Chapter 15 INT. CROWDED PUB
Chapter 15
INT. CROWDED PUB
The pub in the hotel was overpriced, but it was convenient, and so the crew had started assembling there nightly. After his teeth-gritting performance following Vincent freaking Minna’s appearance, Cole most definitely needed a beer.
No alcohol during filming : that was what Drew would’ve told him. But that’s why Cole didn’t ask for permission.
Besides, dehydration made for better muscle definition.
In the back corner, with an order of french fries and a cider, was Maggie Niven. Around her were half the crew, all trying to ask without asking why Tasha had lost it.
“I’m merely saying, she’s usually an awful- ly ”—David put the emphasis on the second syllable—“cool customer.”
“Hmm.” Maggie dragged a fry through a puddle of ketchup.
That seemed to be her main source of vegetables. Someone ought to take better care of that woman. Too bad it wasn’t going to be Cole.
David wasn’t going to let it go. “It’s hard not to read something into it.”
“Hmm.”
The only free seat in the cluster was next to Maggie, so Cole wove through the chairs, fist-bumping this key grip and high-fiving that spark. He slipped onto the bench, then he draped his arm along the back, wanting Maggie to know he was here to help.
She was small under his forearm but fierce.
“Hey, guys,” he said.
And . . . crickets.
It made Cole feel like a TV dad catching his children planning a rager. What a one-eighty from Central Square , when he’d been the one organizing the party.
“Fry?” Maggie pushed her plate toward him.
“Thanks.” He took a pass on the ketchup, though. He usually went for barbeque sauce, but he’d discovered the British didn’t really know what that was supposed to taste like.
“How are you all doing?” Cole asked when the silence in the group got to be too much.
“Good,” David said in a way that meant curious .
Cole should’ve had the beer in his room.
“Shooting went well,” Maggie said, faux chipper and trying to change the subject. “I mean, we made our day, right?” Meaning they’d gotten all the shots on the schedule.
“Barely.” Of everyone on set, David was most on top of things, the most likely to remind them that a mandated break was coming up or that they had moved into those sweet, sweet overtime hours.
Television could be brutal. Cole had endured his share of eighteen-hour days. Today, it was Vincent’s fault they’d gone ten hours.
“Some things take time.” Maggie turned toward Cole. “You ... doing okay?”
Cole had the sense she wanted to ask about Tasha.
He’d checked in with her before coming down. Tasha was in for the night, with room service. Merrit—who’d been running her errands and had missed all the drama—and two hefty security guys were standing guard outside her room. Tasha kept insisting she was fine, but he suspected that was code for Fucked up IN the Extreme.
If everyone else would give Cole and Maggie some privacy, he’d share that. Maggie had earned it. The rest of these folks? Not so much.
The production was lucky nothing about Vincent’s visit and Tasha’s meltdown had leaked to the press—so far. In a few days, they were going to relocate to Inverness for more location shooting, and two journalists would be arriving to spend a week on set. Holy jeez, it would’ve been disastrous if they’d witnessed today’s events.
But Maggie would never allow strangers to be on set during a love scene. That he was certain of.
“I’m ... good,” he said in answer to Maggie’s question.
Cole was normally a fairly even-keeled person. He’d created a routine for himself of work, exercise, and mindfulness. For years, it had kept the messiness of his youth away. Contained it. He’d needed the rules and the certainty.
Now those same things made him feel like the Tin Man, hollow and unable to help the people in his life who needed it. He’d thought Tasha was his best friend in the world. But when she’d fallen onto his chest today, he’d realized how little he truly knew about her.
And here he’d thought he was growing into a better person.
During Central Square , he’d been too clueless to perceive the toxicity around him. But later on, he’d seen Vincent and other big shots be jerks. Cole had seen them yell at assistants, get handsy with servers, and be crass and mean in a hundred small ways. Don’t rock the boat, Drew had said—and all too often, Cole hadn’t.
What he’d learned today was maybe he still sucked.
Maggie gave Cole a smile that covered a more complex mix of emotions. “Long or not, the scene was terrific. You both really nailed it.”
Just as with the Madge-Geordie scene, Cole knew Maggie hadn’t been watching the monitor. She was there for the actors, personally and emotionally. She wasn’t a judge or critic, which made her one of the only people he trusted on the production.
“Is Tasha well?” David’s question was on everyone’s minds, Cole was certain, but the DP was the only one bold enough to put it to Cole.
“She’s a pro.” As far as Cole was concerned, she deserved a medal for what she’d put on film—okay, on digital—today. And that was all he was going to say to anyone about it.
“Glad to hear it.” David’s eyes shot back and forth between Cole and Maggie, as if he were watching a particularly heated match at Wimbledon. “So ... mob scenes are coming up. Lots of night filming.”
“Yup.”
“It’s going to be killer.”
Night shoots were the bane of Cole’s existence. He probably wouldn’t feel well rested for the rest of filming, but they had to get the footage.
“No kissing in those scenes,” Maggie said, “so I have a bit of a break.”
Days off—jeez, he wasn’t going to have any of those for months.
He was going to miss working with Maggie for the rest of the time they were in Edinburgh. When they got to Inverness, though, the schedule was pretty much wall-to-wall banging.
But as long as Maggie had downtime: “You going hiking again? Because West Cairn is higher than Allermuir, and the view must be—”
“Nope, nope, nope. That was a mistake.” But her expression said it hadn’t been.
Cole’s attention went to a freckle above Maggie’s lip and then back to those bright-green eyes of hers. He could feel her smile square in the base of his spine.
Damn. He liked her.
“We better turn in early, then.”
Cole and Maggie both startled like cats when you flicked on the light—which in this case was the blinking eyes of all their coworkers.
David gave an amused cough before draining his glass. “See you both tomorrow.”
With a chorus of yeah s and good night s, the rest of the crew followed. And that finally, finally left Cole and Maggie alone.
Cole could’ve moved. He had his choice of chairs now, plenty of other places to sit that weren’t hip to hip with Maggie.
He stayed where he was.
“How are you really?” Maggie carefully selected another french fry before drowning it in ketchup.
“I’ve had better days.” It was the simplest and most truthful thing he could think to say. “I wanted to thank you, for taking care of Tasha.”
When Vincent had materialized, Cole had mostly been confused, but maybe that was good. He would’ve definitely taken a swing at the asshole if he’d known the full story. For her part, Maggie had almost mauled him. If Vincent hadn’t run, tail between his Armani’d legs, Cole had no doubt she would’ve laid hands on him.
As if unaware of her own intensity, she shrugged. “Of course. That’s my job.”
He was pretty sure physically protecting the talent from predators wasn’t in her contract.
“I didn’t know. About Vincent and Tasha, I didn’t know.” It was important to Cole that Maggie understand he’d been in the dark.
Maggie’s eyes were soft. “I know. I’m sorry. When she told me, she asked me not to tell anyone else.”
Cole had no idea why Maggie was apologizing. The only person who had done anything wrong here was Vincent—and fuck that guy forever.
“Yeah, I can imagine. She’s not very open.” He was only now realizing how much Tasha had kept under wraps. It made Cole feel like the worst kind of ass that she hadn’t trusted him enough to reveal it. “I’m just glad she shared it with someone. I wish ... I wish I’d seemed safe enough for it to be me.”
“I don’t think you should torture yourself about that. It wasn’t anything about you, but more about Hollywood. I mean, what would you have done?”
“Not worked with him.”
“It’s not that simple. Here’s Tasha, technically working with him.”
“That’s my fault too.” When he said it, he had one of those oh-shit moments. He hadn’t even known he felt guilty about Tasha taking this job until the words had popped out, and then there it was, visible from space.
Tasha was lowering herself, working with someone who had hurt her, because of Cole. No one should have to pay for Cole’s past mistakes aside from him. But that was only one face of his guilt. He was basically a d20 of bad feelings at the moment.
“And I should’ve known about Vincent. About ... probably so many guys I’ve worked with. I should’ve stopped it, somehow.”
Cole knew he had privilege as a man and a white person in Hollywood. Even on the B-list, people made assumptions about his marketability and potential. He had no doubt that most people wouldn’t have gotten the second chances he had.
When he’d taken those chances, though, when he’d been paying his dues, had he looked the other way? Had he heard that someone was difficult to work with and thought jerk and not criminal ?
“Wait, let me get this straight,” Maggie said. “You think you single-handedly should’ve ended sexism in Hollywood?”
“No.” Not when she put it like that. “But maybe I should have been more ... aware.”
“Cole, we all could have been more aware. At the end of the day, though, the only person who’s responsible for Vincent’s shittiness is Vincent.”
Sadly, Cole knew Hollywood too well to buy what Maggie was selling. Sure, ultimately, Vincent had planted himself on set to leer at a teenage girl, had tried to manipulate her into his bed, and had tried to make everyone on earth think she’d slept with him. But Tasha’s mother, her costars, her director, the people in the crew, her agent, the other folks at Silverlight: they’d seen it all, and they hadn’t stepped in. The distinction between the monster and its keepers was swiss cheese. Why make it? There was plenty of blame to go around.
“There’s an entire network of people around him, and Maggie, they all knew.”
She sat with that for a moment. “Fair enough. But you weren’t one of them.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s still my fault she had to face him again.”
“I’d guess that’s math she’s had to do every day of her career.” Maggie pressed her palms into the table for emphasis. “Do you trust Tasha?”
“Yes.”
“Then trust she made the right decision. Look, my heart broke for that woman today. I was about as mad as I’ve ever been when he appeared. But Tasha knew it was possible she might see Vincent while filming or promoting the show. She weighed that against liking the part, liking the team. That’s why she’s playing Effie. Sure, she enjoys working with you, and yes, maybe she did want to support you, too, but Tasha doesn’t strike me as a person who would make a four-month commitment—more, really, once you factor in promo—just to be nice.”
Cole tried to imagine putting the question to Tasha. She’d probably slug him, and she wouldn’t be gentle about it either.
He took a sip of his beer. What Maggie had said hadn’t made the queasiness in his gut go away, but it wasn’t about to consume him anymore. He bumped Maggie’s knee with his. “You’re not going to let me feel guilty, are you?”
“Nope. I’m going to try to talk you out of it.”
“You’re not going to let me wallow in self-pity, and—”
“It’s probably bad for your skin, and then Zoya would be mad at me.”
The mention of Zoya took the flirtation right out of the conversation. He and Maggie both had a lot riding on this job. Too much for him to be counting the freckles along her collarbone.
Six ... that he could see.
Maggie ate another fry. “This is not my business at all, but if you have a chance to encourage Tasha to seek therapy, it might be a good idea. I mentioned it to her, but she could probably use some more prodding.”
“I’ll try.”
Tasha would say fuck a lot in response to that suggestion. A dozen, heck, two dozen times—he ought to offer Maggie the over/under on it.
Maggie picked up her glass and watched Cole over the rim. Closely. With the kind of deep scrutiny that made him want to sit up straighter and maybe flex his biceps.
“I have no idea how you got through that scene today,” she finally said.
When Tasha had said she wanted to do it, he hadn’t known if they’d be able to get through it either. He’d had to block everything out that wasn’t Tasha. Just let the muscle memory they’d built up over the rehearsals take over and put his body on autopilot.
“This isn’t very healthy, but it honestly might have been the best thing we could’ve done. Acting can be like ... obliterating yourself. For a few hours, I didn’t have to be me. Tasha didn’t have to be her.” They’d put up a wall between themselves and everyone else. Honestly, when the day had ended and he’d realized how much time had passed, he’d been shocked. But it had been the only way to get through it.
Something flashed over Maggie’s features. Pain, maybe.
But . . . why?
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I—”
She wasn’t listening to him, though. Maggie was wiping her hands on a napkin and getting to her feet. “Well, you were amazing. You did great work, and I’m so glad you were there for Tasha. I’m going to head up to my room.”
It was like running into a sliding glass door he hadn’t known was there. A force field. One of those electric fences you use to keep dogs in your backyard.
He suddenly felt very much like a dog.
“You okay?” he repeated, feeling foolish.
“Of course. It was just a long day. I ought to get some sleep.” Maggie didn’t make eye contact with him, and her voice was higher than normal. Strained.
Cole knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he figured out what he’d done to piss off Maggie—because it wasn’t nothing. He drained his beer. “I’ll walk out with you.”
She hadn’t waited for him, and it was good that his legs were longer than hers because he caught up with her in the breezeway between the pub’s interior and exterior doors. When the interior door closed behind Cole, muffling the din from inside, they were left in the dark.
Maggie had stopped walking—maybe she’d decided there was no way to avoid this conversation—and he almost ran into her.
His hands hovered over her shoulders for a second. In comfort? A plea? He didn’t even know. “Maggie, it feels like you’re mad at me. Just tell me what I did so I can say sorry and fix it.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” She spoke over her shoulder, her voice wry. “If I’m mad at anyone, it’s myself.”
“Why would you be mad at yourself?” You’re perfect. He couldn’t say that. It wasn’t professional. It wasn’t his place. But knowing those things didn’t stop him from thinking it.
You’re perfect. You’re perfect.
“You ever have a feeling crop up out of nowhere and catch you in the teeth? Like a—a rock getting kicked up by a truck on the highway that cracks your windshield?”
“Yeah.” But those feelings? He tended to have earned them. “What was the feeling, Maggie?” They were on the cusp of something here, something massive and important. He could sense the edges of it in the dark.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I want to know.”
She sighed.
His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he watched those small shoulders of hers rise and fall, settling lower than before.
Very softly, she said, “Directing feels like a thing I’m doing with actors. Rehearsal and blocking are, can be, collaborative. But when it comes time to do the performance, they’re on their own. Mostly, that feels good. We’ve done the work, and then it flowers. Today ...”
She didn’t have to say the rest.
“We got through today because of you. And I know that Tasha is really grateful, too, and when she’s—”
“No, I don’t want gratitude .” Maggie whirled to face him. Only a few tablespoons of light were making it around the door, and all of it seemed to have pooled in her eyes. “I felt jealous, and that’s ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re ... jealous?” Cole’s heart was doing a burpee in his chest—a throbbing, bounding, squeezing exercise against his ribs—but his palms were dry, and his mind calm. Because something had fallen into place.
Maggie was speaking quickly. “Not jealous, exactly. That isn’t the right word. But today, you didn’t need me, and that’s ... good. It’s good that you didn’t need me. It means we rehearsed well, and I got you ready for that scene. So ready that even when it all went pear shaped, you were still able to execute it. And that’s exactly my job, right? What happened today means I can do this job. I’m just having some weird emotional glitch. I don’t know, I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s not even about this job. Maybe it’s the stress of the last year and a half, but ... I’m babbling. I’m sorry. Don’t worry about me. It doesn’t make any sense.”
No, it made perfect sense.
Less than a foot stood between Cole’s hands and Maggie’s waist. In a second, he could have his hands on her. His mouth on her.
It was suddenly extremely important for him to get his mouth on her.
Only his rules kept him from doing it.
He wasn’t Maggie’s boss. He had no control over her or over the production. But he was famous. Sort of. And he had power. Kinda.
Maggie was new to this job, new to this industry. Kissing her—at least kissing her now —wouldn’t be fair.
Kissing her later? That was something else entirely.
“Anyhow, you’re fine. I’m sorry I’m being weird. But I was thinking about what you said earlier.”
“About?” His voice was even, without a hint of what he’d just decided.
“What’s it like when your self rushes back in after you’re done filming?”
The question was soft, barely above a whisper, but between that and the dark, he had trouble remembering what they’d been talking about. He had trouble remembering anything except why he shouldn’t tug Maggie into him.
“Um, it depends on the part I’m playing. It can be confusing, a relief, a—a disappointment.” Cole didn’t have a problem being himself most of the time. But when you got to pretend to be a superhero, to be perfect, to be larger than life, it was a rude awakening to return to reality where you were firmly middle aged, not exactly famous, and still trudging up the road to career redemption.
It might be easier some days to just go on being a character. At least then his lines were written for him.
Maggie squeezed his forearm, and even through his sleeve, he could feel the warm support there.
Could feel the wanting there.
She might not be willing to admit it to herself, but it was real, as surely as it was in his own chest.
“Real you is pretty darn cool,” she said. “If you needed validation about that. I ... I like real you.”
But real him couldn’t do what he wanted in response to that, at least not tonight. Which was a crying shame.