurried past carrying a restaurant uniform over her arm.
Another balanced flowers against her shoulder.
People going to work.
Coming from work.
Making rooms possible.
I stopped at a window displaying household things.
Bowls.
Mugs.
A lamp with a shade I disliked.
Alexander looked at me.
“What?”
“I want to choose something ugly for our home.”
He blinked.
“That sounds achievable.”
“Something nobody can explain as heritage.”
He laughed.
We bought two blue mugs.
Not ugly enough.
Ordinary enough.
At home, we made tea.
Then I called Julia.
We discussed the wedding.
Her train.
Whether she could stay an extra night.
I told her I wanted her there because she was my family, not because she had kept the right folder.
She became quiet.
Then she said, “Good. I was planning to arrive without a document box.”
“Excellent.”
Later, Camille sent a preliminary explanation.
Evermere’s interest concerned Duval’s production revenues.
But one annex referenced an archive access package supplied by Vivienne’s company.
The package had helped support the original development proposal.
I stared at the line.
The deal we negotiated fairly with Duval had begun inside a description I had never agreed to.
I called Camille.
“Can we still correct it?”
“Yes.”
“Before January?”
“That is what we are working to establish.”
I looked at the blue mug.
Then at the rehearsal notes.
May you like
I still wanted the stage.
Wanting it did not require accepting every story someone had told to finance it.
