8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
The next day, I’m still trying to get over my whole Survivor moment with Errol, and how my perspective of him may have shifted. I can’t deal with his confession or the fact that we actually had a nice few hours together. I don’t know if things have changed for him, but I hate that it has for me.
Without any way of knowing what’s going to happen next, I try to put it out of my mind as I walk into Wardrobe. Almost running into Mira, she grabs hold of me with an intense look in her eyes.
“I need your opinion on something. Follow me,” she says, leading me right back out.
We make our way into the storage room, where she quickly begins shuffling through the racks until we get to a lingerie dress. The black silk with blue lace detailing through the middle and on the trim is beautiful and sensual, making the piece exciting to look at. It keeps me distracted enough that I almost don’t think about a shirtless Errol sitting in here. Almost.
“What do you think about this?” Mira steps back and puts her hand on her chin. I turn to look at it again, assessing it.
“It’s gorgeous. Is there something wrong with it?” I grab it off the rack to get a better look.
She pulls at each side of it until it stretches to its full width.
“Nothing is wrong with it per se, more so the motivation behind someone realistically wearing it.”
“What do you mean?” I turn it from side to side, seeing every angle.
“This is the outfit Fiona is supposed to wear when Dante comes to break up with her. It’s supposed to change his mind or something, because you know men are gross or whatever. But I just don’t see a woman sitting in her home in something like this without occasion. What do you think?”
I think she’s right and I tell her so. I mean, I wear a matching set of underwear every day, but if I’m pulling out the lacey outfits, it’s for a reason.
“Thank you.” Mira places it back. “Go and tell the writer Jack that Wardrobe doesn’t agree with the clothing for that scene, and see if you can set up a meeting to discuss a change to the script.”
Changing the script? Are we even allowed to make calls like that?
I nod, unsure if this is our place, yet determined to do as told. I find Jack by the living room set and quickly pass on the message. With a few minutes to spare between this and my next fitting, I quickly grab some tea from the break-room, relishing in the lemon ginger pack I brought myself.
With a nice warm cup, I make my way back to the wardrobe room just as Olivia Cane walks in. She’s playing the lead role of Fiona, giving us the ground breaking representation of a plus-size love interest. Granted, she has an hourglass figure, but it’s still progress. I direct her to undress before placing my cup at my workstation. As she steps out of her jeans, her knees bend and she wobbles a little bit to the side.
“Are you okay?” I ask, grabbing her arm in time to stop her from tilting over.
“I’m fine.” Her eyes say different as they stare back at me, bloodshot and red rimmed. Her lips look in desperate need of ChapStick, and her overall skin is ashen and pale. It could just be the ungodly hour that this fitting is at, but something about her seems off.
“Are you sure?” I push.
She looks me up and down, dismissing me with one tilt of her head, before stepping into the newly reworked meet-cute outfit. I let it go, not feeling it’s my place to go any further and do my best to get her seamed. Just as we’re finishing up, Mira walks back into the room.
“How is it looking?” she asks.
Olivia tries to smile, but ends up pulling what looks more like a grimace. Mira doesn’t seem to mind as she goes about fussing over the few changes we will need to do to make this fit perfectly. Letting Olivia know she is cleared to go for the day, we move over to sit by the board.
“Can you finish taking in her clothes today, and then start on pajamas for the break up scene? I think we should be preemptive for when they make the change.” Mira leans back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest.
“Got it. Will do.” I take a sip of my drink, discovering it’s now cold.
“Hey, you’re coming out tonight, right?”
Having been invited to dinner with the crew by possibly the only other person who likes me, it seemed unwise to go.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“You have to come. This place is so good, you’ll love it.” She pokes me with her finger as she says the words, egging me to join.
“Okay, okay. I will.” I swat her away as I stand, needing to reheat my drink. Leaving her in the room, I go to the break area to put my cup in the microwave. I open the door to enter, and see Errol just as he pulls a tea bag from the box I brought in.
“Aha!” I exclaim as I push fully into the room. Dropping the packet, his hand flies to his heart.
“What is wrong with you?” Turning to face me, agitation wars with the fading fear as he sees who yelled at him from across the room.
“For someone who has a whole lot to say about me being picky about tea, I didn’t expect to see you drinking it.”
His fingers move across the stubble on his chin as he attempts to hide his guilt.
“You left it in here, so I assumed it’s for everyone.”
“It is for everyone.” I move to the microwave. “Everyone but you.”
A scoff escapes his mouth as he picks the packet up again. I smile as I watch him put the bag in the cup.
“Stop smirking,” he says, as he sets the kettle to boil.
It only makes me smile wider as I grab my now warm cup. I have no more reasons to stay, but I look about the room, lingering by the counter. Maybe it’s because we actually had a decent conversation, but I wonder if we can have another one.
“So.” He leans back, his hands clasped in front of him. “The rework on the costumes for the party is a lot better.”
They should be, since I took the lead this time.
“I know.” I forgo the obligatory thank you.
He rolls his eyes as the corner of his lips tilt upward.
“Well, maybe from now on the rest of your work will be completed correctly.”
The urge to admit it wasn’t my work in the first place sits impatiently on my tongue, refusing to be washed down with a sip of my tea.
“Let’s just hope that when it’s your turn, you’re able to do the job we’ve all been working for you to be able to do.” The tight fit of his shirt allows me to see his muscles tense as he takes in my words. I wait for him to retaliate, but when I find I am met with silence, I look up to see his brows pulled down.
I bite down the urge to ask him what’s wrong, instead choosing to make my way toward the door.
Halfway there, I lose the battle with biting my tongue.
“Don’t tell me you actually suck. It’d be terrible to do all this work for a movie that’s going to be crap,” I say turning around.
He looks up at me, but the usual fire that lives in his charcoal eyes is barely even an ember.
“I don’t suck,” he says with heavy layers of unsureness, looking down at the floor.
With the heat from the cup starting to warm my skin, I walk back to the counter to put it down.
“Try saying it like you mean it.” I wait for him to echo the words with more surety and turn his normal cocky grin on me.
When he doesn’t, I step in front of him, forcing him to look at me.
“You really think you are going to do badly, don’t you?”
As he tilts his head to the side, I can see insecurity war with his usual bravado when he looks in my eyes. I wait for the obvious denial and puff of his chest, but find myself starting to feel bad for him when it doesn’t come. It’s like the other day in the sewing room when I remarked on his work. Clearly, this is a sore spot for him.
“No,” he finally says, lacking conviction.
Having waited weeks for the opportunity to hand his ass to him, I don’t feel right about poking at this weakness. Maybe because of yesterday’s conversation in the storage room.
“It doesn’t matter.” I lean in.
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
“Because I get paid either way.” I smile, letting him know I’m kidding. Hoping that some of my own devil-may-care attitude will seep into him.
He cracks a little, the corner of his mouth quirking up a tad. Some of the heaviness leaves his shoulders as he straightens.
“How caring of you.” The kettle pops, and he turns around to pour the water into the mug, breaking our connection.
“You probably won’t suck though. You live to get under my skin, and you being good at your job would be the most annoying outcome.”
He looks over his shoulder at me.
“My life does not revolve around you.”
The ease in his voice makes me feel free to go now. Picking my cup back up, I head back towards the exit, calling over my shoulder,
“You could have fooled me.”
I hear him scoff, readying to reply, but I stop him short.
“Enjoy my tea,” I say as I push through the door.
With enough work to keep me occupied, the rest of the day blows by in a breeze of stitching and hemming. Soon everyone is peeling out of the place to make their way to the restaurant, and Mira is popping her head in to get me to come.
“I’ll meet you there,” I say, knowing I’ll need at least twenty more minutes to finish the work I have on my plate. She waves and heads out.
Lost in the magic of fabrics being turned into garments, I look up to see forty-five minutes have passed since they left.
“Shit.” Leaving the rest for tomorrow, I make my way over to the Dumpling Palace.
The lot is full by the time I get there, and I’m stuck with parking down the street. When I finally make it inside, I know I’ll be lucky if there is any food left at all.
Every table is taken, but ours is easy to spot with it being the largest. People are laughing and passing food as I search for an opening in the fray. Every seat is full except one, and it happens to be next to my least favorite person.
Sliding into the hardwood chair with a thump, he is too busy talking to the woman to his left to notice I’ve arrived. Mira does, screaming for my attention across the table. I wave to her before I flag the staff down to order a drink. When I get their attention, Mira gets Errol’s with the call of my name. The waitress steps up behind me, and Errol turns to glare at me with a look that could put out the flames of Hell.
“What can I get you?” the waitress asks, pulling me away from the cold expression on Errol’s face.
“I’ll take a glass of your best Shiraz please.”
I turn to find his back is now to me. Not yet willing to face down his bad attitude, I turn again to see the person to my right also isn’t my biggest fan. Being one of the two people from week one who earned the title of rude from me, they look even less inclined to start a conversation than I do. Mira has to yell to talk to me, so she just tells me to eat up before turning back to the person she was talking to.
Resigning myself to eat in silence for the duration of the meal, I fill my plate with whatever is closest, determined not to ask for anything to be passed. But as my absolute favorite, siu mai, makes it’s way towards Errol, I can’t help but tap on his shoulder and ask him to pass it down.
Without a look my way, he puts the food outside my reach, outright ignoring my request.
“I know you can hear me.” I inch up so that my face is in close distance of his. “Just pass me the siu mai.”
He rubs his ear like a fly just buzzed by it, and continues to ignore me. Instead, he pushes the plate a little further down the table.
“What is your problem?” I snap quietly. I grab onto his arm, pulling at it until he turns around.
“You are my problem.” He bares his teeth as he growls the words at me. Pushing into my space until our noses are almost touching, he stares deep into my eyes.
“Is this about earlier?” I ask, thinking back to what I assumed was a pleasant interaction. With barely any minced words, I left thinking we were actually moving in a different direction.
“This is about the fact that you are entitled.” His hands pull my fingers off him.
“I’m not entitled.”
“Oh yes, you are.” He scoots the chair away from the table so he can better look at me. “You walk around here doing and saying things like the only opinion that matters is yours. You act like the world owes you everything.”
The table has quieted down as we draw the eyes of the people nearest us.
“And let me guess, because I’m fat and Black, it doesn’t owe me anything?” My mouth is dry. All liquid has left my body to report to my eyes. I close them to keep the tears from leaking.
“No actually, but you think being those two things would have stopped you from turning out this way. I can’t believe I’m the first person in your life to tell you the world doesn’t revolve around you. There are things, people and decisions that have nothing to do with you and what you want, Farrah.” He spits out my name. His words reverberate against my bones, shooting right through my skin.
The rest of the table grows completely quiet as everyone stops to watch this fight play out. My eyes are heavy from the pressure of keeping my tears back. Shaking from all the unexpressed emotion that thrums through my body like a warning bell, I push away from the table. The dragging of my chair on the floor is the only noise other than my retreat
Stepping into the chilled night, I expect the air to calm me some, but before it’s given the chance, I hear his voice behind me.
“I need to make something clear.”
“Leave me alone,” I cry out, heading in the direction of my car. If I had been able to park in the lot, I could be at my vehicle in less than a minute. Instead, I’m forced to quicken my pace in an attempt to outrun him.
“Not until I say what I have to say.” In a few quick steps, he manages to get ahead of me, stopping me in my path. I try to move around him, but he mimics every step I make. Throwing up my hands, I gesture for him to get on with it.
“Do not ever call for changes to be made to the script again.”
The feel of my wool jacket presses into my palm as I clench it in my fists. I search his eyes for an explanation, but all that is reflected back is pure rage.
“What are you talking about?”
“By changing the breakup outfit, you are changing the characters motivation. When you change their motivation, you change the script. It is not your place to change the script.”
The tears begin to flow as I widen my eyes in shock, letting them escape. I wipe the evidence on my sleeve before looking back at him. In the face of my crying, he softens a little, the anger looking more like slight irritation.
“I didn’t make that call.” Honesty bursts out of me, riding the waves of the feelings the last twenty minutes have stormed up.
“But Mira said—” He squints a little in confusion.
I shake my head, asserting my innocence again. This time I won’t take the fall for Mira. This time it’s gone too far.
He steps closer to me, hand outstretched.
“Farrah—”
I take the opening and run past him, not looking back as he calls for me once again.
“Farrah!”