7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
When I arrive at work, Mira doesn’t notice the shift in my mood. As we get together for our daily briefing of progress, my inability to focus goes undetected. All I can think about is that email. It sits heavy in my mind, pushing away any other thought that tries to take it’s place. It’s my main focus. So much so that I barely register anything around me.
“So does that sound good?” she asks, ending off a long monologue that I completely missed. I nod, hoping I didn’t just agree to something crazy. I start to stand up, but she puts a hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place.
“Do you think you can meet the delivery man? He should be arriving any minute with some fabric rolls.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
She lets me go and I get up, placing my blank notepad on the table.
“Great. Bring it to the storage room for now.”
I’m almost out of the room when she calls out behind me.
“Don’t forget to prop something up against the door. It automatically locks and you can’t open it from the inside.”
“Noted.” I throw a smile over my shoulder and head towards the front.
I freeze when I reach the delivery man outside. He is standing next to five rolls, all big, long and full of fabric. They look like they’re going to be a pain in my ass. Why Mira thinks I’ll be able to carry all of this on my own is beyond me.
“Just one moment,” I say, holding up a finger. Running back into the wardrobe room, I look for her to help me with the delivery. Finding it empty, along with every other one I search, I have no choice but to return to the man. He looks irritated at having to wait.
“Can you sign?” He hands me a clipboard, then starts to close the van doors.
I scribble my name and hand it back to him, officially making these products my responsibility. Resigned, I walk over to the rolls leaning against the wall.
Logic calls for me to bring one or two into the building at a time. However, being the type of person who only makes one trip from the car to the house with the groceries, I’ll be damned if I’m not going to get this all in one go. Stacking two bundles across my forearms, I look over to him just as he’s getting in the van.
“Hey, do you think you can put the other three on top of these?”
The look he gives me speaks to his skepticism, but I don’t care. This is a solid plan.
“Are you sure lady?”
“Yeah, I can handle it.”
He comes over and does what I ask, instantly throwing me off balance. The weight is pushing down on my arms, and the silkiness of the cloth has them sliding back and forth. Doing some awkward two steps forward, one step back, trying to keep them from falling over, the whole time I can’t help but curse under my breath.
He gives me another look, before shaking his head.
“Are you sure, you’re sure?”
I nod, and turn to go back inside, determination egging me on. His disbelief is the fuel I need to make this happen.
As soon as I walk through the open door the uneven weight has me teetering back and forth. The journey from the front of the lot to the storage room feels like it’s taking forever, but I keep going knowing I can do this. Sweat starts to bead on my forehead, and when I’m halfway there, I hear someone approaching behind me.
“What are you doing?”
The universe must be testing me by sending the last person I would want to witness my struggle.
“Go away,” I rasp, my breathing labored and short.
I hear Errol laugh when I take another step and almost tip over. I barely regain my balance before I start leaning again.
“Why don’t you put a few down?”
“I’m fine.” If you put aside the ache in my arms and shake in my legs.
“You don’t look fine.” He appears in my line of sight, his full lips lifted in a smirk. In his dark eyes, I see a glimmer of amusement.
“Leave me alone.” My heels wobble under my feet, and I bite back the yelp that comes out at the panic of one of them snapping. Seeing the clear fear in my eyes, he lets out a sigh.
“Let me help you.” He goes to take some of the rolls off of me, and I spin away from him to the detriment of myself. I take five steps to the side, doing the cupid shuffle as the weight shifts me in one direction.
“I got this,” I say through clenched teeth.
“You literally don’t.”
“Well, I don’t need your help.” I refuse to give him the satisfaction of him assisting me with my work. Not after he already thinks I’m bad at it. One of the rolls starts to slide off, and I end up doing a waltz to get it back into place. He sighs again and steps into my path, stopping me from moving.
“You are being ridiculous Farrah, let me help you.”
“No.”
“Farrah.”
“Leave me alone.”
Running a hand over his dreads, he shakes his head again.
“I don’t even know why I’m asking.”
I think he’s going to leave, but instead he steps forward and grabs three of the bundles from my hands. The relief washing over me is so instant, it extinguishes any of the anger that should arise at him ignoring my wishes.
“I can take those too if you want.”
He sounds concerned, and I hate that he is saving me right now.
“I got them.” I raise my chin. I should be thanking him, but instead I look at him like he’s to blame for my current situation.
He laughs and looks too amused, before turning around.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Storage.”
We move in silence, not even glancing at each other as we make our way to the room. It’s not until we get inside that I bother to look in his direction.
“Don’t you have something to say?” He puts the fabrics on a work table and crosses his arms. I nudge something against the door with my foot to keep it open, before walking past him and putting down my own load. Turning to face him I place my hands on my hips.
“Yes, I do actually.” Ready to start a fight, the words building on my tongue die when I see the door start to close.
“No!” I rush towards it, but it’s too late—it snaps into place. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” He moves closer to me.
“Shit.” Even though I know it won’t make a difference, I shake the handle trying to get it to turn.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
“What are you doing?”
“Ugh.” Stepping back, I press a hand to my forehead.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” he says as he tries to leave.
I watch in silence as he attempts to open the door.
“What the fuck?” He pulls on the handle, shaking the whole thing as he tries to get it to budge.
“We’re locked in,” I say, hysteria creeping into my voice. Out of every person that works on this set, I had to get locked in here with him?
“What do you mean?”
“The statement is pretty simple. We’re stuck in here.”
He turns to look at me, and the horror that registers on his face almost makes me laugh.
“No fucking way.” Shaking the handle again, he braces one foot against the wall while pulling backwards.
“Stop, or you’re going to break it and we’ll never get out.”
“This can’t be happening. Not like this, not with you.”
I snort, and he turns to see my delirious smile.
“My thoughts exactly,” I say.
He starts talking to himself, switching between pleas and cusses. I ignore his meltdown, sliding onto the floor and kicking my heels off. I pull out my cellphone, already knowing the signal in here is shit. Seeing me with my phone, he does the same.
“How are there no bars?” He throws his hands up, and paces like that will make a difference. I scoot back against the wall, resting my head and getting comfy. I close my eyes and try to find my happy place. Seeing me stay calm must piss him off more, because suddenly he’s yelling at me.
“You knew this was going to happen!”
I open my eyes to see him pointing a finger at me, accusing me of I don’t know what.
I look directly into his eyes.
“Yes Errol, I planned for you to find me carrying a bunch of stuff, so I could lure you into this room just so we can be locked in here together. I thought this would be a great place for me to confess my true feelings for you. How else would you know we are meant to be together, other than spending countless hours stuck in a room with me?” I deadpan.
My tone seems to break him out of whatever ridiculous notion he has. His eyes lose their indignation, and in it’s place is a weariness.
Sliding down the wall next to the door, he sits and just looks at me.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Excuse me, you’re what?” It’s official. Hell has frozen over.
“I’m sorry. Obviously, this is not your fault.”
Out of all the barbs we’ve exchanged, this is the one he is apologizing for?
“It’s fine, I get it, this sucks.”
“No kidding, out of all the people who get locked in a room together, it had to be us?” He wipes a hand up and down his face, stopping to rub at his jaw.
“It could be worse.”
“Really how?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, I just thought that would help.”
He bursts out laughing, and I follow suit. Soon, we are both doubled over fighting for control. It could be the situation, or the start of the mania setting in, but we don’t stop. When we finally get it together, we look at each other for a moment.
“You’re right, it could be worse,” he says, stretching his legs. “We could also have to pee.”
“Or it could be the end of the day, and no one is around.”
“Or we could have not eaten anything today, and be starving.”
We go back and forth sharing worse case scenarios, and that seems to put us both at a little ease.
“This is what I get for being nice,” he says.
“No good deed goes unpunished.” I take the ponytail holder from my wrist and pull my hair into a bun, feeling hot. It doesn’t seem like air is circulating in here, as there is no buzz or whooshing sound coming from the vent.
“So how long do you think it will take for someone to find us?” he asks.
“A couple of hours give or take, depending on when Mira decides to come looking for me.”
“Great, what are we supposed to do until then?”
Ignore each other most likely. I just shrug. We stay silent for a few minutes, until he breaks it.
“Where are you from? Unless you’re from here.”
My nose scrunches and my lips pucker. In what world would we ever have a normal conversation?
“Come on, we’re going to be stuck in here for a little while, we might as well pass the time,” he says.
“By talking to each other?”
“I’d rather play games on my phone, but I figured it’s better to save the battery so we can keep track of time.”
I look him up and down, and he opens his palms up like he’s opening the door to his civility and showing it to me. I don’t believe he’s capable of a polite conversation, but even if we fight the whole time, it’s better than feeling the minutes painfully tick away.
“I’m from San Francisco.”
“That makes sense.”
He’s already starting us off on the wrong foot. I open my mouth to argue, remembering our first conversation when he throws his hands up in surrender.
“I just mean you look expensive.”
I raise one brow.
“Not in a bad way. The Bay is one of the priciest cities in America, and you dress like you are wealthy enough to afford to live there.”
Deciding to take this as a compliment, I let it go.
“Where are you from?” I ask in return.
“Chicago.”
I look at him to see if I can see traces of his hometown too. But I don’t know enough about the city to judge it based on how he is.
“Home of the best pizza, right?” I try a smile and find that he gives me one back.
“You know it.”
He goes on to tell me about some of his favorite places, and I in turn talk about the restaurants I love back home. Soon we are trading pieces of ourselves that allow me to see him in a different light. I still don’t like him, but maybe he isn’t as one-dimensional as I thought.
“It’s hot in here.” He starts to pull at his skintight top. I had already removed my blazer and rolled up my pants to try and dissuade some of the sweating.
“Do you mind?” He points at his shirt, and I realize he means to take it off. Something snakes down my body to stop in between my legs as I tell him to go ahead. I have to remind myself that I’ve already seen him shirtless. But the idea of us slowly losing clothes while being stuck in this room seems like we’re playing a game of chicken that is not going to end well.
He pulls it off, and his dark skin glistens under these hot lights. Putting up his own hair, the look of his chest and wide shoulders, have me fanning myself for a different reason.
“Feel free to strip too.” He smiles wide enough that his dimples show.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m not going to lie and say I wouldn’t.”
I get stuck somewhere between surprised and upset by the realization that he is flirting with me.
“Wait, why wouldn’t you mind if I stripped?” Finally, more pissed than shocked, I confront him about his blatant switch up. “I thought you didn’t find me attractive?”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I said I would never date you. That is not the same thing at all. You’re obviously very stunning, Farrah.”
Reeling, all I can do is gape at him, unaware of how to react to that confession. His eyes roam my body, and he gives me a look that is full of unspoken words. He opens his mouth to say something, and I sit forward, eager, when we hear the door opening. Popping up, we both make a beeline for it, just as Mira comes into the room.
“There you a—” She stops and looks between me and Errol, both in different states of undress. How we must look to her dawns on both of us as he races to put his shirt on and I grab my jacket.
“Um,” she says.
Before she can get another word out, we speak over each other, trying to tell her what happened. Realizing that we can’t both talk, he lets me go ahead. The whole time, she nods with a look in her eye.
“Well, I’m glad I could come to your rescue,” she mutters.
“Thank you,” Errol says, looking back at me. He gives a tentative smile before pushing past her.
Once he is gone, Mira’s lips curve downwards and her eyes squint.
“I thought he’s community dick?”
“He is.”
“Mhm.”
I don’t know why she seems upset, but I can’t be in here anymore. I walk out of the room, thankful for the blast of air conditioning that hits me. It blows away some of the heat, and I hope it takes some of the wild thoughts of Errol that crossed my mind.