Chapter Eleven
Elliot leaned back in his seat. “Well, I’d like to say we made progress, but I’m honestly not sure what we made.”
I was so jetlagged I could barely speak.
I felt out of my body, my brain whirring uselessly.
“We agreed on a delivery timeline,” I said weakly, downing the last drops of my sixth coffee.
Unfortunately the timeline might involve long days and late nights if we were to deliver the final draft in time for the pitch, but we’d factored in regular catch-ups with RJ to review our work to ensure he could sign off on it.
When it came to the actual edits needed, that was another story.
Elliot hadn’t budged on any of my editorial points.
“We did at least identify some scenes where the character of Marla could be better realized.”
“You identified,” Elliot corrected me. “Me? I think you’re still very very wrong.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll convince you.” I drew myself up as tall as possible, hoping I looked formidable and competent.
“Can’t wait,” he growled as I stifled a yawn. “You should head home. You look wrecked.”
“Wow, thanks,” I said.
“No, I mean, I’m not saying you look bad, you look …” He gestured vaguely and I wondered what he thought about how I looked. Then I wondered why I cared. “But jetlag can be killer and it must be what, 11 p.m. in your time?”
I yawned so widely it hurt my face. “Yup.”
“So rest up,” he said. “We continue tomorrow. Act One, Scene One. Where we meet Marla, and you try to convince me how to make her a more well-realized character.” He shut his laptop with a vicious thud. “You’ll almost certainly fail but, hey, we’ll have fun wasting time to get there.”
I was too tired to bite back. “We’ll see” was all I could manage.
I shoved my laptop into my tote and trudged out of our makeshift office, too deranged with tiredness to say anything else to him.
Although we’d managed to evolve from full-on arguments to snarky comments, we were miles away from best-buddy status.
If I had to spend what little time we had left until the pitch fighting to get my point across, when would we get any actual editing done?
“He’s impossible!” I blurted to myself as I jabbed the button for the lift.
“Gotta be talking about Elliot,” Ralf’s voice echoed from behind me. I turned to see him in a smart blazer, his wheat-colored hair swept back.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He leaned against the wall, regarded me. “How was your first day?”
“Full,” I said. “And I am so, so jetlagged.”
“Ah, shame,” he said. “There’s a classical concert at the Rockefeller. Lysander Trio. I happen to have a spare ticket, if you’d like to come? My ah, date, canceled on me.”
“I’m sorry about your date,” I said. “And that’s really kind of you, but I don’t think I’m classical concert ready.” I gestured down at my clothes, rumpled from a day hunched over my laptop.
“Nonsense,” he said. “You look delightful.”
He was being quite insistent for a man I’d just met and persistence in the face of rejection was an instant red flag for me, even if he did have a job I’d die for. Another yawn racked my body. Yeah, there was no way I’d survive a classical music concert without passing out.
“Maybe another time, I’m wiped. But thanks for the offer.” Pushiness aside, after a day of unrelenting negativity from Elliot, it was nice to have someone treat me warmly.
“Well, well.” He nodded behind me, and I turned to see Vivian, breath-taking in a black sheath dress and killer sandals. “Are you also going to the concert?”
“Yes,” she said. “But not with you.”
“Naturally,” Ralf said easily. “I’d be honored to split a cab fare with you?”
“Baldemar has sent my transportation,” Vivian said, shuddering at the mention of public transport.
Ralf grinned wickedly. “So nice of him to loan you his penny farthing.”
I dared not laugh in front of Vivian, but I had to marvel at Ralf’s fearlessness in the face of this woman, even if he did use fancy terminology like ‘I’d be honored.’ I would have put money on him being a Rugby Union fan if he’d been English.
She grinned thinly. “Actually, it’s his limousine.”
“I am so proud of him for embracing modern technology,” Ralf went on. “And of you, for your tireless dedication to preserving antiques.”
The lift door opened and we piled in, Vivian purposefully choosing to stand on the far side and burying her face in her phone.
Ralf turned to me with a chuckle. “So, day one. Tell me more.” I thought for a moment and Ralf sighed.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Elliot thinks you’ll make the movie less artistic and turn it into commercial trash that doesn’t have any soul. ”
I hadn’t planned to get so deep into my and Elliot’s relationship, but I couldn’t help nodding enthusiastically. “Basically.”
“He was the same at college,” Ralf said with a snort. “I failed a class thanks to him thinking he knows better than everyone else.”
“What?” I gaped. “How?”
“Oh, long story,” Ralf said. “You know, we were friends once. But NYU is tough, competitive. He struggled to fit in and play nice – well, you’ve met him. Our final assignment came along, he was drowning in college life and so he … stole all my notes, used my idea.”
“What?” A wave of apprehension hit me. I was about to spend weeks closeted in a room with a guy who might be capable of really shitty behavior.
It was hard to wrap my head around. After one day, it was clear to me that Elliot was spiky and objectionable, yet passionate with a clear idea about the sort of art he wanted to make.
But a thief? Ralf was regarding me with concern. “I’m shocked.”
“I’m sorry to break it to you,” he said solemnly. “But you should know the truth about the guy you’re working with.”
“Does RJ know about this?” I asked. Surely RJ wouldn’t stand for such a thing, if it were true.
“I doubt he cares. Elliot wrote and directed some fancy film that wowed a few people at a festival,” Ralf said. “Got RJ all hot and bothered, made him his right hand and gave him all this access and influence.” He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
I got the tiniest sense that Ralf longed for a taste of that access and influence. But that seemed too confrontational to say out loud. I didn’t know what to think. “He must have really hurt you,” I said, “if you guys still don’t see eye to eye after all this time.”
“Yes,” Ralf said tightly. “A world of hurt. But, please, don’t let this impact your working with him. I’d hate that.”
“I can stay professional.” I didn’t have much choice, after all. “Not easy though. It’s clear he thinks mainstream movies are worthless or stupid.”
The lift doors opened, and Ralf let Vivian and me walk out first. “I’ve told him many a time, he can’t act like a gatekeeper to art,” he said.
“If cinema-going is to survive, studios must embrace mass consumerism as a key part of their business model,” I said.
“I like that!” Ralf grinned. “I should get it as a bumper sticker.”
“Sadly, I can’t claim that as mine,” I said. “I attended a panel at the London Film Festival last year, Janice Kittredge was on it.”
“And she said that?”
“She did.” It had been a fascinating discussion on the challenges facing modern cinema-going and Janice had been vocal about the need to balance financial responsibility with creative risk-taking. The fact I was now working on a project for her studio was surreal to say the least.
“I think RJ is finally understanding that,” Ralf said. “I can only hope Elliot’s attitude shifts too. But, hey, if he gives you any real trouble, come to me.”
Arriving outside, we were greeted by a symphony of horns from the traffic clogging Tenth Avenue. A warm breeze snaked its way through my hair and the trees rustled musically overhead. Vivian didn’t stop to say goodbye. She slid into a limousine idling at the curb.
“Thanks for that,” I said. “You’d better go to your concert.”
He tilted his head, beamed warmly. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Absolutely.” I pasted a fixed smile on my face. Elliot might doubt my abilities to deliver, but I was damned if I’d let anyone else think I wasn’t up to the task.
“Have a wonderful evening, Lucie.” He winked and then strode off down the street, walking like he owned the city.
I watched him for a few seconds as I convinced my tired legs to move, relieved that for all the hostility shown by the likes of Elliot and Vivian, there were people like Ralf, Juno and the IT team who gave me hope this job wouldn’t be a total disaster.
Trudging down the street, I decided to take a chance and call Bex.
“Heyyyy!” Bex picked up immediately.
“Greetings from New York!” I said as punchily as I was able. “Hope it’s okay to call this late.”
“Of course,” she said, “I’m still working anyway. How was day one?”
“Fine,” I lied, dodging a man carrying an enormous suitcase.
“What’s wrong?” She knew straight away, because of course she did.
“Nothing, not really.” Loud crunches echoed down the phone. “What are you eating?”
“Broccoli.”
“What, raw broccoli? By itself?”
“It’s this new wellness regime I’m on for the wedding. Lots of raw veg and pulses, lentils and that.”
“Mate, that sounds proper grim.” Bex hadn’t told me about the health kick. She normally told me everything. “But good luck with it. How’s work?”
“Manic,” she said. “I’m prepping for a new client meeting tomorrow and I’m behind on everything. So tired. Just wish I hadn’t given up sugar for this diet. And caffeine.”
I balked. “I was with you until the no caffeine. Why would you do that to yourself?”
“Um, hello, bride-to-be here!” she declared. “I want to look like a fucking goddess when I walk down that aisle.”
“You will look like one no matter what.”
“Hope so. I had an erotic dream about Oreos last night.” Bex brushed off the compliment. “Anyway, enough about me, how was today?”
“Fine. Mixed.” I paused at a cross street.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” The pedestrians around me swarmed the crossing, indifferent to the taxi trying to force its way around the corner. Taking a breath, I joined them. “Seems like some people at RJF don’t think I deserve this opportunity.”
“Are you sure you aren’t being a little bit sensitive?” Bex asked.
“No, an exec told me, and I quote, I don’t know what business someone like you has coming in on a project like this or something like that.”
“Well, that exec is clearly a knobhead.”
“That exec unfortunately has my dream job,” I said with a sigh. “But not everyone felt the same way.”
“That’s good,” she said. “What’s RJ like?”
“Too soon to tell.” I thought for a moment. “Demanding, mercurial. The problem is his assistant.”
“Is this the guy you have to write with?”
“Yes, Elliot.” My cheeks burned. “The irony is, I bumped into him in a coffee shop before I knew who he was and there was, like, a spark.”
“Is he hot?”
Spectacular. “He’s all right.”
“Next-level gorgeous, then.” Bex snorted.
“No, seriously, he could be a problem.” I pictured Elliot’s dark, fathomless eyes, his rumpled yet stylish thatch of hair. The way his voice had sent shockwaves through my system. Yep, I was in real danger.
“How so?”
“He all but admitted that he resented me for being brought on to help with the script when I clearly have nowhere near the experience he has.”
“Prick,” Bex uttered supportively.
“Yeah and no.” I shrugged. “I understand where he’s coming from.”
“Babe, he sounds like a snob.”
“No, I don’t think that’s it.” I eyed a pretzel cart, wondering if I was actually hungry or if my appetite was too jetlagged to know what it wanted.
“Or, it could be he’s dead confused,” she said. “He met you in the coffee shop, wanted to bone you and now you’re his colleague, he can’t, so he’s full of boner rage.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is.” Bex crunched pensively. “And for someone who has enjoyed a decent amount of gentleman friends, I’m shocked you don’t know about this.”
“How do you even know what boner rage is?”
“Dan has teenage nieces,” she said. “I memorized Urban Dictionary so I can understand what the fuck they are talking about.”
“And so in your vast experience I’m dealing with a classic case of boner rage?” I said, earning an alarmed glance from the woman in yoga gear powerwalking past me.
“Absolutely,” she said.
I snorted with derision. “Take it from me, Elliot Fox does not have any kind of frustrated desire,” I assured her. “You should have seen the way he looked at me.”
“Like he wanted to bone you?”
“Like he wanted me wiped off the face of the earth,” I corrected her. “He really thinks hiring me was a mistake.”
Bex crunched then sighed loudly. “God, this broccoli needs some mayo or something.”
“Raw broccoli and mayonnaise?” I made a retching sound.
“Don’t worry, mayonnaise is not part of the wellness plan.” She laughed. “It just feels like it needs some, what can I say?”
“Other things,” I advised.
“Fine,” she said breezily. “If you’re not going to fuck Elliot, then he can get fucked. By, like, life.” She made a startled sound. “Oh God, I need to get back to work. Congrats on what sounds like an intense first day. Just make sure you look after yourself.”
“I will, promise.”
“Seriously.” Bex gulped wetly.
“Are you crying?”
There was a loud sniff. “No, not really I … Man, I think I’m just tired and stressed about this meeting tomorrow.”
“Sounds like it,” I said. “You also have a wedding to plan, so take it easy. I only wish I could be part of it and help.”
“Me too,” Bex agreed. “But you’ll be back in what, a couple of months? There’s plenty of time for me to foist all the maid of honor tasks upon you then.”
I screeched to a halt in the middle of the pavement, tears springing to my eyes. “Bex … maid of honor?”
“Agh! I mean, yeah! If you want to be.”
“If I want to be?”
“Yes. Sorry,” she said. “I had a whole elaborate plan about asking you when you got back, it was going to be like a joke proposal, down on one knee. It would have been dead cute, but I’ve ruined it now.”
“You can do the proposal thing when I get back and I’ll act surprised?” I suggested, ignoring the disgruntled pedestrians shooting me filthy looks for blocking the flow of traffic. “Just so you know, my answer is yes, a thousand times, yes.”
“Good,” Bex said. “Now that’s sorted, you can focus on smashing it at RJF. Stuff the hot assistant.”
“I miss you.” London felt a million miles away.
“You’ve been gone two days,” Bex reminded me gently. “You got this.”