Chapter 9 #2
But cars can drive themselves now, and phones are basically computers. We’re like a year away from living in the world of The Jetsons.
Maybe Landry Vaughn is wicked obsessed with me.
The thought of it excites me unreasonably so.
There’s no hurt in not telling him that I wasn’t out with a guy last night. No hurt at all. Though I do have a conversation with Mabel in store for tonight. She’s great at running the inn, but it seems like she prefers moonlighting as Cupid.
“Hmm.” That’s all he says in return, then as if this whole exchange never happened, he nods toward my mug. “There’s cream and sugar inside.” Then he gets to his routine, not another word.
There’s something incredible about watching Landry Vaughn in his daily routine.
He’s so hardworking and reliable, I can’t imagine knowing what it’s like to be in his hands, under his care.
His animals all adore him, and though I can see the ranch is in disrepair, it’s got nothing to do with his love, effort or capabilities.
It’s financial.
When a man works this hard, it’s unfair that he doesn’t have more financial security. I don’t quite understand the position he’s in, and even with shadowing him near night and day for a few weeks, I can’t pretend to understand ranching, the horse business, and what his life costs.
Still, he deserves wealth, because to a man like Landry, wealth isn’t glam or clout, it’s security and freedom to breathe. He deserves a minute to breathe.
Landry asked UBS if they could pay him, and he is clearly a prideful man.
Filming him has given me the innate privilege of learning and coming to know his expressions, what his features are saying about how he’s feeling based on the way he uses them.
When his shoulders tense, and he’s staring a million miles away… he’s worrying. It’s obvious.
I just wish whatever problem is bothering him didn’t exist.
During the last week of filming his chores—mucking stalls, hauling hay bales—we’ve begun chatting. Landry initiated. He’s also brought me coffee every single morning, too, ever since that day when he brought it to me and asked me if I went out with Lansing Vernon.
Last week, when he was repairing the saggy gate at the east end of the pasture, he asked me why I wanted to make the documentary about him.
“Your other three films,” he said, splitting his focus between me and the gate, my camera capturing every moment, “they told a certain kind of story.”
“You watched all three of them?” I asked, adding, “I know you said you watched Bronx Girls, I just didn’t know—”
He cut me off with a wink. “Course I did. Had to make sure they weren’t sending me whoever filmed Blair Witch.”
“Har har,” I teased, “and that’s the whole point of that movie, by the way. It’s fake but supposed to look like a real account.”
He smirked at me while driving the hammer against the nail, one pinched between his teeth.
“Well,” I probed. “What kind of story did they tell?”
He stood straight. The shadow of him ate me up, yet my entire body felt deliciously warm as his blue eyes pinned me to the grass. “People who unfairly had nothing, who find themselves coming into everything.”
My mouth went dry. “And you don’t think you fit?”
He shook his head. “I have everything, I don’t deserve any more.” He swallowed, looked at his boots then back up at me.
I didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t let me hang. He pressed on, asking his question again. “Why do you want to make this film about me, Quinn Farley?”
“Because,” I answered honestly. “I think you’re a sure bet. You’ve got the recipe.” I told him what I meant. “Everyone loves you. You’re a single daddy and one helluva bronc rider. When you win,” I said, “the world will smile with you, and I want to claim some credit to further my career.”
It sounded terrible when I said it that way, but he had been so honest and vulnerable with me, I owed him the truth, and by proxy, I owed Sadie the truth, too.
“Since being here, though, I really do want you to win,” I admitted, nerves making my voice a little shaky. “You deserve the victory, Landry Vaughn.” I used his full name because he used mine. Then he surprised me by asking more.
“Why do you feel like you have to prove yourself?” His eyes traced out my legs, starting at my thighs, then over my bare knees, along the ridge of my now faded pink boots.
Then he blinked, and his eyes were on mine again.
That’s the first time he openly looked at me like a man looking at a woman. Like he wanted me to see.
I honored his honesty by giving him mine.
“My ex-boyfriend is the head of production at UBS, and he slept with another filmmaker while I was on shoot for Bronx Girls. I found out about it in my last two weeks of wrap, and I let it completely affect my work, and I lost out on an Indie Film Award because of it. And I want your movie to win, to prove to him that it wasn’t me, it was him. ”
Sadie ran up just then, and we never mentioned any of that again.
That day, Sadie begged me to feed the horses with them, so I propped my camera on my tripod, kept filming, and joined them.
When my fingers brushed Landry’s in the bucket of feed, and our eyes slammed together in a silent frenzy, I knew I was in trouble.
“You eatin’ in here?” Landry calls from the porch, snapping me from my daze out in the pasture, reminiscing about all our progress last week. Turning, I drape my camera around my neck and head inside.
On the small kitchen table are two plates and on each, a sandwich. Landry closes the door behind me. “Sadie’s eatin’ at Love’s.”
I nod, not expecting it to just be the two of us. “Well, I’m glad I had breakfast with her.” Landry makes eggs and toast every morning, and today Sadie and I planned to surprise him with pancakes next week to mix things up.
I plan on filming her presenting him the plate. I don’t usually stage moments, but their bond and love is so sweet, I can’t help myself.
Landry pulls my chair out and I take a seat. He does that for Sadie, too, and when I relayed that information to my mom and sister, we audibly swooned for a solid minute.
We eat in silence, but it’s comfortable somehow, as if the few serious conversations we’ve had have given way to this. I’m grateful for it. If the Landry I met on day one would’ve been the Landry I filmed the entire time, it would have been tough.
Telling his story without all the extra nuance he’s given me wouldn’t have been impossible, but it wouldn't have done it justice.
“You and Mabel oughta come for dinner one of these nights.” He never even looks up, but I watch him lick the mustard from the corner of his mouth as my chest squeezes.
“That’d be nice.” I hide my smile in my next bite of sandwich.