Chapter 25 Verity
TWENTY-FIVE
Verity
Tired and sweaty, I collapse into a folding chair in video village, the tent where Canon watches most of the filming, while his assistant director, Kenneth, is usually out on set.
We’re just a few weeks into Dessi Blue, and working with him is as exhausting as I thought it would be, but also just as rewarding.
Canon’s not afraid to change the script if something we have down isn’t working.
I’m always prepared to revise and get new pages to the actors as quickly as possible.
“Whew!” Jill flops into the seat beside me. “Now that was a long day.”
“You got that right.” I guzzle from my water bottle and swipe a hand over my brow. October in LA has been hotter than July, and I’m ready for a nice long bath now that shooting is done for the day.
“You coming to the party tomorrow night?” Jill asks. “Might be a great way to blow off some steam.”
“I’d actually forgotten it’s Halloween. The party’s at Evan’s, right?”
“Yup. He has a gorgeous place in the hills. It’s an eighties-themed party.”
“Oh, that does sound fun. We’ll see. I’ve got a new project I need to be working on, so I’ve been using my weekends writing that.”
“Anything fun?”
“It might be fun once I figure it out. I signed an overall deal with United Studios, and now I have to actually develop a series.”
“So annoying when they want something to show for their investment,” Jill says, friendly sarcasm in the words.
“I know, right?” I shoot her a grin. “The audacity.”
“It’s an overall?” Jill frowns. “And they let you do Dessi?”
“Dessi came first, thank goodness, so it was already carved out. I can’t imagine having to pass this up,” I say.
“Real talk, though, getting this deal means I have some financial stability for the first time. People assume when you win something like a Golden Globe, it magically pays all your bills.” I breathe out a small laugh.
“I can confirm it does not. I’ve been living from one open writing assignment to another for years. ”
I don’t mention that managing swings between depression and mania has slowed my career climb. I could waste time dwelling on the opportunities I’ve lost because I have bipolar, but take this condition away, and I wouldn’t be the same writer.
“What’s your deadline?” Jill asks.
“They requested a concept and pilot in six months, which is coming up soon.”
“Well, good luck.” Jill sends me a commiserating smile. “You’re as bad as Monk with all the side projects. He just got back from New York working on an album for that guy Cutter.”
Monk’s name drops like a bomb unexpectedly into the conversation, but I make sure not to show any reaction. When he is on set, to my dismay, I find myself looking for him, watching him.
There are places on earth where the sun stays below the horizon for long periods of time.
Sometimes for six months, the landscape is shrouded in darkness and shadows.
I imagine that when that extended night lifts, people are transfixed by the sun, like they’d forgotten its radiance.
That’s how it feels when Monk is around.
Like the last decade has been a long polar night, and the sun is finally shining.
And even though it’s so bright it hurts your eyes, you still can’t look away because you know soon, it will be gone again.
And what if every time you look at the sun, it’s staring back at you?
That’s the part I don’t want to acknowledge, even to myself; that when I catch Monk staring at me, that’s the look in his eyes—like I’m bright enough to capture his attention, but it still hurts to look.
“I hope you’ll consider the party,” Jill says, forcing me to pay attention again. “It’ll be fun and a great way to bond with the cast and crew.”
“I’ll think about it. With your three kids, I thought Halloween would be a big deal at your house and you’d be trick-or-treating.”
“Oh, believe me, it is. But Seth and I take those kids with us everywhere.” She runs one hand through the disarray of her hair. “The party should be family-friendly. We could swing through after making the neighborhood rounds.”
I’ve seen Jill on set with her mini-me, Sienna, who rips around like the Tasmanian Devil, with floppy blonde curls and smears of food all over her face and clothes.
The cast embraces the little girl like she’s a favorite niece, indulging her wishes and answering her questions.
I steer clear of kids as much as possible, but I have to admit, she’s adorable.
“I love that there’s on-set day care,” I tell Jill. “I’ve never worked on a film that offers that.”
“That’s all Canon. Him sticking to French hours is better for everyone, but I know he’s thinking about us moms. The difference between a ten-hour and a fourteen-hour work day for those of us with kids is invaluable. Hopefully, you’ll have that when you need it.”
“Not me.” I twist the water bottle in my hands. “I’m not having kids.”
“Just not into them?” Before I can respond, understanding touches her expression. “But you don’t need a man for that these days! We have several friends who are women married to women. They’ve adopted or done in vitro if that’s what—”
“No, it’s not that.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m just not the maternal type, I don’t think.”
“And you don’t have to be.” She angles me an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean to be one of those people who assumes every woman wants a litter of children like I did. It’s good you know now you don’t want them.”
She winks. “Some women don’t know until they have them, and then it’s a little late.”
I can’t imagine being responsible for someone else, someone completely helpless, dependent on me, when I’m in a depressive episode and can barely stir the energy to wash my own ass, much less change a diaper.
Or in a manic state, when the whole world feels like it revolves around my next whim, and the energy of a spinning top whirs inside of me.
Showing up for car pool in the midst of that—unlikely.
“Anyway,” Jill continues, “I work with Canon every chance I get. The only time I haven’t been his cinematographer is when I was on maternity leave. He’s godfather to Sienna.”
“That’s really cool. Everyone thinks of him as this hard-ass—”
“Oh, he is,” she laughingly inserts. “But he also has a tight group of people he trusts and those are like family. Canon’s loyalty to that inner circle knows no bounds. Get him and Monk talking about their early years. Those two have some stories to tell!”
“I can imagine,” I murmur.
“I think he’s coming tomorrow,” Jill says, slanting me a sly look.
“Who?” I ask, faking the funk.
“You know who he is. I won’t pry, but I could have sworn I picked up on a vibe between you and Monk a few months ago at Canon’s house. I bet there’s a story there.”
“Not a good one,” I admit wryly. “Let’s just say him working on that album in New York has probably been for the best.”
“He’s a great guy, and you seem to be really cool, for what it’s worth.”
“He’s an incredible guy,” I agree because it’s true. “He deserves the world.”
I don’t know what made me say that, except I believe it. The man Monk was when we were together… I’ve never met anyone who made me feel that way. And the times since when he’s been harsh to me, I still know him well enough to see it comes from a place of pain. Pain I caused.
“Well, I better get home.” Jill adjusts the strap of the backpack on her shoulder. “Seth’s cooking, so I always need to be prepared for last-minute takeout.”
“Have a good evening,” I say, smiling back and standing, too.
“Think about that party. The team that plays together and all that.”
“I’ll think about it.” I dig into my purse. “Shit. I think I left my phone in Café Society.”
“Get over there before they lock the set down.” She waves. “See you tomorrow.”
I jog past a row of Harlem stoop apartments and the replica of the Lafayette Theatre.
On my way to Café Society, which is my favorite set piece, second only to the Savoy, I see a few crew members working on a backdrop.
I wave to them, and Chris, one of the guys I’ve become friendly with, approaches.
“Verity,” Chris says, wiping his hands on a cloth and shoving it into the back pocket of his dusty jeans. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I smile and resist glancing at my watch, impatient to grab my phone and get home.
“Leaving?” he asks.
“Yeah, but I think I left my phone. Wanted to check.”
“Oh, sure.” He licks his lips a little nervously. “You coming to the Halloween party tomorrow?”
“You’re the second person to ask that. I’d forgotten about it until Jill reminded me.”
“Should be fun. Graham’s great at planning stuff like this.”
“I’ve noticed.” I shift, waiting for him to say why he stopped me, which doesn’t happen. “Well, I’m gonna see if my phone’s in Café Society.”
“Yeah, sure. Great.” He hesitates, opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, uncertainty flickering across his face before he speaks. “Hope you come tomorrow.”
“I’ll think about it.” I wave my water bottle. “Have a great weekend either way.”
I keep past him and review our interactions. I don’t think I’ve done anything to lead him on. He was probably just being nice. I hope so. I don’t date my colleagues while we’re working on a project together.
When I enter, Canon and the lighting director are in the same spot I last saw them, blocking a scene for tomorrow. Sure enough, my phone rests on the table where I sat a few hours ago in the production meeting.
“Okay, this works,” Canon says, looking from the tables set up in the crowd to the stage.
“’Scuse me,” I say, holding up a finger. “Just grabbing my phone.”
“Hey, Verity, hold up,” Canon says. “Lemme holla at you.”
“Sure.” I grab my phone and take a seat, waiting while he finishes with the lighting director.
Canon wraps up their discussion and joins me at the table.
“I wanted to ask about the Hazel Scott scene we’re shooting next week,” he says.
I nod and shift my phone from hand to hand. “Did you get to look at the new lines? The tweaks?”
“Yeah, looks great. Monk will be back on set since that is one of Hazel’s big piano scenes.”
“Sounds good,” I say, ignoring the little blip in my heart rate.
“How have you been?”
I blink twice, discomfited by Canon’s sudden shift from work to personal. “Um, fine. It’s a lot of work, but it’s great.”
“Not too stressful?”
It takes a few seconds for me to figure out what he means. I sometimes forget he knows about my diagnosis because no one I work with ever does.
“If you mean have I had any nervous breakdowns lately,” I say wryly, “so far, so good. I think your set is safe from any of my crazy-lady antics.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Canon frowns and shakes his head.
“Sorry. That came out like I’m concerned about the movie, which of course.
That’s my job, but I’m concerned about you, too.
Note I said concerned, like I want to make sure you have what you need to succeed.
Not worried, like I think you’re gonna jeopardize my shoot. ”
“I didn’t mean to be defensive. It just gets old—friends and family always watching you closely, making sure you take your meds and aren’t going off the rails. Part of the reason I don’t tell folks is because it puts them on some kind of guard, like they need to keep an eye on me.”
“I didn’t mean to come off like that. I’m not the most tactful guy.”
“You’re not so bad,” I say with a smirk. “But to answer your question seriously, I’m fine and stable.”
“Good.” He hesitates as if he’s weighing another question.
“Spit it out, Canon. I promise not to overreact this time.”
“How have things been with Monk?”
My promise not to overreact holds me back from… well, overreacting, and after a few seconds I find an elusive calm.
“I’ve barely seen him, but when I do, I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” He looks about as chagrined as Canon Holt is probably capable of. “I didn’t mean to be in your business, but—”
“You sure ’bout that? ’Cause you were dead-center in my business.”
“Look, both of you are really important to this process, and I just can’t afford anything personal interfering with this.”
“I don’t ask about you and the actress you can’t keep your eyes off of, do I?”
Canon must not realize the deliberate way he doesn’t pay attention to Neevah actually draws attention. He even sends most of his notes for her through his AD, Kenneth.
His scowl is deep and instant. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then neither do I.” I turn to leave, but level a warning look over my shoulder. “You mind your business and I’ll mind mine. Have a good night, Canon.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice gruff with irritation. “You do the same.”
Taste of his own medicine is not so sweet.
Monk and I have barely been in the same room since this shoot began, yet Jill and Canon both asked about him today.
As if him returning won’t put me on edge enough, I don’t need their speculation making me more self-conscious.
I’m not sure what Jill saw, but I need to get my poker face ready.
It’s bad enough I’m feeling this tiny thrill of anticipation at the prospect of seeing Monk again.
If I do attend the Halloween party, I won’t just need a costume.
I’ll need a mask.