The person who fetches Mae is not Lucy, but a production assistant named Hannah who stops in front of the little blue house in a rental sedan while Lucy readies the studio in Chicago. It's just her and Frank from production in the cavernous loft.
He sets up a light kit in one corner. She scrolls through a playlist. “Setting up chill music now. It's important that Mae feel comfortable.” The most important thing, Lucy will learn. As her career progresses, she will develop a set of techniques—eventually incorporating wine, a custom playlist, mood lighting, and gluten-free breakfast cookies—to woo interview subjects. All conversations, like this one, will take place far from traditional studios, and, like this one, will be the culmination of months of research and trust gaining. The hardest-working anchor in journalism, they will call her.
“Is this really a toy factory?” asks Mae as she emerges from the elevator, surveying the vastness.
“A converted toy factory, yes it is. They kept the facade to be edgy, I suppose.” The developers left the name, rendered green against red brick, when they converted the abandoned factory into lofts. There is something appropriate about conducting this interview with Mae, who is essentially still a child, in a former toy factory. “Hannah, can you help Mae with her coat?”
“Oh, right.”
Soft music permeates the air. Mae heads to the plush restroom to touch up her makeup. Lucy perches on one end of the extended sofa and sifts through index cards. “Do you need those?” Frank asks, his face partially obscured by the viewfinder. Because the interview is so intimate, he decided to use an unobtrusive DSLR camera that, even with its new lens, makes him look like a school photographer stopping by on picture day.
“I...think so?”
“Well if you need them, you need them, but they do look a bit amateurish.” (And he wonders why Lucy refuses to date him.)
“Shit, really?” She was going for Katie Couric, not student election.
“How about you set them aside for now, then pick them back up if you need them? We can edit that out.”
“Sure. Why not?” Lucy is more nervous than she anticipated. When she inhales and exhales, yoga style, to relax, her heart responds by picking up the pace. “I have been practicing.” Mostly trying out different vocal techniques in front of her cat, who squinted back at her lazily, before settling on an airy affect half an octave below her everyday voice that straddles the thin line between 'serious professional' and 'phone sex provider.'
When Mae comes out of the restroom, Hannah trailing behind her, Lucy is impressed. They previously agreed that Mae would do her own makeup, and Lucy had expected bight colors thickly applied. But Mae took a natural route that, Lucy knows, takes just as much effort. Her dark pixie cut makes Mae appear solemn and slight and Lucy realizes how bulky and, well, old, she's going to look on a couch next to a waif-like teenager. Perhaps it's just as well. The purpose of journalism is to draw attention to your subject, not yourself. Nevertheless, Lucy pulls in her stomach a bit. “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”
“I don't need anything. Those stripes aren't going to read well on camera, though.”
“Huh?”
Mae gestures to the camisole beneath Lucy's blazer. “They're going to vibrate.”
Frank looks up from his viewfinder. “Holy shit, she's right. Do you have another shirt?”
Lucy looks around the loft in a panic. “I do! I brought another one just in case!” It's a t-shirt. She tells her reflection that it makes her look younger. The bathroom light buzzes in response. She flicks it off.
As Lucy walks toward the lit studio area, she feels herself straighten and grow taller. It has taken her weeks to convince Mae to agree to this interview and, she knows, it's a big break for both of them. Each time she pitched the interview, she stressed to Mae that it would be a chance for the world to hear Mae's side of the story, to plaster a new image over the one the public recognizes, to take back her identity. But in her honest moments, Lucy admitted that it was also a way to give a face to the reporter behind the story.
Frank and Hannah arrange their microphones. Lucy smiles at Mae (who does not seem nervous) and they review what they can and cannot discuss. Yes, she can talk about her reaction to the incidents. No, she can't mention Ethan or the role he played. “Are you ready to introduce the world to the real Mae Brady?”
A slight nod, a zen-like blink. “Yes, I'm ready.”