19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
“Why did you make me do tequila shots?” Michael asks, sliding into the chair next to me. The makeup artist, Laurie, and her team gets right to work trying to cover up the evidence of last night’s outing.
My head is pounding enough that it takes a minute for his words to register.
“Tequila is kinder than your damn whiskey.” I press my lips against the warm mug of steaming hot tea. His lips quirk up, and I wait for him to argue.
“Let’s be clear. From now on, we will not be going out when the call time is 5 a.m.,” he says.
We find something we can agree on, even though I wouldn’t trade yesterday evening for sleep.
“That’s fine, but can we talk about the fact that last night resulted in you leaving with Priyanka?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
In typical male fashion, pride shines on his face as admission that something happened.
“It was more like this morning, but yes, we stayed up all night.”
“Doing what, pray tell?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He gives me a wink.
I would, I very much so would . He changes the subject, and I let him, not wanting to impede on our new friendship too much.
“These dogs are barking. We also should not have danced that much.”
My chest heaves up and down with the heady laughter a saying like that evokes. When he turns to look at me, eyebrows pulled together in confusion, it happens again.
“You’re so country.” I wash away the sound of my vibrating voice with a sip of the tea.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”
“Damn right.”
He closes his eyes while the makeup artist gets to work applying foundation to his skin. I take the moment to look at the matching jogging suit he is wearing today. Even at the bar, he was dressed simply in a button-down and jeans.
“Has anyone told you I’m a stylist?” My question draws a look from him.
“Is that what you do on top of acting?”
“It’s more like what I do all the time. I’d like to give you a free session to show you my capabilities.”
He grins, revealing teeth all white and shiny. “Farrah, are you saying I don’t know how to dress?”
“No, I’m saying I know how to dress you better.” I wink at him, and that sends him hollering.
“Okay, I’m interested. Let’s set it up.”
I give him a thumbs up, releasing him to close his eyes again. As I turn and face the mirror, the hairstylist adds finishing touches to my hair. With nothing left to do to me, I can go explore until my first scene. Stepping out of the trailer, I take in the space we have commandeered for the day.
We’re filming the moment Dante and Fiona meet at the coffee shop across the street. The trailer I just left is set up for hair and makeup, and a tent has been arranged to house the rest of production’s things. There are long wires everywhere to connect the equipment to whatever power source is near. So much hoopla for a moment in the movie that is ten minutes, tops.
I see Errol lounging in a chair in front of the camera pointed at the entrance. His head is dipped low, and his hands work furiously, tapping away at the screen on his phone. At this hour, his dark skin shines under the sun, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the wide bridge of his nose. My fingers twitch at my side with the urge to touch him there and feel the shape of his face. He must feel my eyes on him, because he looks right up at me, his fingers flexing back and forth to wave me over.
“You good?” he asks as I step up to him.
Up close, the subtle shine of his clear complexion calls to me even more. Its siren song of silky gleaming ebony invites me to fall into it’s dark depths. I cross my arms behind my back to keep from reaching out.
“Yes, a little tired, but alive.”
That full mouth of his parts and reveals his smile, and the glance of those dimples reminds me of what I said last night. I can feel the burn on the tips of my ears as shame holds a lighter to them. I wonder if he’s going to bring it up and chide me as I deserve. He holds my stare, and for a moment I think he is.
“I had a dream about you last night,” he says instead, taking the conversation in a different direction and saving me from having to further relive that moment.
“You’re supposed to keep your wet dreams to yourself, Errol.”
He shrugs, one corner of his mouth turning down, a devilish gleam shining in his eyes.
“Is that what you do? You have sex dreams about me and keep them all to yourself?”
I bite my bottom lip as I widen my eyes in faux innocence and twirl the hair that falls in front of my face between two fingers.
“No. But you shouldn’t be telling me about yours.”
“Where’s the fun in that? My dirty dreams are so detailed they could be written into movies.”
“That’s called porn.”
“Yeah, but pay-per-view porn.”
I lean my arm against the back of his chair, bringing my face close to his.
“That good huh?” My hand, not currently entangled in my hair, trails the straight line of his shoulder from neck to arm.
“Oh yeah”
“Okay, tell me then. What filthy dream did you have about me?” I ask batting my eyelashes.
He tilts his face up and looks to see if I am actually asking, the challenge twinkling in his eyes. I want to know if it really was a fantasy played out in his sleep, so I wave my hand, inviting him to share.
“Sadly, it wasn’t actually a dirty one this time. Still care to know?”
I immediately straighten, pulling back from the flirtation I just engaged in. My ego deflates a little at this, but I gesture for him to continue.
“It was about today. This is your first day delivering lines that will actually be heard on screen. In my dream, you had a Russian accent, and every time you spoke, you looked right to the camera, and not in like a funny sitcom way.”
I let out a surprised bark of laughter.
“Like this?” I give him my best impersonation of what I think it would sound like.
Now he is laughing too, and like fine wine aged in a barrel, it comes out smooth.
“Just like that, but worse. I woke up in a panic and had to remind myself that you are going to do just fine.”
I draw my arms around my body. “Why would you tell me that? That makes me feel like you have no confidence in me.” His unwavering belief was the only thing to get me through yesterday. To think it’s gone now leaves my entire resolve shaky.
“It’s the opposite actually. Anything short of that we can deal with. It was just a reminder that the only way you could fuck this up is to be utterly ridiculous.” His hand leaves his phone on his lap and slides into mine. The smooth feel of his skin pressed into my palm instantly warms me up. Our fingers intertwine for a moment, and I can see the sincerity reflected in his expression.
“You are going to do fine,” he says again for my benefit.
I wait for him either to let go or for the fluttery sensation to stop. When neither comes right away, I let myself sink into the moment.
When he does release my hand from his, he goes right back to looking at his phone like nothing happened. Michael walks up then with one of Priyanka’s assistants, and we’re ushered into place.
The coffee shop has a boho chicness to it that makes all the mismatched furniture sing with style under the exposed wood beams and bright windows. One of a kind artwork hangs on the walls for sale next to quippy sayings and collectible items. All the mugs sit on the shelf above the espresso machine, different and varied in shapes and sizes. I can see even from where I’m standing that their tea selection is excellent.
The whole place is unique and personalized, and nothing at all like the chains that are so popular in Los Angeles. It is a gem unearthed and ready to be used as a prop in a Hollywood film. I get to hang out inside and watch Michael be filmed entering over and over again until they get it just right. When they do, it’s finally my turn to be put to use, with my first shot filmed from Dante’s viewpoint as I order a drink.
While they move the camera around, I count down from ten to calm my nerves. Errol catches my eye and gives me a wink before he’s pulled into a conversation by one of the camera men. The weighted push of a hard exhale is the final release I need to ease into a calm. Just in time for me to move into position and speak my line.
Despite everything we said this morning, we all end up at the bar again after filming. This time I make sure not to drink, so that I can drive my own car home that I left here all day. Instead, I pass the time moving between the people that are quickly starting to be my friends. This includes Errol, who has swapped places with me and decided he is going to try and drink as much as possible.
I figure it is only right to return the favor. So when he teeters off his chair, I offer to give him a ride home.
“Don’t take advantage of me.” He’s pouting and his hands are on his hips.
I sigh and roll my eyes as I pull him along, while trying to hold in the laughter that sits at my lips.
“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”
He allows me to guide him out of the bar, until he steps ahead, turning to face me.
“You know, I would let you take slight advantage of me if you asked nicely.”
Is that so? I grab hold of his arm to keep him upright, ignoring the comment entirely. We walk in silence for a moment while he waits to see if I reply. When I don’t, he pulls free of me and moves to stand by the car.
“You know you want to.” He leans against the door, preventing me from being able to open it. “You know I want you to.”
This stops me short, and I cross my arms, staring him down.
“Errol, is it your turn to make drunken confessions?”
His shoulders rise and fall, shrugging off the question.
“I remember nothing from when I’m drunk, so if I’m confessing to anything, I will feel no shame tomorrow.”
“Well, if that’s the case—” I start to say, then quickly stop myself. How immoral is it to take advantage of this? Asking him questions he won’t answer sober is at the very least invasive. Plus, do I really want to know more about what he means by that?
I release my eagerness with a sigh and push him to the side to open the door. I let it go, knowing I can’t in good conscience ask him anything right now.
He slides in with little protest and folds his large frame into my small car. Tucking his loose locs behind his ears, he looks at me as I get in.
“Are we going back to your place?” he inquires, eyes wide with earnest wonder. His tongue glides across his parted lips, drawing my stare there.
“No.” My voice is raspy, lacking enough density to hold weight.
“That sucks.” His words press into the air, filling it with baited realizations waiting to be acknowledged. I roll down the window, hoping the breeze will blow them away, but they stay all through the drive to his place. It isn’t until he gets out that I can finally feel the weight of the full silence lift off my shoulders a little. I watch to make sure he makes it inside safely, then I head home, concluding we are going to pretend he never said anything tonight.
I know he’s attracted to me, so I’m not surprised that he wants me to take advantage of him in his drunken state. But he doesn’t do things with the people he works with, and I can’t forget that.
Nothing takes my mind off things like shopping does. More than anything, right now I need to not be thinking about Errol. Monty, having enough curves to be considered plus size, can shop at most of the stores I do, so she comes along.
“So let me get this straight. You both have made drunken confessions about your attraction, you flirt like crazy, and you are having sex dreams about him.”
“Shhh,” I say, irritated that she doesn’t have an inside voice. So much for not thinking about him.
“I just don’t get why you don’t ravish him already.” She picks up a skin tight dress with sunset colors, and holds it against her skin. Her light complexion that allows her freckles to stand out on her face makes the outfit look amazing.
“I need him to make the first move. If I do, and he rejects me, I’ll die.”
“You know that boy won’t reject you.” She moves over to lingerie, and I wonder who she’s shopping for.
“I would just prefer to wait and see what happens.”
Gravitating to the shoes section, I’m grateful that, despite everything being big on me, my feet are a size seven. Picking up heels I know will irritate Errol, I wonder how he’d feel if I walked into his place in nothing but these shoes. I bet it would change his opinion then.
“I’m tired of the will they/won’t they,” she sighs out. Her frown solidifying her words.
“You can’t say anything about will they/won’t they when you’ve been texting Charlie.”
She literally gasps and brings her hand to her chest.
“You have been going through my phone?”
Seeing as how we have each others’ passwords, I know she is faking being upset.
“I saw it when it was on the counter the other day. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” she says while walking towards the register.
“You’ve been this way since I met you. You never want to talk about anything while it’s happening. You process internally, and it’s some bull-crap. I tell you everything that’s going on with me.”
I hand my card over before she can pay. She starts to protest when I shoot her a look reminding her that her career is just starting to pick up.
“That is because you need to talk through everything that is happening. I don’t. I’ll come to you when I’m ready to tell you how I feel,” she says.
I try not to be offended knowing this is just how she is, but part of me wishes our friendship was on a more even level. It’s like I need her more than she needs me.
She must see it on my face, because she sighs and links arms with me while we walk out of the store.
“You’re my best friend. If there is anyone I’ll talk to about things, it’s you. Just know you support me in other ways. You have been showing up to every show since I was in tutus and clumsy. No one cares about my career the way you do. Not even my dad.”
I take her words in, and let them wipe away some of my fears. Before I get a chance to say anything, we are back on the topic of Errol. It’s not until we are home cuddled under a blanket with ice cream that she finally lets it go. But thanks to her, it’s all I can focus on while we watch movies.