Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Paolo, you’re looking over your shoulder again.”
“Yeah, I’m letting the guy watching me know that I know he’s there.”
Jory peered up from the small monitor attached to his Steadicam at the walking mannequin he was trying to direct. This thespian. This actor . “But you don’t know he’s there.”
“I feel him.”
“No, you don’t feel him. You don’t know he’s there. You just get a coffee.”
“Riiiigggght. I just get a coffee.” Paolo touched his nose and nodded. Then he bounced away to his first position to begin the scene again.
Jory exhaled. He’d been trying to film Paolo getting a coffee for thirty minutes. Once Cali had been pulled off the set, leaving Jory alone to shoot the scene, Paolo had jabbered nonstop about his intention and emotional landscape. To shut him up, Jory had made a terrible mistake. He’d explained what he was trying to do.
Now Paolo was “helping” the scene by acknowledging the unknown voyeur who stalked him. He’d searched the coffee shop in suspicion in one take, glanced over his shoulder on the next, and hadn’t come in at all on another, instead just peering through the caf é window.
Jory couldn’t help but ask himself: What would Cali do?
She wouldn’t have told Paolo in the first place: that was what.
As the set quietened for yet another take, Jory sighed out, “Action.”
Paolo glided in, all ease and confidence as Jory followed with the Steadicam.
Despite Paolo tanking the shot, the scene had taken on a depth that wasn’t in the script. The added tension of someone watching Paolo/Rafe without him knowing would deepen the dread in the later scenes. Cali should be here to enjoy the fruits of their inspiration, instead of getting reprimanded—or whatever the hell was happening, in Melanie’s office. Guilt and fury bubbled up in Jory at the unfairness of it all. The unfairness he was partly responsible for.
Paolo ordered his coffee and smiled at the barista, taking his cup in a perfectly normal and natural way. Jory’s excitement rose. He’s doing it. He’s doing it!
Then Paolo turned and looked directly in the lens with a dead stare before he walked off camera.
Jory had to stop himself for groaning, “Cut” to the ceiling. Hopefully Michael would have enough to piece it all together. He motioned for Alison to help him remove his gear.
Paolo bounded up. “Did you like that look straight down the barrel? It was like I was challenging the audience, telling them to stop following me. Totally meta.”
“Yep, it was great. Really good. Thanks, Paolo.” Jory kept his hands busy so he wouldn’t throttle him.
“No problem, man. You are really good to work with.” Paolo slapped Jory on the arm so hard he almost fell over. Paolo lowered his voice. “I’m trying to fix it so we can do more.” Then he shadowboxed Jory in the ribs and flopped away. The man was the living embodiment of Tigger.
Thank God the day was over and Jory could escape to his condo. Walking through the sets, Jory pulled his phone out of his back pocket, hoping for a message from Cali telling him what was going on, if she was okay, if she needed anything, what she thought about the scene, what she thought about their kiss, what she thought about him. Ugh. He was a mess. When he turned his phone on, a call did come in, just not the one he wanted.
“Howard.”
“Blair! For fuck’s sakes, what is going on down there? What’s the deal with Paolo? I know he’s as dumb as a rock, but he tested through the roof with eighteen- to twenty-nine-year-old women, and we need that market. How’d the scene go?”
“It went fine.” Other than being a dumpster fire.
Howard whistled through the phone. “Good. I’m glad I’ve got you there. Listen!” Jory had taken a breath to say something, anything, but Howard steamrolled through. “I talked to Jeff about his show, and he’s really pumped to have you on board. But he’s nervous about pitching you to the network when you don’t have any directing experience.”
Jory deflated. He knew becoming a director wouldn’t be easy. No one ever took a chance on an actual newbie, although he’d hoped his hours and hours as a DP would be enough to bypass that step.
“We both know any monkey can direct,” Howard continued. “We just need to get you some experience on paper. I’ve got a couple of ideas where I can slot you in on The Demon. ”
Jory’s pulse picked up. He’d never imagined his first directing credit could come from The Demon. Working on material he already knew with a crew who trusted him would be best-case scenario. Maybe he could even ask Cali for some tips if he made it clear he wasn’t encroaching on her territory. And if she was still speaking to him after their kiss. “That would be amazing. But I thought the roster was full?”
“You leave that to me. You just keep Paolo happy.” Howard hung up. Like he always did.
Jory scrubbed a hand across his face and pulled open the door that led onto the crew parking lot.
Keep Paolo happy. Paolo would definitely not be happy if Jory came clean about what he’d said about his acting. That it was him, and not Cali, who believed he didn’t have any talent. The smart move would be to keep quiet. But he wouldn’t. Even if he hadn’t shared that electric kiss with her, not ’fessing up wasn’t right. He’d have to set Paolo straight regardless of what it meant to Jory’s career. He had vowed to do better, after all.
Still, The Demon would be a perfect stepping stone. Could he find a way to boost Cali to Paolo and keep on both of their good sides? He doubted it. Maybe a workshop with all three of them—except Paolo would never go for that. Plus, Cali might be reporting Jory to HR this very second.
Before this, he had been above reproach with the opposite sex on set, especially in the aftermath of the #metoo movement. He was all for light being shed on the unconscionable behavior of the toxic men in the industry who’d been called out, and then thrown out. Now he could be painted with the same brush as those reprehensible creeps, and he didn’t want everything he’d worked so hard for to disappear because of one ill-advised moment.
He had to shut down whatever this was between Cali and him. He would walk away. Pretend like nothing had happened, extinguish any possibility of what they might be together, what the show might be with them on the same side, and avoid her at all costs.
Yet, as he drove, Jory didn’t go over what he would say to Cali to distance himself, but through their kiss—the heat, the surprise, the guilt, the horror. And then, the synergy after . How they had locked into each other creatively with a Borg mind that moved as one. He sensed an inspiration he hadn’t felt since …
Since when? He remembered having fun on an underwater shoot in the Seychelles for that art house film about a Westerner learning how to spearfish. The light through the water was interesting and the gear they’d used was neat, but was that inspiration? Today he had been giddy over a simple Steadicam shot.
Still, the kiss was definitely not good. Well, it was good. It was really good. It hadn’t been wise .
He locked his car and walked up the parking garage stairs, barely registering where he was. It all seemed an impossible tangle. Make Paolo happy while supporting Cali as he’d vowed. Manage Howard and his new career while distancing himself from a woman he felt a connection with that he hadn’t felt in years, if ever. Go back to where Cali and he had started, silently seething beside each other instead of sharing open-mouthed kisses that had a lush and decadent flavor he couldn’t pinpoint.
He snapped his fingers. Chocolate plums. That’s what it was. She tasted faintly of chocolate plums. Was there such a thing? Cali would know. She ate everything on the planet because she knew how to grab life, how to hold it in her hands and share its wonder.
Chocolate plums were what he was thinking about when he walked through the doors of his building, the subject of his quandary materializing before him.
Cali stood motionless in front of the elevators, staring into the middle distance, the elevator button un-pushed. With her arms loose at her sides, and her shoulders thrust back, she appeared almost regal, an exhausted queen who’d lost an important battle and now solemnly regarded the carnage laid out before her.
Jory felt like a duplicitous vassal, hanging in the moment before admitting to a betrayal he hadn’t constructed, but had obliquely let fester. Stuck between his own ambitions and the monarch he served.
Or maybe he was just stuck between the condo’s retracted doors that patiently waited for him to make a decision—in or out. Avoid Cali and retreat into taciturnity so he could squash any tenuous trust they had fostered? Or answer the call of her obvious misery? The prudent option was to retreat, but he couldn’t leave her alone, not when she probably felt her world crumbling around her.
He stepped into the lobby, and the doors closed behind him with a quiet whoosh. His body flooded with adrenaline as he approached her with care. “I find the elevator works better when you push this button.”
Cali flinched at the sound of his voice, snapping out of her reverie. When she realized who it was, her lips thinned, and she swallowed as her focus flicked from him to the elevator, then to the floor. So not exactly happy to see him, but not shooting daggers either.
She raised her hand to point at the button and widened her eyes in mock innocence. “This round thing here? This … how do you say? Butt- on ?”
Happy for the brief reprieve from reality, he kept his expression neutral. “Yes. It is what signals the moving box that will deliver you to the stationary box you sleep in.”
“And this butt- on invites the box?” Cali sank into her role, an alien in a strange world.
“Yes, the box slides down a long shaft … that stands … in the middle … of a bigger shaft …” His sentence petered out as the joke traversed into a territory he didn’t foresee, and he inwardly cursed the blush that definitely lit up his features.
“Slides down the long shaft, eh?” She prolonged the sentence, which only deepened his discomfort.
Jory grasped for a misdirection. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say ‘eh.’ I was doubting your Canadianness.”
“Ah, yes. Americans always believe the Canadian ‘eh’ a mythical creature, but as you have just witnessed, it is very real.”
The amiable moment lengthened past jokey to stray into slightly awkward. Realizing they were still standing in front of the elevators with the butt-on as yet un-pushed, they both lunged forward to punch it, bringing their bodies uncomfortably close. They immediately pulled back.
“Sorry. Go ahead,” Cali stammered.
“No, it’s cool.” Jory jammed his hands in his pockets. “You go. You were here first.”
“But you explained its use so well.”
Ah, there was her smile, just a bit brighter, her eyes a bit warmer, bringing out the browns that reminded him of a glass of bourbon in front of a fire on the beach. His chest tightened in a not entirely unpleasant way as her gaze dropped to his mouth. He licked his lips.
The motion snapped her eyes up to his, which widened in tandem. He quickly went for the elevator button again, just as she did, causing their hands to brush.
They jumped back.
Cali blew out a laugh. “Wow.”
“I’m out.” Jory threw his hands up.
“You don’t want to go for three?”
“If you don’t push the button, I’m taking the stairs.”
She slowly lifted a pointed finger between them and announced, “I’m going in.”
Jory swept a chivalrous arm for her to proceed and stepped back.
Cali pushed the button as the mischief seeped out of her. “Thanks for directing Paolo on that final scene.”
Guilt lit up his body. “It wasn’t a great situation.”
“It’s fine. He feels comfortable with you.”
The elevator arrived and emptied of people. While they waited for them to clear, Jory offered an olive branch he hoped would be enough. “I meant to explain to Paolo what happened, but I got … distracted by the conflicts on set.” A feeble excuse.
Cali fastened him with her gaze. “The conflicts with me.”
Jory felt as if his almost apology was being turned over in Cali’s hands as she weighed its worth. “Um, well, yes.”
“Did you get distracted enough to do nothing about Paolo so you could passively get back at me?”
“What? No. No.” But that’s exactly what he’d done. Paolo had given him a number of chances to come clean, and Jory just … hadn’t. He’d been angry at Cali, and if he was honest, had felt a self-righteous satisfaction that the misunderstanding remained. Now Cali was taking his measure, and Jory wasn’t comfortable with her conclusions. He wasn’t comfortable with his own.
The open elevator doors decided they’d waited long enough for them to board and closed to pick up someone who could make a decision.
“Shit,” Cali whispered under her breath as she hit the elevator button too late. She stabbed the button again and again, as if that might bring the elevator back faster.
Giving up, she fished around in her bag to pull out an apple, which she bit into with an angry crack. Jory watched her chew, staring at her lush mouth surrounding the fruit as she went in for another bite. Jory was catapulted back to their kiss—the way she took control like she couldn’t get enough of him, his eagerness to grab that control back, making it a game they played. Jory suddenly wished he could be that apple.
Her mouth slowed, and he lifted his gaze to catch worry flooding her features. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want one?” She jostled around in her bag, and another emerged.
How many apples was she carrying?
“Or maybe you want a granola bar?” she continued, peering into the bag’s depths. “I might also have a yogurt.”
He plucked the untouched apple out of her palm to get her to stop, just as the elevator dinged its arrival.
Jory stepped aside so she could precede him, and simultaneously dreading and craving the tight space, he followed.
Inside, the lighting was softer than he’d remembered. He was assailed by flashes of their kiss again—the panting breaths, the urgent touches, the desperate clinging. Inconvenient blood rushed south in giddy response. Cali cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to her as she ran her hand gracefully over the elevator panel like a Price Is Right model. “Again with the buttons. Floor?”
“Oh, right. Uh, eleven.”
Cali pushed eleven and then floated her hand up to her own number, fifteen. She settled a shoulder against the wall to watch him.
There was something so comfortable about her. In the way she scrutinized him, in curiosity rather than reverence, that allowed him to shed the fa c ade of presupposed genius, the unreachable DP. It made him want to give up his ethics and lose himself in the magic that sparked between them.
No. Stop that. He had to create distance. Not just to avoid the fallout at work but because he had no business exploring “spark” with anyone until he was healthy enough to do so. Better yet, he should seize this moment to clear up what had happened so they could return to being colleagues.
“I’m sorry that happened today. Behind the flats.” Although he wasn’t sorry at all. He was sorry it hadn’t taken place in front of a moonlit fountain or over a soda float or on top of the Eiffel Tower. But that wasn’t the point.
Cali’s body tensed and she stood away from the wall. “Yes, me too. Me too. Completely unprofessional.”
Jory nodded and then Cali nodded, and they were both nodding.
“Completely unprofessional,” she repeated.
Jory stopped nodding. Did she mean she was unprofessional or he was unprofessional? “I mean, yes, it was unethical on both our parts, despite you making the first move, but I completely take responsibility for my part in the transgression.”
Cali stopped nodding.
Jory nervously continued, “I just wanted to be clear, because the present climate is weighed heavily, and understandably , against men being inappropriate on set. But I want to make sure you knew I wasn’t trying to manipulate you with a gross misuse of power and intimidation.”
“I didn’t think you were trying to manipulate me with a gross misuse of power and intimidation.”
“Great. Great.”
As the elevator slowed, Jory felt lighter. Maybe they could move past this. Maybe there would be no recriminations. Maybe everything would return to its proper place, where they would work side-by-side a million miles apart, never to explore what could have been. Perfect. He stepped out of the elevator, when Cali’s voice stopped him short.
“But you did touch my hair.”
“Sorry?” Jory turned, confused.
Cali stepped up to the elevator threshold. “You said I made the first move, but you pushed my hair back and tucked it behind my ear. That’s a move. That’s more than a lean.”
The elevator door began to close, and Jory swept his hand out to trip the sensors. The door wisely retreated. “Your hair was in front of your eyes.”
“And you moved it. It’s my hair to move.”
Jory settled into his calm and rational demeanor, to diffuse the situation. And to bug her. “It is definitely and absolutely your hair to move, and I take responsibility for moving your hair. But after I, obviously, misstepped in moving your hair, you moved your body and kissed me, which is, obviously, more egregious than moving hair.”
Cali narrowed her eyes. “I suppose it depends on your intention.”
“ My intention?”
“Of whether or not you were moving my hair so you could kiss me.”
Jory’s calm and rational demeanor morphed into his terse and annoyed one. “It doesn’t matter what my intention was. It was preempted by you actually kissing me.”
“And you kissed me back.” Cali flushed with what he could only assume was anger. “Neutralizing my initial kiss.”
Jory pointed a finger at Cali, banishing the door back again. “You had your hands in my hair.”
Cali matched his finger point. “You had your hands in my hair! And then you pushed me against the wall.”
“After you pushed me against the wall!”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you can then push me against a wall.”
Jory stumbled for a response. “You, you—you moved your hands from my hair to the belt loops on my jeans, grinding your hips into my hips.”
Cali sputtered, “I did not—”
“Oh, you did!” Jory leaned in. “You really did. You probably don’t think you did because you were so into me.”
“ I was into you ?”
“You were so into me.”
“You were so into me!”
He was so into her. He made a last desperate attempt to retreat, from her, from them, and stepped back, hands raised. “Don’t kiss me again.”
“Oh don’t worry. I won’t.” Cali smirked. “I’m a one-and-done type.”
Jory stopped short. “What does that mean, ‘one and done?’”
“I don’t do repeats.”
“You don’t do repeats.”
“I. Don’t. Do. Repeats.” She enunciated each word, exaggerating so he would get it.
But Jory didn’t get it. “Sorry—you don’t want to explore this between us, this unbelievable energy between us because you ‘don’t do repeats?’ ”
Cali tipped her chin up in defiance. “I don’t have the time or the emotional space for romantic entanglements, no matter how good the kiss.”
At that, the elevator door beeped its displeasure and slowly began to close. Jory put his hand out to push it back again, but the door had had enough.
Cali slid along with the exasperated door as it closed. “So you don’t have to worry about the kiss because we had our one, and now we’re done.”
The elevator shut on Cali’s smug face.
One and done? That was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. After the connection they’d had, she was going to just walk away? He should agree with her and walk away himself. It’s what he had been hoping for, after all, but now that just seemed preposterous. He went to rub the incredulity from his face but found the apple clutched in his hand. He looked at it as though it were poisoned.
No fucking way. No fucking way.
She wanted one and done? Fine. That one kiss was done. There were lots of other ones to be done, and he would be happy to cross each off on a thorough checklist. And once those were done, so were they.
A warning whispered in the background, a montage of hurt and loss, of empty rooms and a steady flow of quiet tears. That he was flirting with a pain that had nothing to do with his job or the show, and everything to do with his real fears, his true worry.
But God, he needed a reprieve.
He wasn’t lying to himself; he wasn’t. He knew it was stupid. Knew it was a risk. But at the moment he didn’t give a crap about his rules or his career, about Howard or Paolo, about directing or The Demon . Or his stupid test. It could all wait. Here was a challenge he could rise to, in more ways than one, and as a plan began to coalesce in his mind, for once the ever-present gray was nowhere to be found.
Jory grinned. Oh, Cali was going down. And so was he.
He bit into the apple, the loud crunch underlining the sentiment.