Chapter 15 #2
I head back to my trailer after my parents have left – coming back via the main lot to pick up the pages I left there yesterday so I could rehearse my lines ahead of tomorrow.
But when I enter, I see something unexpected.
A bunch of lilies on the table. A note attached to them.
I walk over to the table, slightly apprehensive – worried this might be a prank gift from Roman, and that he’ll have filled the vase with raw meat or something.
But they’re just normal flowers. In a vase. I frown, picking up the note.
My dearest Amelia, it reads. With apologies for any psychological distress I may have caused you.
It’s signed with the name of Roman’s character.
What the fuck? I think. I’m still half-expecting something horrible to crawl out of one of the flowers.
But this seems… nice. Remorseful, even if it’s still in the voice of his character.
Maybe I got through to him the other day.
And the thought lights something up inside me.
I used my voice – stood up for myself. And it actually worked.
I head back to the hotel, feeling unexpectedly light.
I knock on Avi’s door, the nerves from before surging up again, and he opens it, wearing a half-buttoned shirt and some crumpled linen trousers.
My heart rate increases and this time I enjoy the feeling – the thrill.
Because there’s nothing standing between us now.
I look around his room – it’s the first time I’ve been in here.
It’s incredibly neat, like his trailer. In my room (and trailer) there are bits and pieces everywhere: a jacket here, a pile of books there.
He has books, but they’re stacked neatly on the desk by the window.
His script in a neat pile too – compared to mine, which is flung all over.
There’s so much… order. And that’s sort of how he’s always been – he had systems for sorting glasses behind the bar, which he followed religiously.
But there’s something about this level of it that feels strange.
Like I’ve walked onto a film set rather than someone’s room.
‘So,’ he says, as I sit down on the bed. ‘Drink?’
I nod, and watch as he opens the minibar and pulls out a bottle of wine. Opening it, pouring two glasses.
He hands one to me, my fingers brushing over his as he does, and sits down at a respectable distance from me. Too respectable, if you ask me. But he looks serious, so I don’t want to push anything. Want to let him speak.
‘Last night was…’ He pauses, shaking his head as if he can’t find the words.
I’m pretty sure by his expression that it’s a positive speechlessness rather than a ‘what the fuck did we just do’ speechlessness. Relief passes through me at the sound of it.
‘I agree,’ I say.
He takes a long sip of his wine.
‘But I do think we need to get some things straight,’ he says. ‘Make sure we do this right.’ And he sounds so serious. And I don’t need him to be serious right now. I just need to know what he’s already told me, basically: that he doesn’t regret it. That he’s not about to up and leave.
‘Avi—’
‘Obviously, there’s the stuff with Sienna…’ he says over me and I open my mouth, ready to interrupt him. But he keeps talking before I can. ‘And we still have a few days of filming left. So we should probably have a plan for that. And…’
He looks more flustered than I’ve ever seen him. I reach over, placing my hand over his.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Seriously, you sound so worried. You really don’t need to be.’
‘I…’ he starts. ‘I really like you, Lara. I don’t want to let you down. I want you to know I’m serious this time. That I’m not going to—’
‘It’s okay,’ I say, my heart clenching. Because he looks so vulnerable right now, so remorseful.
And I don’t need him to feel this way, like he still has something to make up to me.
Because when I kissed him yesterday, it felt like a decision.
To leave the past in the past. To take a step forward into the present.
Just a step, though. I don’t need any big leaps just yet.
‘Really. I know this is complicated and there’s stuff to work out, but I don’t need a plan right now.
I don’t need anything, really. I think we should just take it a day at a time, keep going until the end of filming.
And then, when the film is over, we can figure stuff out. Okay?’
He exhales. ‘Okay,’ he says. But he still doesn’t look convinced.
‘Besides,’ I say. ‘I like the idea of this being just between us for a while.’
He looks up, catching my eye. Something moving in his expression. Like there’s some hope there. ‘And what, exactly,’ he says, putting his wine down, ‘is “this”, to you?’
I don’t answer. Just take a sip of my wine.
Then shift over on the bed, so I’m closer to him.
He traces his hand gently along my jaw. Taking the glass from my hand, placing it on the table next to us.
Looking at me like he’s never wanted anything more in his life.
And then his hand clenches, lifting my chin up.
Tilting it towards him. And he leans down and kisses me.
Gently sliding his hand down my thigh. And then I climb onto his lap, straddling him.
★ ★ ★
The next few days, Avi visits my hotel room every night.
Sometimes we fall into each other, sometimes we just stay up talking.
Watching old films – like we used to, on the projector in the pub theatre.
Reminiscing about old times. And there’s an occasional pinch in my chest when we do, a lingering hurt from when he left.
But more and more it starts to dull. Replaced by something else: hope.
Hope that once this film is over we might be able to continue whatever’s happening between us.
Hope that, this time, he won’t leave – or, at least, if he has to go back to LA, we’ll stay in contact. Figure it out.
But I don’t turn that hope into anything approaching a conversation yet. For now, I want to stay in the present.
In the privacy of his hotel room, this fragile, early thing between us feels pure, like no one is going to stick their nose into it. Like it belongs to us.
And it spills on to set too; I’ve completely let go of any inhibitions around Avi, so our scenes are electric.
Easy and fiery. Alessandro is happier than ever, saying that whatever drug we’re taking, we should keep going with because the footage is brilliant.
I catch Avi’s eye at that statement and have to dig my nails into my palm to avoid imagining the ‘drug’, which involves us spending a lot of time pressed up against each other in his hotel room.
Even, sometimes, in his trailer when we’re feeling particularly bold. But that only happens once or twice.
We’ve shot most of the closing scenes of the film now, including one where Amelia and Jackson chase Roman’s character down to his secret bunker in the sewers of London.
It’s a scene I was feeling nervous about filming, because of my altercation with Roman the other day.
But the energy between us is different since the flowers.
Respectful, even. The scene goes really well.
It honestly feels like everything I’ve worked for has come together.
I’m on a professional and personal high, and don’t imagine coming down from it anytime soon.
The night before our last day of filming, Avi and I order room service and watch Casablanca, one of my favourites. We’re in bed, his arm lazily draped around me. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
‘There’s something I need to discuss with you, ahead of tomorrow,’ he says.
I look up at him and he looks a little nervous.
I frown, wondering if now’s the time to have this conversation about us going forwards.
Because it feels like our time might be up, as far as sneaking around in this bubble goes.
And I’m not ready for the talk. For now, we still have tonight.
And tomorrow. And everything else will come after.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘I heard from Sienna earlier. She’s in town this week for a shoot and she asked if she could come to set tomorrow.’
Oh, I think. That wasn’t what I expected.
‘So it’ll be a little weird,’ he says. ‘If I say yes, she and I will have to act as usual, I guess. There are a few photo opportunities, too, that our PR team have been discussing. It’ll seem odd if she’s in London and we’re not seen in public together a few times.’
This is so strange, I can’t really wrap my head around it.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, a little too quickly.
‘Lara,’ he says. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I think so,’ I say, the cogs turning in my mind as we speak. ‘I mean, I was the one that said we didn’t need a plan. That we’d figure things out once shooting was over. So I think it’s only fair that you proceed like before until we figure that all out.’
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll tell her.’ He reaches for his phone and texts her.
‘But I promise,’ he adds, looking up. ‘We will figure something out. Even if you want to move slowly with this, we can look at a timeline. Ways to keep it between us. It won’t be easy, probably. But we can work it out as we go.’
I nod, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the prospect of more people knowing about us than just us.
Like imagining our relationship – if we can even call it that – is suddenly on a world stage.
Everyone looking at us. At me. Scrutinising me, maybe.
Comparing me to her. How do people sustain things like this in the public eye?
I think, my panic lessening a little as he meets my gaze.
His eyes softening. My heart slowing in my chest.
‘I was thinking…’ he says, putting his phone down, his tone shifting. ‘Maybe I’ll tell my agent I’d like to stay in London after this. Spend some time with you. Maybe…’ He hesitates. ‘Maybe do some theatre.’
And even despite my anxieties about what might happen, despite still not knowing what exactly the future will look like, despite still having some questions – questions I’m not going to ask right now, because I want this one last perfect night – something lights up inside me.
At the thought of him going back to theatre. At the thought of a future between us.
‘That’s great, Avi,’ I say, a rush of emotion coming through.