3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Lucky for me, Errol ‘ I’m an asshole ’ Davis doesn’t need to interact with wardrobe very often over the next two weeks. When he does, it is mostly just with Mira, which leaves us free to give each other dirty looks without ever exchanging words, our eyes and frowns communicating how we feel about one another just fine.
Ironically though, we’ve impacted each other enough that there is a noticeable difference in our style. He looks a little less like a worn-out hamper, and I angle for more business professional than casual. Still wearing heels, though. They click-clack across the concrete like a soundtrack to my movements.
I can be heard as I make my way over to the newly finished sets, fabric swatches in hand. Mira had asked me to compare the possible outfit prints with the surrounding furniture to make sure there are no clashes.
I’m surprised at how quickly the crew has turned the room into the set of a skyline apartment. The maximalist look of the space speaks to the personality of the lead female character, who is all spitfire and flare. I’m shuffling through the different fabrics in search of the least contradicting one, when I hear other people approaching.
“I’m just saying you should smile more often. It looks good on you,” a high-pitched voice says, followed by the low rumble of a man’s laugh.
“I like instruction. What else should I do, Erica?” It’s Errol.
Their steps get closer and closer, letting me know they are heading my way. Stepping into the makeshift closet, I try to avoid having to see or talk to him.
“It’s surprising that you take instructions.” Her voice is light, bouncy, and loud right near where I’m hiding.
“I don’t mind being told what to do from time to time,” he says.
“Well tonight I might take you up on that.”
I swear my eyes touch the back of my skull as I consider plugging my ears. Talk about professionalism. I thought this was a workplace?
“How about we see how we feel after dinner?”
She agrees, and it soon grows quiet. I tilt my head trying to hear their footsteps. With about as much patience as a five-year-old waiting for recess, I push out of the closet when I think they are gone. To my horror, he is not. Standing there with his hands on his hips, he stares out of the set window like it is real. Our eyes meet, and a blush creeps up my neck as I pretend I have a good excuse for being there.
“What exactly are you doing?” Bypassing a customary greeting, he jumps right into the reason for my sudden appearance.
I smooth out the non-existent lines on my skirt as I try to hold my head in a dignified manner.
“I’m comparing fabric swatches to the set.” I hold them up like they are the evidence to exonerate my weird behavior.
He tilts his head as he takes in the swatches in my hand. A loc falls into the frame of his face, brushing against his pouted full lips. He tucks it back behind his ear before he crosses his arms.
“I wasn’t aware that we would be filming any scenes in the closet.” The dark pools of liquid ink that are his eyes pour into mine as he stares at me head on. Like a pen dipped into their well, I begin to write a story of how this will play out based on this look alone.
“And what exactly were you doing?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“With that woman who works for you, the crew member, what were you doing?” I throw my hair over my shoulder, as one of his eyebrows shoots up into the air.
“First off, she doesn’t work here. Second, how is this any of your business?” His sarcastic smirk reveals a dimple. Not expecting that response, I look for a reason that still puts him in the wrong.
“If she doesn’t work here, then what is she doing on set?”
“Not that I have to explain myself to you, but I invited her.”
“So you’re having dates at work?” I snort. “I thought this wasn’t a place to socialize?”
“And who are you to comment on any of this?”
I go to answer when he cuts me off.
“Wait, don’t tell me, I know. You are the woman who has spent the last two weeks pissing off everyone on set with her complaints. Finding the temperature too cold when we start, and then too hot during the day. You are the woman who tried to start a petition to change the tea options. Whose obnoxious shoe choices echo across the entire set, disrupting people’s days.
“You are the woman who, on separate occasions, told at least two different people they are rude. You, Farrah, are someone who doesn’t know how to stay in their lane. That includes this. So it’s none of your business what I do.”
Having been successfully taken to task, I have no rebuttal. Seeing this, his full smile makes an appearance before he turns around and walks away from me. The score now reads Errol: 1, Farrah: 1, and the fact that he made it onto the board has me fighting back a frown for the rest of the day.
Still fuming by the time I make it home, Monty, having somehow anticipated my mood, has ordered from what has quickly become my favourite Chinese restaurant, The Dragons Inn.
“Hey girl, how was work?” she asks while setting the living room table up for us to eat.
“Don’t get me started.” I throw my shoes and my purse by the door. The pink blouse is the next to go as I move into my room to strip out of the matching pencil skirt. “I had a run-in with Errol, and he was a complete jerk!” I scream as I put on my comfort clothes. Walking back into the living room, I pull my hair into a silk bonnet, determining that I won’t be leaving the house again.
“Uh oh, what did he do this time?” She rolls her eyes and chuckles before taking her first bite.
Having complained to her almost everyday about him, she might be tired about hearing how I interpreted his looks to mean something. Today was different, though. I dive in and tell her word for word what happened between us, not leaving anything out, including my terrible failure to respond to him essentially calling me annoying.
“Wow, I honestly did not think you were going to have a legit story. I can’t believe he said everyone doesn’t like you. Do you think it’s true?” She hands me the duck sauce packet and my egg roll.
Thinking back on the last week, I did indeed call two people rude on occasion. But they deserved it. I also complained about the weather, but mostly to myself. It’s not like I’m going out of my way to get on people’s nerves. Apparently I don’t have to.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I just can’t believe he brought a girl to work.” Something about this gnaws at me, biting into my nerves and setting them on edge.
“Yeah, after everything he said about you, this is hella unprofessional.”
I nod along with her, conceding that this is probably what’s bothering me about it. She tells me about her day auditioning, while we devour as much as we can. Once we’re full, we lounge back against the couch and watch as the night paints the bright blue sky navy.
“Thank you for this. It’s like you knew I had a hard day.”
“Well about that. I did this because I did know you were going to have a hard day.”
She turns to face me, her knees unraveling from under her so that she can scootch in closer. Pulling my hands into hers, she takes a deep breath before looking me in the eyes.
“Christian called me. He wanted to know how you’re doing.”
The words wash over me like hot water in the middle of winter. Instantly I’m frozen, unsure of what to do.
“He did what?” I ask, needing to hear the words again.
“He asked me about you, about how you are doing.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. I told him it was none of his business and hung up. I honestly wouldn’t even have picked up, but I thought something was wrong for him to be calling me. Farrah, I honestly wasn’t going to tell—”
Ripping free of her hold, I storm over to my discarded purse in search of my phone. Pulling it free, it takes less than five seconds for it to start ringing his number. The sound repeats as the call goes unanswered until his voicemail finally picks up.
“Hello, this is Christian Reynolds. I’m sorry I missed your phone call, but please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you.” It beeps and then goes silent, leaving me free to pour out all the unshed tears that gurgle in my throat. Yet no words come out. I hang up and try again, and again, and again. When it is obvious that he will not pick up for me, I finally find the words to speak.
“You have no right.” My fingers clutch on to the phone like it is a life-jacket, keeping me afloat in all my emotion. “You do not get to ask other people about me. You do not get to ignore my calls. I deserve a conversation. I deserve to have an ending. I deserve better than this.” The last words are a slated whisper as my mouth burns with the fiery rage blazing throughout my body.
“Call me,” I demand, ending with him having all the power again. Left with no choice but to request he reach out to me, I hate being in the same spot I was in two months ago when he ended things without giving me a chance to say anything.
“Are you okay?” Monty comes to stand beside me, her face full of sympathy.
I fall into her open arms, letting her hold me as the tears come. I thought I was done crying over him, but all it took was hearing his name again for the anger and hurt to come pouring back in.
“No,” I say, pulling free from her, “but I will be.” I make a promise to myself as I go into my room and turn off the lights.