Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Boring, banal, blancmange. Jory was blocked. He knew it and everyone else knew it too.
It had been a week since Cali had drawn her metaphoric line in her sandbox and there was a distinct chill in the air. He was trying his best to be the originator of that cold front, but if he was honest, he was the one freezing to death. It wasn’t anything overt, but there were whispers. Maybe not whispers so much as currents. Frigid, whispered currents that flowed around him, nudging him to the conclusion that he might have been, in fact, the asshole in the situation.
He wasn’t a bad guy, he told himself. He was a good guy. He’d endangered his career ambitions by steering Howard in such confusing circles that the check-ins had stopped, meaning Cali was, for the time being anyway, safe. Jory had kept a lid on his attraction to her, definitely not noticing she moved with a new relaxation he hadn’t seen before, a kind of loose languidness that made her hips sway. And he definitely wasn’t grumpier because of it.
He watched her ruthlessly chip away at scenes until the crew had no choice but to go along with her directives, like a school of fish swept in the surf and surge of a swirling ocean. An ocean the color of Cali’s green and brown eyes that were big and bright enough to be an ocean themselves—changeable and turbulent as the storms he’d watched through the windows of the beach house. He had always wanted to go out into those storms, but never moved from behind the glass.
He felt like he was behind glass now as he watched her hands comb through her shiny auburn hair, lifting the heavy mane off her neck and holding it there in a rare moment of stillness while she considered the scene. Then she released her hair in a whoosh as she walked toward whatever idea she would summon into reality.
But the rest of the crew was … off. There was a whiff of hostility bubbling from an underground cavern Jory only now suspected existed. On the surface, their days were orderly and efficient. But the women in Wardrobe were avoiding him. It was nothing so obvious he could mark—they generally ignored his directives, but now they were pointedly ignoring his directives.
Across the set, Thalia talked to Joanne in that quietly intense way women did when there was something not to their liking. He’d seen his aunts in that cross-armed, obtuse-angled stance casually plotting the demise of those around them, usually the men, and a shiver ran through him. They lifted their heads in tandem to stare at him and pursed their lips in dissatisfaction.
He turned away and bumped into the man responsible for the sharpness of any image Jory shot, his focus puller, Guillermo. His whole camera team had been sticking uncomfortably close to Jory. Secret service close. Like they were protecting him with their very lives. Only his camera assistant, Alison, stood apart, efficient and capable as ever, but standoffish and cool.
Then there was Paolo. He’d attached himself to Jory, all bouncy and full of energy, wanting to have conversations about parkour—which Jory thought was a beautiful, balletic response to humanity’s deepening relationship to urban environments—or, God forbid, MMA—which Jory thought was ridiculous because there was a reason you stuck to one martial art and it was called discipline.
Paolo’s attention made Jory feel something uncomfortably akin to regret. Regret for not setting him straight about the misunderstanding, instead delaying because he didn’t want to appear unprofessional to Howard. Possibly even regret for hurting Paolo’s feelings, and not recognizing there was, possibly, maybe, a vulnerable person in there. But every time Jory made the move to explain what had happened, Paolo would cut him off with an inane attempt to be buddy–buddy, which dug under Jory’s skin until he turned away in a huff. The exchanges went something like this:
JORY
Paolo, can I talk to you?
PAOLO
Question: Why are you using a fifty-millimeter lens on this scene?
Paolo bounces.
JORY
Because it’s slightly comic.
PAOLO
Oh, Why is that funny?
Paolo skips.
JORY
(Sighing)
A fifty-millimeter lens is as close to what the human eye sees which allows you to take in everything that’s happening while still feeling in on the joke.
PAOLO
Oh yeah. Right. Right. Hey can I put the lens on?
JORY
(Grinds his jaw)
No.
PAOLO
What’s it called, swinging the lens?
JORY
No.
PAOLO
Aw, come on. I’ll be really careful.
JORY
Step away from the camera Paolo.
PAOLO
(BACKING AWAY)
That’s cool. That’s cool. I’m here if you need me, ‘kay?
And … scene.
Jory had to figure out what was going on. This was his set, his to protect, to lead. So he went to the source of all knowledge—Dan.
Jory sidled up to him, enacting a casual stance, speaking in a hushed tone. “Do you feel something weird with the crew? I mean, there’s a vibe.”
“Oh, I feel it.” Dan didn’t glance up from his paperwork.
“You feel it?” Jory’s poker face fled.
“I feel it.”
“It’s like everyone’s in some kind of Illuminati secret society.” Jory analyzed the busy crew as they worked. “And they’ve made me the Grand Pooh-bah without telling me what the secret is.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“What do you think’s going on?”
“Oh, I know what’s going on. I’m just surprised you don’t.”
Jory did a double take. “Why would I know what’s going on?”
“Come on, Jory.” Dan huffed out an exasperated sigh. “You’re usually more perceptive than this.”
“I’m just doing my job.” Jory tried to sound nonchalant but came off pouty instead.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Stop mm-hmm -ing me. You’re not my grandmother.”
Dan gave him a decidedly grandmotherly look.
“Okay, don’t tell me,” Jory pouted. Dan moved to walk away, but Jory grabbed his arm and hauled him back. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
Dan sighed, again. The man was a geyser of disappointment. “Lines are being drawn.”
“What kind of lines?”
“Battle lines.”
“Battle lines.”
Dan nodded.
“And …?” Jory circled his hand to nudge him along.
“The crew are swearing fealty.”
“Swearing fealty to who?”
“You or Cali.”
“What?!” Heads turned at his sudden exclamation.
Dan stayed silent.
Jory lowered his voice. “The only thing they should swear fealty to is the script.” His voice climbed back up. “Plus, I’m not doing anything! I’m fine!”
Dan pinned Jory with a glare. “You haven’t been talking to Howard about scenes behind Cali’s back?”
Jory’s stomach turned over. “Well, that wasn’t—”
“You haven’t been digging in on your own ideas simply because they’re contrary to hers?”
“Now, some of her ideas—”
“You haven’t let Paolo believe Cali called him a bad actor when it was, in fact, you?” Dan asked.
Jory stopped at that one. “I was about to clear that up.” Jory rubbed the back of his neck while Dan’s face cooled. “I have made some mistakes and perhaps crossed some lines.” Jory shoved his hands in his pockets. “But I’ve been with this crew for four months. She’s been here three weeks and look at the commotion she’s made. If there’s any fealty swearing, it should be to me!”
Dan closed his binder with a snap and jammed it under his arm. “And there’s the rub. I’m not going to explain the intricacies of your relationship with Calliope. For whatever reason, and I can probably guess, the Jory I know has been usurped by a Neanderthal. Scene’s up.”
Off he went, leaving Jory alone.
“Intricacies” of his and Cali’s relationship? There were no intricacies, Jory scoffed to himself.
Unless …
Maybe Dan suspected Jory’d been lusting after her since day one. Maybe he sensed the struggle Jory confronted everyday as he wondered how their relationship might take shape if they hadn’t met in this place, at this time. How he’d turned over in his mind what it would be like to watch a movie with her and argue over the choices made. Or to feel the texture of her lips against his own. How he struggled to protect her from Howard’s notice while trying to land his dream job. Maybe Dan understood that Jory kept away as much for her sake as the sake of the set.
Dan was uncommonly intuitive, but he couldn’t be that good.
Jory searched Cali out and found her sitting in her chair, considering the shot on the monitor, confident and thoughtful, all fired up with ideas and complications.
It wasn’t his fault he lost all rationality when he was around her. It was his fault he’d let his personal feelings develop into a rift. He couldn’t let his crew work in unsavory conditions, especially when he might have had a small part in creating them. As much as he hated the idea, he would have to build a bridge between he and Cali so they could work together in harmony, while not losing his mind.
With a frustrated breath, he caught her eye, lifted his arm, and beckoned.
Cali blinked. Was Jory beckoning her?
Surely not. He’d barely looked at her the past week. Which was just fine by Cali because his lack of input had made her job, and her life, that much easier. She should have read Jory the riot act the very first day. No one was going to give her control, and now that she had taken it, her confidence had fallen into place with a satisfying snick. She felt fantastic. It was true that much of the joviality among the crew had disappeared. A frosty, if not frigid, atmosphere had descended, and some of that glacial regard found its way to her, mostly from the camera team. But she was Canadian—she thrived in the cold.
Jory, meanwhile, had become a vibrating storm of grump. She couldn’t help but marvel over the sheer determination it must take to keep his Byronic aura burning. The man could brood. The riotous cloud that churned across his gorgeous visage would make Heathcliff, Rochester, and Angel from Buffy bow to his glower.
And now he beckoned.
Well, beckon all you want, buddy. I’m not giving you an inch. A princely come-hither wave will not compel me to concede.
When she didn’t move, he gestured more emphatically, as if she didn’t get it. She noted a pang of sympathy—he looked so frustrated. She’d have felt bad for him if he weren’t such a jerk. But she stayed where she was, straightening her spine as she raised a brow.
Jory narrowed his eyes and then rolled them. He stalked over to her. Inside her mind, she shouted a “whoop, whoop” but was all bland curiosity once he arrived. “What’s up?”
“We have a problem.”
“Oh?”
“Could we …?” Jory gestured to an unoccupied corner of Video Village.
Cali took a moment to consider, pushing the silence to just shy of uncomfortable, then rose from her chair like a queen.
Once they landed, Jory took a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Have you noticed anything off about the crew?”
Cali gave him a noncommittal shrug.
Jory’s scowl somehow deepened. He surveyed the crew, who were setting up the scene just out of earshot, as though suspecting a mutiny in the making. “They believe you and I are at odds, and they’re picking sides.”
A warm feeling coursed through her. The crew was mutinous. Mutinous for her . “There are crew members who have picked my side?” She put a hand up to her heart. “That’s so sweet.”
“It’s not sweet!” Jory exclaimed.
“I would have thought they’d all choose you, and I’d be ignored at best. This is great!” Cali let out a giant grin.
“It’s not great!” Jory sputtered.
Cali couldn’t remember when she’d been chosen over anyone else. In the past she’d taken director gigs no one else wanted to get her foot in the door. She’d begged producers to give her a chance who’d never heard her name. Even on The Demon , she was filling in for someone who’d been fired. Finally, here was proof. Proof that her style was working. Proof she was a director of worth and ideas. So much so that members of the crew were standing with her against Jory. Jory!
“Are you upset they didn’t side with you?” She put away her grin. Barely.
Jory waved her off. “No, of course not.”
“I mean you’ve been here the whole time.” Cali laced her response with faux pity. “It must be upsetting that some of them would jump ship. They must really be pissed at you.”
“They aren’t pissed.” Jory checked his rising volume. “You’re missing the point here.”
“Probably.”
“The crew is like a machine. If one piece is out of joint, the whole system shuts down, and the work suffers.”
“It’s interesting you should describe the crew as a machine—a cold unfeeling entity without consciousness.” Cali went full tilt Earth Mother. “I would suggest a crew is more like a family, an ensemble of unique voices, moving harmoniously toward a common goal.” Cali relished the snort that burst out of him. “As for the idea of an unhappy crew making bad TV, I’ve been on sets that were miserable, and the final result was magic.”
Jory pinned her with his gaze. “Are you saying a toxic environment makes better TV?”
Cali faltered. She would never want anyone to work in a toxic environment. Sets were tough enough as it was, with the long days and exhausting pace. Add negative emotions on top of that and each moment became a living hell. “No, of course not.”
Guilt washed over her. Had she been so happy to have finally found her stride that she ignored the emotional well-being of the crew? She had intuited something was wrong but had taken one week—one week!—where she could bask in the thought she actually knew what she was doing. Now she felt as though she had selfishly abandoned responsibility for those who followed her.
Sniffing out a weakness, Jory’s tone became patronizing. “We haven’t had this issue before, so …”
“Ah, so it’s the way I work.” Cali’s defenses slammed back up.
“You do have a different approach.”
“Than most directors you mean.”
“In my experience, yes.”
“Most directors that are men .” It was a risk to openly talk about the inherent sexism of the industry, but she was tired of keeping quiet about all the microaggressions that came at her and the other women on set. “It obviously couldn’t be the way you like to control everything.”
Instead of reeling from the accusation, Jory squared off. “Don’t make this about sexism. You’re a creative bully.”
“I am not a creative bully!”
“You get an idea and you steamroll everyone until you get what you want.”
“I trust in the inspiration of the moment.”
“And sometimes people use inspiration as an excuse to bully.”
Jory’s superior tone burned away Cali’s guilt. “Inspiration can be scary for some, especially when they’re too set in their ways to try anything new.”
“Whoa!” Jory’s exclamation was loud enough to turn heads.
“Hi, guys, can I have a mo?”
Cali and Jory wheeled to confront the interloper. Melanie speared them with a cold smile. Brooking no argument, she turned and walked deeper into the studio, her heel clicks commanding their compliance. Cali and Jory fell in step behind her, passing the doctor-office set, around the ice-cream parlor, and through the convenience store, where Melanie stopped.
She fixed them with a hard glare. “I’ve been hearing reports that our set isn’t the peaceful family it usually is.”
“Our family”— Cali leaned into the word to telegraph the win to Jory—“has been working their professional best, and I think you’re going to be really pleased with the results.”
Jory scoffed.
Melanie raised an eyebrow. “Jory?”
Jory leveled his shark stare on Melanie. “Everything’s good.”
Melanie wasn’t fooled. “From what I understand, everything is not good, and apparently it’s you two who are the cause of the fracture within the crew. I think it would be best if you could settle this between yourselves instead of hissing at each other in corners and stressing everyone out.”
“Everything’s good, Melanie,” Jory repeated.
“Yep, everything’s good,” Cali agreed.
“Listen, I get it. You’re both wonderful artists at the top of your game. But,” she said, looking pointedly at Cali, “whether or not you have a great idea that will put the schedule in jeopardy”—she swung her eyes to Jory—“or you cause tension because you think you’re always right, if either of you cost this production one penny over budget or I get one more complaint from a crew member, I will go to Howard. And trust me, you do not want me to go to Howard.”
Cali and Jory shuffled in place, two children caught in bad behavior.
Melanie put a hand to her chest, beseeching. “I like to be happy. How can I be happy when my crew is not happy?”
Melanie wedged herself between them, looping her arms through theirs, and gently shepherding them deeper into the studio. “You know, I come from a family of five kids. My parents didn’t have the time or the emotional capacity to deal with all of our conflicts. So in either a genius parenting move or a thoroughly Darwinian one, they would lock us in a room together until we worked it out.”
Melanie stopped in front of what appeared to be an office door. “Now, I’m not your parent, and I would never lock you in a room together because that would flagrantly disregard our HR policies. But we don’t have all afternoon to get over this. So, I’m giving you fifteen minutes to voluntarily sequester yourselves so you can come up with a solution together like adults and we can continue on as a joyous, harmonious, functional family.”
Melanie opened the door and stood aside, her message clear.
Channeling her most adult walk, Cali strode through the opening and Jory followed.
Melanie slammed the door shut behind them.