Love, Camera, Action

Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Jory watched Cali mix together a concoction of instant coffee, vitamin C powder, and something called “washing soda” in a plastic bottle, while he passed his fingers over the film cartridge in a light-tight bag. The bag was to make sure he could transfer the fragile film to a Paterson tank without fear of overexposing it and losing the images forever. Once in the Paterson tank—a long conical holder with a screw lid and a tube down the middle—the unprocessed film would be bathed in the chemicals necessary to reveal the images.

It was a delicate process. One steeped in nostalgia. Not only because the last time he had transferred film by touch was in college, or that no one used film anymore, instead shooting everything on digital; the metaphoric import of transferring memories from the precarious medium of unexposed film to something hardier always humbled him.

With his hands buried deep in the bag, he used only his sense of touch to guide him. He was struck by the just-remembered tactile connection to the material he cast his images on, like a blacksmith putting his brute strength aside in order to fashion a silver clasp for a delicate necklace. As he carefully coaxed the film from its box to transplant it to the tank, Jory stole glances at Cali, who was focused on her brew with witchlike intent.

Her hair was up in a thoughtless ponytail, and her cheek had a smudge of white washing soda on it. He felt like he was back in his college dorm after scoring with one of the girls in the poli sci department, prepping a homemade bong while arguing about the state of feminism.

Cali poured water into the mixture that would reveal the hidden images he’d foraged, going through this process for his benefit. Working quietly together in the softness of night gave him a strange sense of remembrance, as though they had done it for years. Jory pictured coming home to her at the end of the day, or her to him, or meeting up together. Making some easy pasta dish that she would coo over, since it was clear she wouldn’t be cooking. Then, after debating over a movie, instead of having fast, hungry sex, taking their time to truly get lost in each other.

Listening to her talk about her mom and sister’s relationships, unknowingly using his father’s phrase “all in” had been a kick to the gut. Whereas his father described the act of loving a person as one of commitment and joy, Cali saw it as requiring a sacrifice of self, a vulnerability that couldn’t be borne. No wonder she had negative views about romantic love. She’d had no positive examples of what love could be, what it could build. Instead, she’d only witnessed what it could tear down, what it could take.

She peered over at him. “This mixture gives the film a kind of a gold tinge—are you good with that?”

“Sure. Where did you learn how to do this?”

Cali screwed the cap on the bottle, to shake the ingredients together. “When I started out, I shot as much film as I could get my hands on—expired film, leftover ends from other productions—and I’d rope in whoever I could to shoot whatever project I was working on. When I couldn’t find anyone, I’d do it.”

Jory raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You can shoot?”

Cali smiled ruefully. “Not like you, but I can set up a frame.” She held the bubbling mixture up to her eyes to gauge its progress. “I mostly shot digital because it was cheaper, but I wanted to learn how to work with film. I could never afford a processing lab, so I figured out how to do it myself.”

Jory couldn’t imagine what Cali had struggled through to learn her craft. Directing a film was an expensive endeavor that involved a lot of people. If you had to do it yourself, it was murder—the scrounging, the pulling of favors, the trial and error. DIY was an exhausting way to learn but often taught you lessons you never got in school. It was also a far cry from the resources he’d had at his top-notch institutions, where he’d learned the game of politics just as much as technical insight.

Jory finished transferring the film, unzipped the bag, and handed the tank to Cali. “Why didn’t you go to school?”

Cali placed the tank on the counter and slowly poured the mixture through the opening at the top. Her answer was as measured as her pour. “I was going to. Had been accepted to my school of choice, picked all my classes, sourced all my books. I had a little education fund my dad set up for me before he left. It wasn’t much. Enough to get me through the first year, but when it came time to pay for everything, I found out my mom was behind in the mortgage payments. Like, way behind. I paid the mortgage instead.”

Jory choked. “Why?”

Cali shrugged, like it was ancient history. Like she hadn’t given away her future for a mother who couldn’t look after her. “It was either pay for that or find an apartment for her and Patsy, who was thirteen at the time, and it ended up being the same amount of money. So I paid the mortgage.”

She finished pouring in the chemicals and screwed the lid on the tank. She held it up and slowly upended it. The liquid washed over the film, like water softly flowing over rocks, while awareness of Cali flowed over Jory. She’d had so little support, so little care, yet she’d risen above the life that had been laid out for her, to break into a business, into an art form, that had little interest in those without money or connections. He marveled at her tenacity and was furious no one had helped.

“What happened to the money for the mortgage payments?”

“Uh … It might have been Rick, the boyfriend who was the reason she took the pills. He came back after that incident, weaseling his way in to pitch some scheme about a fish finder for crabs.” Cali put on a serious voice. “You see, a fish finder works by radar bouncing off the fish’s bladder, but there’s nothing to bounce off for crabs because they don’t have bladders. Which seems weird because wouldn’t the radar bounce off its shell? Apparently not, and Rick was on the ground floor of something that could find crab. It was going to be big.” Cali widened her eyes in mock reverence before returning her focus to the tank, upending it again and putting her ear to the side to listen if the liquid was dispersing properly. “He kind of disappeared after that, probably along with her money.”

Jory couldn’t imagine the betrayal Cali must have felt. To have spent the time pouring over course catalogs, dreaming of the people she’d meet and collaborate with, imagining what exciting things she’d learn. To have all that possibility ripped away the moment before it came to fruition must have been heartbreaking.

Cali sighed. “So, ’cause of that, along with having to work to keep everyone’s wheels turning, school was put on the back burner long enough for me to forget about it. What time is it?”

Jory blinked at the sudden switch of subject. He glanced at the microwave clock. “Eleven fifteen.”

Cali nodded and kept up the slow end-over-end wash of the film in the tank, the soothing sound filling up the chasm between them. Then she wiped her forehead with her forearm on an upward sweep. “When did you start shooting? I’m sure it was before going to UCLA and AFI.”

Jory raised an accusing eyebrow. “You IMDb’ing me or something?”

“Among other cyberstalkery things.”

“Really?” Knowing Cali was a fan gave him a ping of boyish satisfaction.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this.” She narrowed her eyes. “Lest your ego climb to even greater heights, but I’ve always had a huge crush on your work.”

“Until you found out what an asshole I was?”

Cali smiled teasingly. She checked the clock again and then dumped the mixture from the tank into the sink. She presented her profile, topped by the loose ponytail, which slouched forward giving her the softness of a Victorian cameo.

She really was beautiful in a completely unconscious way. As though she never gave her looks a second thought, ignoring them because there were other more important things to worry about. Her skin glowed with an olive undertone, her neck long and graceful that led to shoulders that carried so much emotional weight. Her arms were strong and toned without being sculpted and, at the moment, framed her perfect breasts: large, full, and round. The breasts of a fertility goddess, generous and inviting.

His mind skittered to the future and how it balanced on a phone call that would arrive after she’d gone. Suddenly he felt Cali’s grounding hand on his arm. When he tipped his head to hers, her features were full of concern, but her voice was all command. “Don’t worry about the test. It’s out in the ether now. Enjoy this moment with me.”

He stared at her, his lungs filling as he inhaled a breath and slowly let it out. She raised a hand to his cheek with such tenderness, he trembled, and then she nudged him. “Tell me how you started shooting.”

He blinked the tremors away. “Right. Uh, well, I was always stealing my mom’s point-and-shoot to take pictures of bugs and sunsets and artfully arranged garbage. She got mad at me because there was never any film left in it for her, so she got me a camcorder. I filmed people mostly after that.”

“How old were you?” Cali’s focus was back on the tank as she turned on the tap and rinsed the film inside.

“Twelve.”

Cali poured the stop bath into the tank. “What was the first thing you recorded with your camcorder?”

“My parents’ wedding.” Cali’s brows shot up in surprise. Jory clarified. “Well, their vow renewal ceremony.”

“Oh. What did you shoot?”

“It was on the beach. So …” He thought back. “Bare feet on sand, my grandmother’s hat blown into the water. My parents, backlit by the sunset.”

“Sounds beautiful.” She spoke as if “Idyllic Wedding” was a mythical place that only existed for others. “How old were they? They seem a bit young for a renewal ceremony.”

Jory shifted his gaze away from her and turned his back to the sink to lean against it. “Well, my mom had just been diagnosed with stomach cancer, so they wanted a pick-me-up I guess.” Jory mused on how the memory invaded his thoughts at the oddest moments, while setting up a lens, on a location scout, during an actor’s close-up. How it had informed every choice he’d made since. “She died eighteen months later.”

“God, you were so young,” Cali whispered. He concentrated on the sound of the stop bath flowing around the film, sounding like the ocean on that beautiful but heart-wrenching day. Cali broke him from the memory. “Is worry over your test why you don’t eat?”

It took a moment to remember where he was. “I eat,” he said defensively.

“Barely.”

Jory considered evading but knew she wouldn’t be fooled by his brush-offs. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to be honest. “Well, partly. It was from me fasting for the test, which I would then cancel. I’ve also been stricter with my diet in general.”

“Hence the diet calendar. Sorry for making fun of you,” she said sheepishly.

Jory paused; their exchange after getting take-out burgers at Spiral seemed like decades ago. “I had one before this, just not as intense, so you weren’t wrong. But sometimes I think I don’t eat because I don’t want to make it worse. Like I’m starving the possibility of cancer by starving myself. I know it doesn’t make any sense.”

Cali spoke softly, her attention on the tank. “It makes sense. I think how we eat reflects our base emotional state. I constantly shove food in my pockets because I’m afraid I won’t be able to find anything later, even though I haven’t had that issue for years.”

Jory became self-conscious of his own troubles weighing her down. He walked over to the cupboard to get them each a glass of water, while Cali continued to upend the tank. Jory followed the swoop of her arms as she dumped the stop bath into the sink.

“Anyway. At the renewal ceremony, my grandmother kept trying to take the camera away, saying”—Jory put on his grandmother’s old-money New Hampshire accent—“ ‘Put thaht down, dahling. It is an inappropriate medium meant only for the mahsses.’ ”

Cali smiled but stayed quiet.

“I wouldn’t take the camera away from my face.” Jory remembered the relief he’d experienced having the barrier of the lens to hide behind. To have that separation between him and what was happening while being able to control what he filmed and how beautiful he could make it. But also using it as a way to document the time his family had had together that was all too short.

“Do you ever watch the footage?”

“Sometimes. The three of us would watch it together before she passed away, laughing. My dad hasn’t seen it since. I would watch it in secret when I was missing her.”

Cali quietly watched him, and he stilled under her regard. “Well, bless your mom for giving the world such beautiful images.”

The kitchen went silent other than the gentle sloshing of the rinse in the tank. No one had expressed that to him, although he thought of it every day—his mother’s unfailing faith in him. How she intuitively gave him his love of the lens and what it could capture. The emotions it could bestow.

His eyes misted and he tried to blink away the tears as Cali poured out the fixer. He had the urge to grab a camera to put some separation between him and his vulnerabilities—and her. He stayed where he was instead.

“It’s ready.” She ran the tap over the film, the bubbles washing away in the sink. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” And she dumped the processed film out.

Jory took the few steps to stand beside her, hip to hip. A strange wave of something like sentimentality washed over him. There must be a German word for feeling the loss of something you’ve never had. He savored what was happening between them, turning the numinous moment over in his mind, as Cali turned the film in her hands, memorizing it for a rainy day.

She carefully brought the wet film up to the light, spooling it through her fingers and squinting at the tiny images. Jory didn’t look at the film, but at Cali who was all grace, strength, and passion.

“It’s a kids’ birthday party.” She brought it closer to her eyes. “Maybe late ’70s. Wow.”

Her face glowed with unadulterated delight, a surprised laugh escaping her lips. And an unexpected despair coursed through him, because he’d done what he vowed not to, and fallen in love with her.

Cali marveled at the sepia-toned balloons and individual frames of riotous, singing children surrounding one little girl standing poised over glowing candles. Hands threading through the film, Cali watched the infinitesimal changes take place until the candles were blown out and everyone was clapping, a gap-toothed grin beaming out of the birthday girl. A wave of gratitude shot through her that Jory had saved this moment from oblivion.

As the film flowed over her fingers, the image suddenly changed to a modern one—a man staring in a bathroom mirror, camera in hand as he shot out the rest of the reel. Jory. His image was tiny, but she was able to discern his expression. He stared into the lens, expression empty and desolate at first to be slowly replaced with a curious smile and a longing gaze, as though he were yearning for something just out of his grasp.

When she turned, his face held that same look of longing, a mix of reverent, mournful hopelessness she didn’t understand. And was desperate to banish.

She let the film slide into the sink as she brought her hands to his cheeks, smoothing the lines of worry with her thumbs. He relaxed under her fingers and his eyes drifted closed. She reached up to kiss each lid, his long sigh drifting over her lips. She followed that sigh and kissed him, slow and soft.

The frenetic energy that had always coursed between them was gone, replaced by something quiet and solid. Something Cali had never experienced and was dangerously thirsty for. She would be out of his life in two more weeks, back in Toronto with her sister while he stayed here in Atlanta. That should be a relief to her—an easy end with clear markers. Instead, it made her chest tighten with a vague sense of impotent fury.

The thought was too overwhelming, too large for her mind and soul to contemplate, so she decided to suffocate her feelings by swamping his. Deepening the kiss, she vowed she would give him everything in this moment while she committed what was between them to memory for when she was gone and her heart was safely stowed again.

But he had other ideas.

He met her commitment with his own, enveloping her with steadfastness and comfort until she was warm and soft, her thirst slaked by him, her desperation held and then dispersed.

He slid his hands down her sides and gripped her hips to hoist her up onto the kitchen island. She yelped in surprise and then laughed into his mouth.

He smiled against her as he ran hands under her shirt, cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples. She groaned into him, her kiss turning sloppy as her focus scattered at the intensity of his touch. Pulling her shirt off, he dipped his head and sucked on the dusky nipple tightened to a peak. She gasped as he pulled harder, then laved his tongue across to soothe the heat that rose there.

Cali sank her fingers through his hair, scraping her nails along his scalp while bending her head to his neck, where she bit him along the tendon that extended to his shoulder. He growled, and she took a lungful of his now familiar some-kind-of-tree scent. A pang shot through her as she realized she’d soon be without his smell. Without him. She wanted just a little bit longer. Couldn’t she have just a little bit longer?

The overwhelming need to get closer made them awkward and clumsy as he struggled to pull his shirt off. She lifted her hips to shimmy off her pants and underwear in one move and then toed his boxer briefs off with her feet. Her hands rubbed over him while he sheathed his cock with shaking hands, breathing deep to calm himself. He brought his thumb up and spread tears she didn’t know she’d shed over her cheeks. Exploring their feel on her face, nurturing her with them, nurturing himself. And when his blue eyes drew hers, dark with desire and something else she couldn’t name, he slid home.

Cali’s passage pulled him in greedily, and she gasped at the fullness of him. Then she let out a long, deep moan as she relaxed around his cock, grasping him with her legs so he couldn’t move, relishing the rightness. She kept her eyes on his as she brushed his hair back and gently kissed his lips. He let out a faint whimper at the contact, and his forehead fell against hers, fusing them together.

They stayed that way, forehead to forehead, their breaths matched—his in with her out, her out with his in—as though each propelled life into the other, until he began to thrust, their bodies falling into a natural sync. A final release not the end goal, but this exchange, this connection that somehow transcended sex. And for the first time in her life, the more she gave, the more she got.

They climbed together toward their peak, slow and relentless, and when he reached between them to push her over the edge, he followed as she pulsed around him.

As their breathing slowed and Cali’s heart returned to normal, she felt the urge to pull Jory into her arms and hold him. His eyes were still closed, eyelashes delicate and long against his cheeks, his breath in tandem with hers. Giving this up, giving him up in two weeks suddenly seemed like a preposterous idea. She’d never been in a relationship before and certainly didn’t have any good examples of what a healthy one was, but what if she tried? What if she changed her rule and was brave?

He’d proved he could take care of himself. He’d shown he didn’t need her to look after him, and even took pains to look after her. He listened to her ideas, coaxed out and then banished her insecurities, sat with her stories, and didn’t ask obvious questions. He had his baggage, for sure. He’d been deeply affected by his mother’s death and was still healing from it. But she had lots of experience dealing with oversized baggage. She’d been hefting it since she was five.

She knew he felt something too. He’d all but admitted it in the car when his defenses were down. Could she take the risk and hope that maybe she could find a man who could actually be counted on?

“God, I’m afraid,” he whispered. A confession, a discovery, a humiliation. So quiet she almost didn’t hear him.

But she did. Her heart melted through her chest and melded with his. “Afraid of what?”

He stilled. And when he opened his crystalline blue eyes, the desolation she’d seen on that film had returned, clear and bottomless. No hint of yearning or curiosity, just bleak hopelessness, solidifying into a cold decision.

“I’m afraid … we have to talk.”

He pulled away from her, looking at the floor. Which was where her heart must have landed.

“Uh-oh.” Cali closed her legs and slid off the counter. “Sounds serious. Give me a second to get my underwear on.” Blood rushed to her head, and she had to hold on to the counter to steady herself, on her own, with no help from him. As she looked around for her underwear, the excuses came.

“I think our focus is drifting from our original agreement.”

“Our focus.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. You were right, our … hookups … made the work better, but it’s become too dangerous for me.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

“Yes.”

“’Cause it kind of seemed like you thought of it just now, and you were about to say something else entirely. Which would be fine, since that was pretty intense.” As she circled the island, a scrap of red appeared just past a corner. At least she could have this conversation without her ass hanging out.

“It was intense, too intense for what we agreed on.”

Cali hated how her knees shook as she pulled her underwear up her legs. “So we should take a step back. Cool things down. Find our focus.” She lengthened out the syllables on that last one, rancor dripping off her tongue.

“I do. Think that. Don’t you?” he asked warily.

“Yeah, sure. Sure.” Cali looked around for the rest of her clothes, still unable to look at him, but knowing he hadn’t moved from his spot. “Totally get that. Totally … get that.” She spied her pants by the couch. Wow, she’d really flung them. “I’m assuming you want to take back your invitation to your beach house as well?”

“My beach house?”

She almost laughed at the alarm in his voice and couldn’t help taunting him. “On the way back. You invited me to your beach house so you could watch my eyes change with the color of the ocean.” She straightened with her pants in her hand, looking at him now with accusation. “Don’t worry—you were doped up. I didn’t think it was real.”

Although she had. She had thought it was real. She’d begun to think it was all real.

“I can’t go anyway.” Cali pushed one leg in her pants and then the other, wondering how she’d never noticed how painful getting dressed was. She struggled into her hoodie and grabbed her bag. “There’s a lot of stuff going on with my sister, and I have this gig back in Toronto that will probably start as soon as we’re done.”

“Well, that’s good then. Yeah, I couldn’t bring you to the beach house anyway because … um …”

“The plumbing’s out? It’s all booked up with the rest of your family? The moon is at the wrong angle? Again, totally get it.” She couldn’t help sounding bitter. She was bitter. She gestured to the sink. “Make sure you get that film on a spool as soon as you can. You don’t want it to crimp anywhere,” she said as she pulled on her shoes. “It has to dry first. Don’t put wet film on a spool.”

“Okay.” His voice was quiet, lifeless. Her traitorous heart went out to him. He looked so lost, like he was losing his best friend, like he was losing himself.

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t, wouldn’t help him. “Clothespins are best. I should have thought to buy them.”

“It’s fine.”

“Drape it over the shower stall maybe.” She moved to the door.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She took a scan of the room, making sure she hadn’t left anything.

“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “You have everything.”

She saw his emptiness, his walls slamming up. She slammed up her own. “I’ll see you Monday.”

She opened up the door and slid out, closing it behind her. She started down the hall at a normal pace and then gradually picked up speed until she broke out into a run.