Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jory stepped onto the Paolo/Rafe bedroom set with a powerful sense of d é j à vu. The set decs were placing the “proper” amount of pillows allowable for a man on the bed, and Brandon was attaching a mic to the headboard. The light Jory had fixed that first day Cali arrived was out again. He grabbed a ladder to fix it, remembering how much color she’d brought to his life, and that’s when the true panic set in. What if he was too late or hadn’t gone far enough or had destroyed everything?
Phase two of his plan had been set in motion and phase three—the begging portion of the plan—was to go into effect the moment he saw her. Phase one—forcing the actors to fight for real while shooting in a storm in order for him to appear unhinged and negligent—had been completed. The hope being Howard would be forced to fire him instead of Cali.
The truth was he had been unhinged. The thought of losing Cali over some half-cocked idea of advancing his career had sent him into banana land. Given what he’d done to her, she might not even want to be with him, but he couldn’t leave her unprotected. Sabotaging himself was all he could come up with on the fly. He forgot to factor in the actual danger.
But when he’d gone to Howard’s office this morning, Howard had fluffed the incident off like it was no big deal. So, Jory quit. When he closed the office door behind him, he thought he’d experience some form of horror, of desolation. After all, he had just decimated his world. Instead, an unrealized tension sloughed off his body, a veil pulled away to reveal the world as it truly was—shiny and new and full of promise. And he couldn’t stop smiling about it.
And that made him angry.
He had been duped by ambition and prestige, unknowingly paying for it with tiny slices of his soul he’d handed over bit by bit, just like Cali had said. He hadn’t really wanted to direct. He’d wanted control. Control in hopes of gaining a sense of security by giving away his creativity and spontaneity. A devil’s bargain.
Just like he was trying to control how others responded to his health, controlling himself, controlling what had been blossoming between Cali and him, which was about as possible as controlling a thunderstorm. Regardless of how she would react to his gesture, he’d done the right thing. Now he would have to accept whatever Cali and Fate had decided.
Light fixed, he descended the ladder and checked his frame in the monitor. Dan eased up beside him. “You good?”
Meeting the gaze of this man he had so much respect for was harder than expected. Jory had endangered the safety of the cast and crew. True, he had been suffering under an emotional storm of his own, but it hadn’t been his best moment. “Other than trying not to implode over my own negligence, I’m fine. Why?”
“Because you look somewhere between wet bread and coprolite.”
“What’s coprolite?”
“Fossilized dinosaur poop. My son wants to be a paleontologist.”
“How could I look like wet bread and fossilized shit?”
“Something about your hair.”
Jory huffed out a laugh. “Has anyone told you that you have all the unnerving qualities of a magical crone?”
Dan snorted. “I can’t say I’ve heard that one, but I’ll take it.” Dan took Jory’s measure, while Jory fought the urge to wince under its weight. “Cali didn’t say anything, you know. About you making us into human lightning rods. And she asked me not to say anything either, although I should.”
“Yeah, you should. Don’t worry, I took care of it.”
Dan’s eyebrows went up. “All of it?”
Jory was afraid to ask. “What’s ‘all of it?’”
Dan indicated the monitor. Cali walked onto set and Jory’s breath hitched. God he loved her. The way she commanded authority with an easy air rather than an iron fist. How everyone greeted her with a friendly deference that she held with humble hands. She was keeping up a magnificent front seeing as how she thought this was her last day, that her career was in tatters and the person she had trusted had betrayed her. Most people would be a quivering mess, but she commanded the set like she wouldn’t give it up until it was pried from her fingers.
Still, her eyes were flat. He’d never seen her eyes flat. They were always sparkling, rolling, hardening, scheming, laughing … but never flat. Jory hated himself for being the author of that change, and his chest filled with grief over the loss of the woman he’d met weeks earlier. The woman who was full of fire and intelligence and rebellion.
A punch to his arm knocked Jory out of his reverie. “Ow.”
“ She is all of it.” Dan pointed at the screen.
“Oh.” Jory focused back on the monitor. “Yes, she is.”
“There’s more to life than a good shot,” Dan said.
“I’m learning that.”
“Learn faster. Scene’s up.” Dan strode away.
Cali’s husky voice floated over the flats. “Jory, Dan, can you join us?”
This was it. Although plan A had consisted of multiple phases, there was no plan B. Unless plan B was dissolving into a pool of regret and living out the rest of his life as—as what? A teacher, he supposed. That outcome wouldn’t be good for anybody.
Jory followed Dan onto set, where Thalia and Paolo stood at opposite ends of the room. Paolo was still for once, dressed in a robe, leaning against a flat with his attention trained on the floor. Thalia was ostensibly ignoring him, her leather-clad demon self focused on Cali, but Jory got the impression her every nerve ending was attuned to Paolo.
Standing by the bed, Cali spoke with the new intimacy coach. Cali had argued for the necessity of a coach for every sex scene, no matter how big or small, and had won. Howard had probably smelled a lawsuit, but it was a victory for Cali, nonetheless.
She turned to the crew and everyone quietened. “I’m looking for a little bit of help here.”
Jory’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had heard Cali ask for people’s opinions, but only when she had a clear idea of what she wanted already. Using the word “help” seemed to be alien to her, like she was trying it out for the first time. The crew, however, appeared rudderless … unclear of how to move forward. They weren’t used to being asked direct questions, especially from directors who were supposed to rule like benevolent dictators.
Cali continued. “The last time we were in this bedroom, there was a clear battle for sexual dominance between our characters. But now, after all that’s passed, they have developed an emotional connection. In this scene, they make a silent vow to each other to move through this hell together, because, as we know from future episodes, it will literally be hell.”
Cali paused for a second, taking in the cast and crew as though for the last time. Her eyes landed on his. “But there has also been treachery.”
Jory felt the gravity of her accusation. He couldn’t run away to his camera, his lens, and put it between them. He had to pull himself up by the scruff of his neck and be in this now, or he’d lose her.
“A deception between them they must overcome if they are to move forward. So how do we visually communicate a balancing of power as they develop a deepening trust? How do we show what it means to hand over vulnerability to let love in?”
When he’d planned phase three of winning Cali back, he’d prepared an impassioned speech about how he’d gone wrong and what he would do to regain her trust. If it was space she needed, he’d give her space. If it was support, he’d find the myriad ways to do that and be glad of it. Somehow he sensed this was the weakest part of his plan, and if he’d learned anything from her, it was that plans change. She needed images rather than words—one frame better than a thousand promises.
“I have an idea that might help.” He’d used her word “help,” to offer an olive branch. Once he’d said it, he realized that was all he ever wanted to do for her—to help. The knowledge that he might be too late overwhelmed him.
Cali paused for a nanosecond and then stepped back, giving him the floor. “Please.”
Jory took a tentative step forward. Paolo looked at him like he was a fraud, which Jory suspected was true, while Thalia gave the distinct impression she would tear him apart if he made one misstep. He hadn’t been this unsure of his position in years. It was strangely exciting.
“There’s a tantric pose called yab-yum that might be appropriate.”
Dan’s mouth tweaked up. “Go on.”
“It’s not really a sexual pose. It’s more about intimacy.” Jory made his tone deferential, referring to the coach. “Do you mind if I position the actors?”
The intimacy coach silently checked in with Thalia, who delivered a curt nod, and then Paolo, who gave a hesitant one. Jory motioned to Paolo. “Paolo is on the bottom again, with Thalia straddling, just like in the scene before. But this time, when you wake Paolo, you sit up cross-legged.” Paolo sat on the bed, crossing his legs, his head lowered in mute respect.
Jory continued, “Thalia stays on top but sits in the hollow of Paolo’s legs and wraps her legs around his hips.”
Gingerly, Thalia got on top of Paolo. She checked where his hands were—by his side, clutching the sheets. She settled in, leaning away from him while he remained still as a stone.
“If it’s alright with Thalia, Paolo should put his hands on her hips.”
Paolo peered up through his lashes at Thalia who had become suddenly shy. She nodded, and he rested his hands lightly on her hips, a sigh escaping at the contact.
Jory was struck by how sweet their awkward politeness was, and wondered how Cali had managed to get them to this point when yesterday they’d been about to kill each other. “This position is about aligning your chakras, or energy centers, to each other’s. Most importantly your third eye, which you connect by touching foreheads. Go ahead.”
With the delicacy of a lunar landing, Thalia and Paolo touched each other’s forehead, both of them squeezing their eyes shut on contact.
“And then breathe,” Jory said, his voice roughening at the sight of the two warring actors in such a vulnerable position. “On Thalia’s out breath, Paolo you breathe in, and on his out, Thalia, you breathe in.”
Their breaths stuttered at first, but they eventually found a rhythm together. Jory stole a glance at Cali, who blinked as she took in the scene.
Did she remember? They’d been in the same position when they’d last made love—an act of instinctual surrender. He had been hers in that moment, but she had also been his: to protect and honor and … help. Either she wouldn’t get it and he was wrong about what they’d shared, or she would comprehend that she held his heart in her hands. His blood raced at the thought, his head light with the possibility of it.
Jory cleared the emotion from his throat. “Yeah, so, it’s a position that uses the third eye to attune to each other’s souls. The breaths you share symbolize you are one, separate but together.”
The set was silent, enraptured by Paolo and Thalia’s synchronized breaths.
Cali walked up to the actors and gently placed a hand on Thalia’s and Paolo’s shoulders. “You guys good with this?”
Their eyes opened, as if coming out of a shared dream, Paolo pulling back and Thalia blinking herself awake. They nodded to Cali while disentangling themselves, looking everywhere but at each other.
Cali addressed the crew a bit too brightly. “That’s it. That’s what the scene needs. Thank you, Jory.”
He could tell she was rattled, even through her shuttered gaze. His nerves were vibrating, but he told himself to be patient.
Cali clapped her hands. “Let’s shoot.”
She marched past him. The little spark from pleasing her dimmed as he followed her to their seats in front of the monitors. They sat in their chairs and quietly watched the crew do finals, bodies rigid, focus trained ahead. Jory should call the writers on the show because this was a form of hell he was pretty sure they had yet to explore.
“Action.”
Jory watched the monitor. He didn’t check the frame or judge the angle. Instead, he let himself get swept away by the moment. A moment he and Cali had created together. Thalia rode Paolo through his nightmare, and when he woke, he jolted with a gasp—all exactly the same as the scene before. But this time, they regarded each other in wary trepidation. Thalia inched back as if to leave, but Paolo swiftly sat up, stilling her with hands on her hips, wincing at the contact like he had been burned. When Thalia saw his agonized expression she softened, leaning into him. She brought her hand to Paolo’s face to soothe his pain, which only made him wince more. But he didn’t shy away; he bore her touch. Eyes brimming with care, Thalia lowered her forehead to his, and they began to breathe together in silence.
It was fucking gold.
Cali and Jory leaned in to watch, drawn to each other as they were drawn to the screen. He could feel her heat, smell her scent, and their breaths synced in tandem with Thalia’s and Paolo’s. This was where he wanted to be for the rest of his life, beside her, making magic on screen. Making magic with each other.
“What did you say to them?” Jory murmured.
She shrugged. “I just helped reveal what they were already feeling.”
Thalia and Paolo were practically motionless but for their breathing, unaware of the crew or the camera, only intent on each other. Giving and receiving with open hearts.
“That’s love.” Her voice shook.
Jory tore his attention from the screen to see Cali awash in humbled awe. “That’s love,” he agreed.
In his periphery, Jory saw Thalia and Paolo change the angle of their connection so they could kiss, soft and sweet. Cali whispered, “They’re not supposed to kiss.” She turned to him, eyes glassy. “They’re going off script. They’re not supposed to kiss.”
Jory couldn’t let this moment pass. “I need to tell you something.”
“It’s okay. I think you’ll be great.”
“I can’t—wait. What?”
“You’re going to be a great director.” Cali’s eyes started to mist, and his heart combusted like celluloid in the sun.
“No. Wait. That’s not—”
Cali exploded out of her chair, squeaking out, “Cut! Moving on!” And she bolted into the maze of the back sets.
Jory jumped out of his own chair, past the monitors where Thalia and Paolo were still kissing, and chased after her, not knowing where she was going until Cali opened up a door to the set for a supply closet. She growled out her frustration and wheeled around, but Jory blocked her escape. Her alarmed eyes darted for a way past as Jory grabbed her elbow and hauled her inside the closet. “You think I took the job?”
Cali pulled her elbow out of his grip and crossed her arms. “It’s a good opportunity, and you proved your capability back there on the set.”
Jory narrowed his eyes. “Did you open the scene up to the floor because you wanted to give me a chance to prove myself?”
“Not at all. I honestly needed the help.”
“You needed the help?”
“I needed the help! I wasn’t sure how to move the scene forward,” she ground out.
“You weren’t taking care of me? Because my happiness is not your responsibility, Cali. Especially since you think I took your job!”
She gritted her teeth. “I opened up the scene because I still believe in collaboration, even if it’s with someone I have an ever deepening conflict with. I’m also taking care of the cast and crew so there will be an easier transition when they have to weather yet another change in leadership. It’s better they have my blessing so it’s easier on them. And you did take my job! I saw you coming out of Howard’s office all triumphant and pleased with yourself.”
“You saw me come out …?” He flinched, then shook the tangent away. “I was smiling because I was pleased with myself. But not for the reason you think, and that’s beside the point. You”—he pointed at her in accusation—“should be getting help because you’re fucking amazing at what you do, and you’re a good person, and you’re special. Everyone should be helping you so you can spread more of you around. You shouldn’t be helping me!”
“What was I supposed to do? Rant and rave and call you names and beat your chest with my fists?” Cali threw her hands up in exasperation.
“That would be a start.” He nodded vigorously.
“You’re an asshole.” She squared off, drawing herself up like an angry cat. “You made my life hell on set because you were gunning for my job. You slept with me while you were stabbing me in the back.”
“Yeah. That’s it. Say that.”
“You made me care for you when you’re a big liar.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He drew back. “Wait, you care for me?”
But Cali was on a roll. She jabbed her finger into his chest with every point she made. “I’ve been trying so hard to trust you, to get over my own crap and give us a chance, and then you go and put our safety at risk for a terrible idea!”
Jory’s carefully planned speech went out the window as his desperation spilled forth. “It was terrible, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t in my right mind because I have a lot of baggage around sickness and cancer and people taking care of me. I watched my mother die and then had to live through all my pain and my father’s and my family’s, and I didn’t want to put anyone I cared about through that.”
“That is so”—Cali’s face scrunched—“stupid.”
“Thanks.”
“You don’t even know if you’re sick. And if you are, you want to stop people from caring for you because you don’t want to give them pain, so you give them pain by not letting them care for you?”
His shoulders deflated. “Well, when you say it like that.”
“And the logical step is to put on a metal camera in a thunderstorm while emotionally manipulating the actors until they beat each other up?”
“Howard told me he wanted to replace you with me right before the scene, and yes, I had let him know I wanted to direct, but never to your detriment, and I had to think of something that would get me fired without you knowing so you wouldn’t be linked to me. And endangering everyone was all I could come up with!”
Cali paused, perplexed. “I can’t help but believe you because that’s so preposterous.”
“I know!” He moaned. “I’m new at this.” He was desperate to touch her, his heart disintegrating to ashes because she thought so badly of him. “I couldn’t take your job. Do you honestly think I would take your job? Especially after everything that happened between us?”
“I saw you come out of Howard’s office. With a smile on your face!” she accused again.
“I went into his office to quit.”
Her jaw dropped. “What?”
Suddenly, their little supply closet world shuddered as the door smashed open.
“What the fuck is going on in here?”