July 5, 2023 (Song #2013): “Are You Happy Now” (1992) by Richard Shindell. LYRICS & CHORDS APPLE MUSIC SPOTIFY T-29 brings us to the year 1994. After we left Alta, we went on a final visit to Moab to say a teary goodbye to Cassie, Marcus, Sam and Wilson, then took the southern route back to Connecticut, which included a visit to Lubbock, Texas to see Peter’s cousin (and buy cowboy boots that I still have), a stop in Oklahoma to see my mom’s good friend Nancy Margiotta, a visit to Memphis, a stop in Alpharetta, Georgia to see Lisa & Chris Strausser and then, finally, back to Westport. Richard Shindell’s “Sparrow’s Point” album was one of the new cassettes we’d bought to replenish our ravaged collection and included another one of our favorite songs: “Kenworth Of My Dreams” in addition to today’s SOTD, which still gives me brain joy.
We lived at Sherman’s Way for a while, then moved to the first floor of a house on Strawberry Hill Ave in Norwalk. Somehow I got a job at “Green Linnet Records” in Danbury (it may have had something to do with our family friends, the Margolises, being cousins with the owner, Wendy Newton?), but then I was offered a job in New Product Development at Columbia House Record Club (remember: 10 CDs for a penny?) in New York City.
Every day, during staff meetings and lunches and fire drills, one of my colleagues, a recent NYU grad named Chris Wilcha would carry a camera and videotape us. Sometimes he’d ask us to act out scenes: “When I come into your office, will you ask me to return my keys to you as if I’ve gotten fired?”. I laughed and said “sure”. I thought Chris was sweet and quirky; I didn’t think twice about what he was doing.
Ten years after I left Columbia House, Peter read that Chris Wilcha had made a documentary called “The Target Shoots First” (click here to read a review) and it was premiering at a theater in New York City; “You should go!” he said. And so I did.
Since I’d never heard from Chris about rights or permissions, I assumed I wasn’t in the movie. But then, in the restroom before the premiere, a woman pointed to me and said: “You’re in the movie!”; I said, “I can’t be!”, she said “Were you pregnant at the time?” I said: “Yes”. She said “Oh, you’re in it, alright. And you’ve got a big part!” I watched the movie with a pit in my throat.
Sure enough, there I was on the big screen. There was me working in the office, asking Chris to give me his keys and me standing in a staircase during an emergency drill and, most discomfiting, there was an ultrasound image of our daughter Rose with my name and birthday right up there on the screen (hello, privacy issues). Even weirder, the “me” in Chris’ narrative was not the “me” in real life; Chris only used my image to illustrate a story about one of his bosses who’d gone on maternity leave. It was so discombobulating and weirdly insulting; I thought Chris and I had been friends, but he had just disregarded the real me altogether.
Watching the end credits rolling with all of my work friends’ names, I felt the heat rise in my body; I was angry and embarrassed; he had gone to the effort to ask our colleagues for permission, but not me.
When I came out of the theater, I saw Chris chatting with fans, friends and family, but I couldn’t get his attention. What was I going to say anyway? The story of his pregnant boss was only a small part of the whole movie; he could take every image of me out and it wouldn’t change the premise. So, maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal, but 20 years later, it still hurts a little bit; I hope Chris is happy, though, and wish him the best.