Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Cali walked onto set, buzzing with ideas on how to make the day’s scenes sizzle while bringing the crew back onside and Jory to heel. She was going to kick some ass and take some names. She was going turn this ship around. She was going to knock this out of the park. She was going to insert whatever comeback clich é and get a result of optimal awesomeness.
What greeted her instead was the sight of Howard standing on the kitchen set, swiping his arms through the air and proclaiming, “I see a wash of blue for this scene—metallic, cold,” while Jory nodded at the floor and Dan furiously took notes.
Her feet stuttered to a stop, but her torso kept going. She straightened herself at the last minute, saving herself from tumbling over, but not from the betrayal flooding through her. Was this a thing Howard just … did? Usurp his directors’ vision in favor of his own? Or had he lost complete faith in her already? She’d of course witnessed this boys’ club maneuver before, but catching Jory as a part of it cut deep. Which was ridiculous—she barely knew him.
Her old friend, doubt, leached through her skin. Maybe they hadn’t consulted with her because they knew that she knew that they knew that she didn’t know what she was doing.
No one else knows what they’re doing either. Patsy’s voice cut through her pity party. Plus, they’re being sexist dickwads.
Right. They were being sexist dickwads. The dickiest of sexist wads. Cali mentally bucked herself up. She had tons of experience, even if it wasn’t on big network TV shows, and the type of work she’d done meant she was perfectly suited for this job. Cali nodded to herself and put in motion her usual tactic in this situation—barging in and taking over. “Good morning, gentlemen. I heard the word ‘blue.’ ”
Jory’s head snapped up, and he blanched. At least he had the courtesy to be embarrassed.
She raised an eyebrow at him that could only be interpreted as, Oh yes, I caught you in your sausage fest.
Meanwhile, Howard nominally acknowledged her as if she’d been there all along. “Blue matches the tone of Rafe’s discombobulation when he sees the demon reflected in the toaster.”
Cali inwardly winced. At that point in the script, Paolo’s character Rafe glimpses the fires of hell grasping for his soul. The last time Cali checked her demon reference book, the fires of hell tended toward red. Or at least orange. Maybe yellow. She could argue the point, but Howard’s vibe told her she’d get nowhere. She’d have to implement another go-to tactic that would bewilder the leader of the club while flushing out the true opinions of the others: embrace the idiocy.
Cali forced an air of contemplation. “Blue is an interesting choice. It upends our culture’s notion of how hell is represented in the usual Dantean approach to fire, brimstone, and rings of despair. Instead, you’re offering a thesis about hell burning so hot it’s actually cold. Very fresh.”
Howard turned to her fully for the first time, looking ever so slightly pleased at her acumen. He nodded his approval.
Dan kept his face buried in his clipboard while Jory squinted up at the lights and fidgeted. Not a huge fidget. More of a fidge. But just enough of a fidge to tip a person off who might have been watching him obsessively the day before in order to know that Jory didn’t fidget or fidge.
Cali knew what that fidge meant. He hated the idea. Hate, hate, hated it. He hated that he had to entertain it, let alone execute it. Which made him a lying liar. A liar by omission, but still.
Cali tried not to sound too self-satisfied when she addressed him. “Jory, how do you feel about the cold fires of hell as represented by the color blue?”
He leveled his eyes to hers, and Cali felt winded from their impact. There was an emptiness in them that spoke of hell’s own torment, the icy glare reflecting journeys from the depths and back, and Cali wondered if Howard’s inspiration for blue came from the intensity of what gazed at her now. “Cold can burn,” he agreed.
Geez Louise. His voice, on the other hand, was anything but cold—it was a deep rumble that evoked throbbing embers promising an inferno once kindled. Cali took a metaphoric gulp and scrambled to cover her visceral response of melty knees and flushing warmth. She had to take control of this interaction with Howard, or she’d be bulldozed in every future decision. She set her tone to “Full Patronize.”
“Cold can burn. It really can. I’m sure that’s what Howard was thinking. But as I remember, our lighting set up is for red. How long will a changeover take?” she asked.
Jory’s face was neutral, but a tic in his jaw belied his obvious annoyance.
Dan answered for him. “Forty-five minutes.”
“We can do that for Howard, can’t we? A wise man once told me that ninety percent of the job was to make everyone happy.” Cali gave Jory her biggest smile.
Jory’s tick developed into a full-out clench, even as something sparked in his eyes, making the jaw tic equivalent to “Touch é .”
Just then Alison, the pretty, sweet, and curvy camera assistant, cautiously approached their circle to offer a clipboard for Jory’s signature. Without moving his eyes from Cali’s, he signed, and Alison scuttled away with her head down.
Unaware of the challenge roaring between them, Howard marked Alison’s departure. “Glad you agree, Cali. Let’s do it,” he said, and left the same way Alison did.
Cali stared Jory down even as she became aware of the set bustling around them. The props assistant flew by with dishes and cutlery to set up Rafe/Paolo’s breakfast nook, and a set dresser fussed with the curtains surrounding the window that let in the “sun.” A coffee urn percolated at the food table, and she could smell those awesome breakfast egg-and-bacon cup things Cali wanted the recipe for but would never make. Her stomach growled, inconveniently taking her badassery down a notch.
Dan nervously tapped his clipboard. “I’m just going to go over the … um—oh hey, Cesare!” And he was gone.
Left alone with Jory, Cali let her smile drop, her anger threatening to leak while she forced a frigid professionalism. “Do you have any suggestions on how to achieve Howard’s creative insight?”
Jory looked off to where Howard had disappeared, and ground out, “That discussion shouldn’t have happened without you.”
Cali did an inward double take. She’d never heard a man acknowledge her getting edged out before. One time a producer had actually blamed her for missing out on a decision because she’d been late, even though she had been forty-five minutes early. “It’s not as though it’s never happened.”
“Well, it shouldn’t happen on my set.”
“ Our set.” Cali couldn’t let that one go by.
Jory swung his annoyed gaze her way. “Now that you’re here on our set, maybe you have some ideas on how to realize Howard’s creative vision, with which you completely agree.”
Cali crossed her arms. “Since Howard is intent on flipping the collective understanding of hell, maybe we should also add some wind-whistling sounds and make Paolo shiver like he needs a sweater.”
Jory mimicked her crossed arms and had the audacity to appear pleased as she scowled. “Maybe we should get a snow machine. Then Santa can put in an appearance in a blue suit.”
“Christmas is the opposite of hell.”
“For some.”
Cali couldn’t argue with that. “Well, everyone loves blue Christmas lights.”
“Everyone does not love blue Christmas lights.” Jory snarled. “Blue Christmas lights are an abomination.”
“Wow. Finally some strong feelings about something,” Cali mocked.
Jory’s forehead wrinkled. “I have strong feelings.”
“Uh-huh.” Cali wondered what his strong feelings might be like if they were aimed at her, and held back a shiver.
She banished the thought with a deep breath. Everyone needed to calm down. She pulled her eyes from his and considered the kitchen set. “Maybe we could move the camera back so Paolo looks smaller in the frame. It will give him an air of isolation and powerlessness.”
“Do you mean I could move the camera back?”
Jory’s usual stony expression was edging toward magma. She guessed her calming vibe wasn’t getting picked up. “Well, I wouldn’t be doing it. But I like to collaborate with the other creative heads.”
Jory flinched, but he didn’t back down. “Send me your ideas in the form of a shot list, and I’ll consider collaborating with them.”
Gawd, he was condescending. “Fine. I’ll have a new shot list ready for the blue hellfire scene in fifteen.” She turned away from Jory’s barely concealed sigh and threw an accusatory glance over her shoulder. “And I’ll make sure to come in earlier tomorrow, in case there are any more creative discussions with Howard.”
To her delight, a storm cloud crossed his face. Smirking, she turned her head back around … and walked smack into a wall.
Which wouldn’t be so terrible if the thing was an actual wall. Since it was particleboard, it wobbled precariously along the length of the room, causing kitchen utensils to fall off the barely anchored shelves. Whisks and egg slicers clanged and crashed around her, amplifying her embarrassment while Cali grabbed the doorjamb to stop the whole thing from toppling over. When she heard the heavy scrape of something bigger sliding down the flat, she scrunched her shoulders to brace for the impact.
It didn’t come. With a thump, strong arms slammed beside her, caging her against the wall. When she opened her eyes, Jory was there, holding an oversized ceramic angel saltshaker an inch above her head.
Jory’s body relaxed with the kind of relief that only followed panic. They stood nose to nose, breathing hard as the moment stretched on. The heat from his body enveloped her, and she suddenly felt the urge to relax into him, happy to stay there for the rest of the day. He didn’t move an inch, but took deep breaths as if to steady himself. Cali searched through her rational mind for something cool to say but could only eke out, “Thanks.”
Jory slowly returned the angel to its place and stepped back. Cali scrambled to exit but ended up walking into the wall again.
“It’s still there,” he said with thinly veiled mockery.
Mortification was the only word for what her body was awash with. She straightened and changed her trajectory slightly to the left so she could move through the door.
Dan’s shout ricocheted around the set, “Good morning, everyone! We’re starting with scene fifty-four B, Rafe sees doom in his toaster.”
Carrying two brown recyclable take-out containers, the first soggy and bulging, and the second neat and light, Cali swam through the humid, one-hundred-degree Atlanta heat. After four brutal hours of trying to make up for the forty-five-minute delay because of Howard’s “fresh” idea, she needed an escape.
Cali stopped for a moment outside Thalia’s trailer to gather herself. She was still shaky from the morning and couldn’t afford to be off her game around her star, so she closed her eyes and breathed in, thinking, One seed at a time . She then attempted a knock that sounded both friendly and commanding. A small voice inside rang with welcome, and Cali threw open the door to meet the blast of air-conditioning. Phew.
“Oh, hey! I was expecting a production assistant. I’m not in trouble, am I?” A smiling Thalia emerged through the bedroom doorway, smoothing lotion over her forearms and wearing a silk bathrobe and a healthy glow. “Resplendent” was the only word Cali could come up with for what Thalia embodied. A goddess in a benevolent mood.
“Just in trouble for doing a great job.” Cali winced. “That was awful. Sometimes I try to be clever, and I just come off sounding like an awkward keener on the yearbook committee. I brought lunch.”
Cali plunked the take-out containers on the small dining table while Thalia carefully pinned back her blown, curled, sprayed, lustrous black hair. “Oh good. I can relax now. I’m a nerd too.”
Cali put a hand up to the air-conditioning vent. “May I?”
“Use my air? I bestow upon you my very important AC.” Thalia waved her arm like a grand dame.
Cali suspected Thalia had a playful side she didn’t show often. Many actresses maintained a strict air of professionalism so they would be taken seriously, especially those of color. Any hint of goofiness might place them in an unfavorable light. Thalia had opened a door, but if Cali wanted Thalia to really relax, she would have to walk through it first. So she stuck her chest right into the vent, pulling her shirt away from her sweaty skin and groaned as the air found its way down to her belly.
Thalia smirked, her shoulders loosening a fraction. “I know, it’s murder here. I mean, I’m from San Diego—I get heat. But there’s something about this town that’s unbearable.”
“I thought it was just because I’m Canadian, but this is brutal.” Cali turned around, lifted her shirt from the bottom and bent over slightly. “How could you have ever been a nerd?”
“I was in the debate club.”
“The debate club could be cool.”
“Not if you’re the only one in it and spent your lunch hours trying to recruit stoners in the stairwells,” Thalia drawled.
Cali snickered. “You were that girl? Yikes.”
“You done hogging all the air?” Thalia slid into a seat behind the tiny table.
Reluctantly, Cali stepped away from the air conditioner and took the opposite seat, the table an inch away from her ribs. They opened their respective containers. While Thalia’s was an elegant salad of greens and broiled chicken, Cali’s was a sloppy mess of meatballs, coleslaw, sweet potatoes, and corn on the cob. “I eat a lot.”
Thalia shot her an irritated look. “Don’t brag.”
Cali indicated their containers. “While your tray could only be described as refined, mine has all the attributes of slop. I can’t pass anything on the catering table without taking it, even though I know I can’t eat it all. But in the end, I do. Eat it all, I mean.”
“Why do you think I don’t go to the lunchroom? I sit here and imagine there’s only broiled chicken and greens.” Thalia jabbed her fork at Cali. “Don’t shatter my carefully constructed fiction about this.”
They focused on their lunch for a moment, settling into a surprisingly companionable silence. Cali didn’t have much contact with women in the business, since it was still very much a man’s game. So when she found women she liked, she tried to hang on to them, soaking in their energy. But this visit wasn’t about her; it was about Thalia and the elephant in the room. Cali had to tread carefully.
While Thalia took mindful, methodical bites of her salad, Cali studied her forkful of slop and pasted on an easy expression. “I thought I’d check in. See how you’re feeling about yesterday.”
Thalia pushed her greens around the container. “How’s Paolo?”
Cali waved her concern away. “He’s fine. More embarrassed than anything. He spent the rest of the day burying what happened with jokes.”
Thalia nodded, a troubled look clouding her face. Cali knew that look. Shame. Shame for something she probably shouldn’t feel shame about.
Cali was careful to keep her tone light but firm. “Paolo shouldn’t have gone off script like that. Because he’s so new, he probably didn’t realize how easy it is to stray into dangerous territory during a sex scene. It was my fault for not being clearer with him.”
“It wasn’t you. I just got …” Thalia put her fork down and jammed her hands under her legs. “Overwhelmed,” she finished.
“Of course. Who wouldn’t?”
Thalia shot Cali a searching gaze, assessing Cali for her sincerity. Cali knew what it was like to be cornered into a bad situation. When she was a PA, the production manager would schedule Cali to be alone with him in the office during night shoots. He’d tell her how beautiful she was and offer to drive her home, even though she had her own production vehicle. Which he knew about because it was her job to drive around and get things. He’d signed off on it, for fuck’s sake. Cali couldn’t afford to lose the job, so she’d kept her distance by constantly asking about his wife and kids. “We’ve all been in situations we felt we had no control over.”
Thalia went back to stabbing her lettuce. “I did a sex scene once where the other actor took the director’s suggestion of improvisation pretty far. The director kept pushing the boundaries, and I went along with it, even though I didn’t think … it worked for the character.”
Thalia went quiet, lost in the painful memory. A lot of men took advantage of actresses under the auspices the job demanded they be free with their bodies. Once Cali saw an eighteen-year-old girl bullied into taking her clothes off for a scene that was only going to be shot from the shoulders up. Cali later heard the girl had stopped acting altogether. “That shouldn’t have happened, Thalia. I’m sorry.”
Thalia’s eyes misted as her voice hardened. “I’m not afraid to do anything. I’m a professional, and I believe in getting the moment right. I just don’t want to be surprised.”
“Of course.” Cali returned to a casual tone, sensing it was safer for Thalia. “I think, for the next one, I’ll insist on an intimacy coach, and we’ll strip the crew down even more, to just Jory, Paolo, and me.”
Tension crept into Thalia’s shoulders, her knuckles turning white around her utensils.
Maybe Cali had gotten it wrong. “Unless you have a different idea?”
Thalia studied her chicken. “It might be better if more people were around. The last time there were barely any, and it was … isolating.”
“No problem. Whatever you need.” Cali wanted to incinerate that director.
Thalia dabbed her mouth with her napkin and rose from the table, signifying the discussion was over. “I still have that tea you sent over yesterday. Want some?”
Cali blew out some air to release the tension of the moment, but also from her lunch bloat. “No thanks. Chamomile makes me sleepy.”
Thalia eyed Cali’s not so subtle belly rub. “I have salabat. It’s a kind of ginger tea that’s good for your stomach.” Thalia indicated Cali’s demolished lunch tray. “You had a lot of coleslaw.”
Cali was too distended to be embarrassed. “Yes. That. Please.”
Thalia carefully placed the tea bag in a clear glass mug, then poured the water in while slipping into a too-casual stance. “How is it going for you ?”
“Yeah, great. The team is great. I love the episode. The show is great. It’s all really great.” Cup of tea placed in front of her, Cali made a show of breathing in its sweet, citrus, and honey notes. “This smells great.”
Thalia slid back into place and blew on her own cup while studying Cali over the rim. “That’s a lot of ‘greats.’ ”
Cali hid behind her cup, examining the golden-brown liquid.
Thalia ventured, “I find it can be exhausting being around men all the time, like a part of you can never relax.”
“Yes. The pressure to be a part of their club while never really being invited. The bro code and all that,” Cali replied.
“How’s it going with Jory?”
“Good. Yep, good.” Cali bobbed her head and took a sip too soon, burning her tongue.
“He’s an excellent DP,” Thalia granted.
“Yes. Amazing. Really great.”
“He’s also a condescending know-it-all.”
Cali sputtered, dribbling tea from her mouth. She quickly grabbed a napkin to wipe her chin. “No. No. He’s fine.”
Thalia was smiling and Cali knew she’d been made. “My mom would say you have to let men think they’re the ones teaching you.”
“I hate that.”
“I also hate that.” Thalia put her tea down. “My grandmother took a different approach. She said you need to know your enemy.”
Cali’s eyes flashed up in surprise. “ The Art of War ?”
“A copy was on her coffee table.”
Cali nodded, wondering what kind of house her grandmother had run.
Thalia continued, “Sun Tzu says, ‘Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.’ ”
Cali frowned. “The set isn’t a war.”
“No, of course not.” Thalia went silent for a moment, then picked her tea back up. “But make no mistake, they see you as an enemy combatant.”
“They do?”
“They do.”
Cali flashed back to the morning and how the tone of the conversation had changed when she arrived. How the men had no trouble making decisions without her being there and had almost seemed put out when they needed to adjust for her. True, Jory had apologized, but that didn’t erase the doubt she’d felt. Or the anger.
Thalia took a careful sip. “Just know you have allies.” Thalia pointed two fingers toward her eyes and then swept them out, a benevolent goddess no more.
Jory escaped down the dark hallway toward the edit bays. He’d pulled himself out of another conversation with Howard in the lunchroom, where the illustrious exec had praised Jory over the blue hell scenes—as though he’d had anything to do with it. Howard should have thanked Cali for making his stupid idea even passably work. Blue . Like it was some kind of brilliant idea. Like it even made sense.
Fucking blue.
Howard kept going on and on while Jory frantically searched for a way to extricate himself from a prime opportunity to do some political maneuvering. He used to love listening to stories from decision-makers like Howard, men who had shaped film and TV. And Howard had worked with the best: Coppola, Scorsese, Tarantino. But Jory couldn’t muster up the energy to care. He’d grown tired of wading through the bad behavior and bullying to get to the insights about the art of storytelling. Jory wanted to hear from voices that didn’t get the same airtime. Stories someone like Cali might tell.
Now he was hiding in a hallway, no lunch eaten, worrying Cali would find out they’d been talking without her again. Not that he should care what a newbie director thought. He shouldn’t. He had more important things to do, like … delivering the forgotten film cartridge in his hand. Yeah. That.
The unmistakable sounds of someone having sex wafted out of an edit bay, stopping Jory short. They weren’t porn-y sounds—a studied gasp or an inauthentic “Oh baby, your cock is so big.” It was a sharp intake of breath, made by someone caught up in the heat of the moment. A dick-thickening sound played over and over and over. Loud.
A similar sound had escaped Cali the day before when Alison demonstrated the new night vision camera they’d brought in for the demon-ops scene. He’d watched her handle the camera with a languorous yet reverent hand that to Jory bordered on lascivious. Her stance turned commanding as she gave instructions to Alison on what she wanted done with the camera, and Jory mused on what it would take for her to make that sound again and then have her turn that commanding gaze on him.
Jory shook himself. The sex noises were not helping.
Just then, the inspiration of his musings rounded the corner and screeched to a halt at the sight of him. Jory flushed with embarrassment, like a teenager caught with his dad’s skin mags. Cali’s eyes turned curious at the sex sounds bouncing between them.
Jory stepped forward with the urge to clarify, but found his jeans suspiciously tight. Instead, he twisted his hips to a forty-five-degree angle he imagined made him look like a deranged line dancer. He shrugged toward the sounds, all casual-like. “Yesterday’s scene.”
“Ah.” Cali relaxed but turned her regard on him, probably noting his obvious blush. He was thirty-five years old, for crap’s sake. He didn’t blush.
The soundtrack to this mortifying scene progressed from sounds to words. “Oh that’s it … that’s it …” He nonchalantly dropped his hand holding the film cartridge in front of his pants.
Stifling a grin, Cali motioned to the hallway. “Is Melanie’s office down here?”
“Uh, no.” He cleared his suddenly parched throat. “It’s around the corner, down past the coffee makers, and then a left.”
“You like that?”
“Yeah …”
Cali scanned the hallway Jory had indicated and then peered down the opposite side, her brow furrowed. She lifted her hand to twist a lock of hair around her finger. “Past the coffee makers? Isn’t that where Wardrobe is?”
“Don’t stop …”
“Yes, yep. Wardrobe is down there, but if you take a left, then you’ll hit Melanie’s office.” Jory willed the throbbing in his blood to slow down.
“Oh baby, please don’t stop …”
Cali tapped her lips with a finger, confused.
What didn’t she get? It was pretty clear. Unless she was fucking with him. Was she fucking with him? Because it would be great if this little exchange could end yesterday.
She tipped her head to the side. “Sorry, I have a terrible sense of direction. Give it to me again? I take a left at the coffee makers and go past Wardrobe …”
“No, no, no. You don’t go past Wardrobe. You take a left before Wardrobe.” He was sweating now. Blushing and sweating.
“My left or your left?” Her lip curled the slightest bit.
Yep, she was fucking with him. The brat was enjoying his discomfort. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. “Your left.”
“My left—got it.”
Desperate for escape the second time that day, Jory walked backward, awkwardly pointing behind him at the edit bay. “I’m going to go check on that scene.”
Her smile turned evil as she dropped the charade. “You do that.”
Jory fumbled for the door handle and burst into the room. “Do you have to play that so goddamned loud?”
The editor jumped from his chair at the intrusion, quickly stopping the footage in mid-image with a yelp. The shot on the screen was of Paolo and Thalia’s entangled legs, their skin glowing with an ethereal sensuality under the diaphanous sheet. It was electrifying, just as Jory had known it would be.
Michael, the editor who’d been working the footage at such an unnatural volume, put a hand on his heart. “Man, don’t freak me out like that. You know how into it I get.”
It wasn’t Michael’s fault Jory’d been caught in a nightmare of awkward sexual tension with the woman he was firmly banishing from his mind and definitely having no inappropriate thoughts about. “Sorry. It was just … loud. And I … uh … yeah.”
Michael let out a breath and threw his arms over his head in a big stretch. At over six foot two, he was taller and broader than Jory, and exuded an undeniable Idris Elba sexuality not even Jory could deny. As Michael lowered his arms to scratch his belly, Jory had the fleeting thought he’d definitely tap that if he weren’t straight. Hell, if he was honest, he’d tap Michael regardless.
Michael’s voice returned to its normal sleepy drawl. “That’s some good stuff you got yesterday.”
Jory pulled himself together. “Yeah, you like it?”
“Jesus, yeah. I’m not even supposed to be working on this scene, but I did a quick scan of the rushes and after going through all that blancmange stuff you guys did at the beginning—” Michael froze over the blunder. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not throwing shade. That stuff was fine, but when I came across this, I was very much—yeah.” Michael nodded in agreement with the footage. “I mean, yeah. And have you heard the audio?”
Jory rubbed the back of his neck. “Just all the way down the hall.”
“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I had to jack it up to hear the nuances, and then got lost to it.” Michael didn’t seem the least sorry. “And there’s more of those little gasps and sighs. From Paolo even.”
“You get to the end?”
Michael nodded. “Hilarious. I mean, ouch . But hilarious.”
“Yeah.”
“Anyway, that shit is hot. The shots, not Paolo getting dinged.”
Jory figured the sex scene would be good, but he hadn’t imagined it could be this good. Begrudging respect seeped into him. He wasn’t often proven wrong, but when he was, he took notice and made sure kudos found a way to the source. The sexy, smart source. “It was Cali, the new director’s idea. The shots.”
“Well, let her know for me.” Michael spotted the film cartridge in Jory’s hand. “You need another transfer?” Jory passed it to Michael, who turned it over in his hand. “Super eight today. What are you doing with all this footage?”
“Just a personal project.”
Michael’s body stilled as all his attention shifted to the doorway, where a flurry of woman blew in. Jory glanced over his shoulder and saw Melanie brimming with all the energy of being on top of a million things, plus ten you didn’t consider.
She typed away on her phone. “Hey, Jory. Michael, we have notes on episode two from the network. Did you get them?”
“Ah, no. I got caught up in something else.” Michael motioned to the screen.
She glanced up from her phone to the monitor with the sex scene footage. “Oh yeah. How does that look?”
“Really good.” Michael cleared his throat. “Very good.”
Jory pondered the sight of Michael in a rare display of nerves. His physical presence tended to put all the women and most of the men on the production into a state of “aflutter.” And here he was acting like the proverbial schoolboy while Melanie didn’t seem to notice.
“That’s why we got Cali.” Melanie turned her intense perusal on Jory. “How do you like her? Is she working out?”
Jory stilled. This was one of those moments. Jory knew his response wouldn’t make or break Cali’s career, but his yes or no could definitely nudge her future down a particular path. He couldn’t deny her absence would make his life a lot easier, not only with his Howard campaign but also with the uncomfortable attraction he was finding difficult to tamp down. He also couldn’t deny her work was good, that she was bringing an energy to the material the show sorely needed. That he sorely needed.
“I’m not sure yet,” he hedged.
Melanie narrowed her eyes. “You’re not sure yet.”
“No.”
“You’re always sure.”
Jory shrugged.
Melanie crossed her arms while Michael considered Jory with an air of interest.
Jory scowled.
He had to give them something. His lack of opinion would rouse suspicion one way or the other if he didn’t. “Well, she has a complete disregard for schedule when she gets an idea, but those ideas are often good. She talks to the actors too much but gets performances I didn’t know they had in them. She’s in my business about where the camera is, but sometimes the shot looks better as a result. She’s constantly eating and is always, always bouncing her knee.”
Melanie turned her laser gaze up twenty degrees. “So, she’s good?”
“Hey! Is that the footage from yesterday?”
The trio broke apart as Paolo sauntered in. Actors weren’t generally allowed in the edit bays. Seeing themselves onscreen either put them in a panic about how “bad” they were or gave them an unfounded sense of power that they were in a position to give advice. Paolo was in the latter category. He raised a fist bump to Michael, which went ignored.
“Can I say something about the newbie director?” Michael pointed to the monitor where Thalia’s profile stared up in ecstasy at Paolo. “That scene is fire, and when I get my teeth into it it’s going to be transcendent. If that’s what she came up with on her first day, I can’t wait to see what comes next.”
Paolo half sneered. “Yeah, but she got it in a totally unprofessional way. I mean, you can’t endanger one of your best assets, am I right?” Paolo took a step back, indicating himself.
After the briefest pause, during which Jory imagined Melanie had to take a fortifying breath, she plastered concern on her face. “Absolutely. We take the safety of our artists very seriously.” She gently took Paolo’s arm to steer him out of the room. “Paolo, can you walk with me? I have a question about your contract.”
Paolo swaggered beside her. “Mel, I have people for that …”
Left alone, Jory risked a glance at Michael and immediately regretted it. The guy was all smirk. “She bounces her knee, huh?”
“Shut up, man.”
Jory stalked out of the room. He’d better find a way to control Cali. The woman was dangerous to his sanity.