Chapter 8
Saturday
One hundred seventy-eight beats per minute.
My Garmin watch shows no sign of my heart rate slowing, despite standing near the entrance of Central Park for two minutes after a five-mile run. I turn to start heading back to my hotel, but pause, blinking away the shock of seeing Alexander standing fifty feet away.
This is not how I envisioned seeing him for the first time in almost three months. My blue Nike running top clings to my body, dripping in sweat. And my black Yankees baseball cap and a liberal amount of deodorant barely disguises the fact that I’ve yet to shower this morning.
Random tourists hire bicycles at a kiosk right next to him and families are playing a short distance away, but somehow Alexander isn’t being accosted.
Probably because his own black baseball cap is lowered over his face, covering those instantly recognizable eyes.
His overgrown beard hides a jawline that would cut glass.
I turn to hightail it out the east entrance of the park, but it’s too late. Alexander locks eyes with me and doesn’t bother to hide his surprise or delight.
My feet freeze in place, but my heart is pulled like a magnet toward him.
A thousand thoughts smash together and break apart.
I hate you, I miss you, I want you, how could you, why did you, where were you?
I take a long deep exhale as Alexander gets close and mutter Here we go under my breath.
“Hi,” Alexander says, and goes in to hug me.
I flinch, my arms coming up like a forcefield to protect me.
“I wouldn’t hug me if I were you.” I move back slightly and pull at my top.
Drips of sweat hit the concrete between my feet and create an ever-expanding puddle that I wish I could jump into and be magically transported back to my hotel room.
“Been for a run?” Alexander awkwardly shoves his hands into the pockets of his basketball shorts.
My attention is drawn to the dark circles beneath his beautiful eyes, still as blue and dreamy as ever. His beard hides the scar on his chin and the dimple that usually forms with his smile. He looks exhausted, but for the first time since we met, I’m not sure if I actually care.
“Yeah.”
My answer is short and curt. Not only because I don’t want to engage in this conversation, but because I’m fearful the barricade I’ve put in place to protect my heart won’t hold for long. It takes all my energy to perform what should be the natural act of breathing.
The silence lingers longer in the late-summer air than it should.
The tension between us is no longer full of sexual chemistry, but of all that has been left unsaid. Of our journey from strangers to lovers, back to strangers, and now this. Whatever this is.
Alexander finally breaks the silence.
“I saw the run-through of the ad.” He reaches up and lowers the bill of his cap when someone turns to do a double take. “It looks great.”
I’m grateful for the change in topic. Work I can talk about. Work keeps these conflicting feelings at bay.
“Thanks, though Paul didn’t seem to think so. Said it was still too cheesy.”
“Fuck Paul,” Alexander snaps, and his shoulders stiffen.
Well, if nothing else, at least that’s one thing we still agree on.
I force down a smile that Alexander thankfully misses, distracted by a call. He quickly pulls the phone from his pocket.
“I’m by the brick statue, with the gold figures on top. Black baseball cap.” He hangs up and slides the phone back in his pocket. His energy shifts slightly as he nervously looks around and plays with the rim of his cap.
“Who was that?”
For the first time, it occurs to me that Alexander is on his own.
There’s no sight of Rob, Paul, or anyone else on his team. Alexander, one of the most recognizable people on the planet, is alone in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world.
“Oh, just a friend I’m meeting for a run.” The words quickly fall from his mouth, his voice elevated.
Alexander’s baggy Lakers baseball jersey and basketball shorts are not exactly the attire I’d expect for someone about to go for a run around Central Park.
“Right.” The awkward silence does nothing to stop the avalanche of emotions that push at the barricade inside me. “We keeping the beard then?” I change the topic once more.
“You don’t like it?” Alexander’s hand grazes the bottom of it.
“I didn’t say I don’t like it. Just wondering if you’re keeping it for the shoot tonight.” My shoulders tense as my heart skips a beat.
“So, you do like it?” The right side of his mouth rises.
His charm catches me off guard.
Butterflies swarm my stomach as the barricade starts to cave.
Don’t do it. Don’t get sucked back in.
A soccer ball hits Alexander’s foot and he bends down to pick it up. A little boy runs up and Alexander hands it over to him, rubbing the top of his head and smiling at the boy’s parents, who mouth Thank you. The sight pulls at my heartstrings.
See, I told you he is caring.
Yeah, so caring that he left us high and dry.
The conflicting voices inside my head play tug-of-war with my heart.
I can’t do this. Not now.
“I better go.” I reach for my watch to restart my tracker. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Before he has a chance to answer, I set off and run out of the park, stopping outside the Brewed coffee store across from the entrance where we’ll be shooting at tonight.
But curiosity gets the better of me. Who is he going to meet?
I linger by the traffic lights, out of sight, to catch a glimpse of who he’s due to meet.
My curiosity increases when a man in a black hoodie, jeans, and trainers approaches Alexander.
Their encounter is brief. They exchange a few words and shake hands a little longer than seems normal before the guy continues to walk into the park and Alexander heads to the exit.
What is he doing? Why did he lie to me?
I shut the line of questioning down before it has a chance to spiral.
Not my circus. Not my monkeys. Not my peanuts.
Not my circus. Not my monkeys. Not my peanuts.
I repeat the phrase until the questions disappear and set off once more, weaving my way through hordes of people and down Eighth Avenue toward the hotel.
The midday sun reflects off one of the small disco balls dangling from the restaurant’s glass ceiling directly onto my laptop, and I struggle to make out what’s on-screen.
I rotate my position to block the light and dial up the brightness as Tanu lifts her head up from her laptop.
She pushes her glasses up into her brown hair, tugs at the neck of her black T-shirt, and stares at me.
“Have you seen the changes Paul sent through? He’s insane.” Her face wrinkles with disdain. She pushes her laptop away and forks up another mouthful of her Waldorf salad.
It seems everyone’s on the hating Paul train today.
“Don’t worry about him. I’ve already flagged it with Alexander directly. He said, and I quote, ‘fuck Paul.’” I make air quotes with my fingers for emphasis.
An email notification from Paul pops up as I continue to flick through the stills taken last night. He’s attached a rough mix of Alexander’s take on It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.
I spin my laptop round to Tanu, almost taking her coffee out in one clean sweep. “Want me to play it?”
“Sure.” Tanu shrugs, grabs her coffee and take a sip.
I press play and the sudden sound of bells, drums, and brass instruments startles the waitress walking by.
A wave of nostalgia hits me, transporting me back to Abbey Road when I’d heard him play Stolen Moments, the song he wrote about me, for the first time. A lonely tear rolls down behind my sunglasses and drops onto my plate.
The sound of his voice warms my heart, like a blanket wrapped round me on a cold winter’s night. A heavy sigh leaves my mouth as the song finishes. I hit stop and try to compose myself.
“What do you think?” I ask Tanu.
“If Paul doesn’t want the commercial to be cheesy, then why the fuck does he send us a track that’s even cheesier than the original?
” Tanu pulls down her glasses and drops her head into her hands.
Her fingers slide through her long brown hair.
“I still think they should have gone with Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
Tanu lifts her head back up and reaches for her coffee.
“It’s not that bad,” I say, almost jumping to Alexander’s defense.
Tanu shoots me a look. You’re joking, right?
“Okay sure, it’s cheesy, but then all the classic Christmas songs are.”
I let out a sigh and grab my soda and lime.
You’re meant to be Switzerland on this shoot.
Keep the peace.
Do your job.
And then get the fuck out of here.
“The shoot will be great,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “Leave Paul to me.”
Several hours pass by in minutes, and I once more find myself weaving through the crowd on Eighth Avenue. This time, I navigate my way round the partitioned-off section of sidewalk and through the front door of Brewed, straight into the bustling energy of the shooting crew and various extras.
I make my way over to Tanu by the counter, who immediately knows what I want.
“He’s over there.” Tanu points to the back of the store.
Paul and Connie sit on a green leather couch, a low table in front of them, with chairs on the other side. I shake my dark-blue jacket off my shoulders as I make my way toward them. The air conditioning does nothing to cool down the heat leaving my body.
I sling my jacket over the back of one of the chairs opposite them and cross my arms.
“You wanted to speak with me.” My gaze drifts down toward them.
“Why the hell have none of the changes I requested been made?” Spit flies from Paul’s mouth. His eyes are wide open as he surges upward to stand directly in front of me.
I don’t know whether it’s a Napoleon complex, an ego trip, or the fact that he’s still holding a grudge from Tuesday’s meeting, but that shit ain’t flying here tonight. Switzerland be damned.
“I can give you eight million reasons why,” I counter, my voice surprisingly steady.