Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
On set, I stand at the kitchen island unloading groceries from the grocery bag.
It’s a bit silly because I’m literally taking things out of the bag and setting them on the counter.
Whoever unloads groceries like that? But they don’t want me moving around, distracting the viewers’ eye.
Mom joins me, and a few minutes later, Christa storms into the kitchen, yelling at Mom, continuing the argument that started in the living room.
I freeze and look at Christa wide-eyed before shrugging and returning to my task.
When Christa accuses Mom of unfair treatment, that’s my cue to load up my arms with perishable goods and finally move to the refrigerator to put them away.
I’m fighting to keep my head in the moment so I don’t miss my next cue, but Crispin’s cloud comment has me seething inside.
Why did I think a few sparks during a photoshoot meant he was no longer a jerk?
“You’re just assuming because you got pregnant at seventeen, I will too,” Christa says.
Mom holds up a hand and says, “Wait a minute, young lady,” while I turn toward them and say to Mom, “She’s right.
That’s totally how you’re acting.” I don’t look at Hank because I’ve taken the liberty to reword my line from the ridiculous, “They were just macking, not smacking.” Who even knows what that means?
As scripted, Mom glares at me. With a dismissive shrug, I turn back to the refrigerator and continue unloading my burden.
They keep arguing, and I return to grab more vegetables to load into the veggie drawer.
Except, instead of turning away, I now join the conversation, shaking a red bell pepper at Mom to mark my point, pointing at Christa with a zucchini when I have a supportive line.
None of these actions are staged, but they feel right.
Hank might kill me for making him retake, but I’m riled up enough to argue that my interpretation of the annoying little sister is more appropriate to the mood of the movie.
When the argument ends, Mom picks up the last vegetable and adds it to the pile in my arms, making everything tumble onto the counter. I give her a tortured look, and Hank calls cut.
“That was fantastic, ladies,” he says. “That’s a one-and-done. You can celebrate with extra lunchtime.”
Gratefulness and relief flood through me, though I was totally ready to defend myself after being scolded, so it’s a bit of a letdown.
Checking the cute watch I wear in most scenes, I see it’s 10:40.
Twenty extra minutes. Not really enough to make a difference.
I decide to grab lunch and eat in my dressing room.
“Hey, you want to hang out with me?” Sally asks.
I sigh. “You know, I kinda just want to be alone today. Nothing personal.”
She smiles. “Okay. I’ll be in the cantina if you change your mind.”
“We can go over there together. I’m gonna grab lunch first.”
“Great!”
I love how easy-going Sally is. She seems to accept people how they are. That’s probably why she’s never noticed Crispin’s superiority complex. She simply accepts it as part of him.
“So, what was happening yesterday during the shoot?” she asks.
I groan inwardly. I guess I should have anticipated this, but I’m over it, so I guess I thought everybody else would be. “I think we just got caught up in the moment. There’s definitely nothing there, though.”
“Are you sure?”
I appreciate how she doesn’t look like she’s digging for gossip, just asking a friend a question. I wish the entire world was like Sally. Oh, maybe that would get boring, but the world could use more Sallys, that’s for sure. “Trust me.”
“Well, regardless, I can’t wait to see those pictures! I just kept thinking, “That’s my little sister!” like I was so proud of you.”
We laugh. “You’re such a dork.”
“I know. Having someone who is older than me play my little sister is revealing new levels of dorkiness in my personality.”
As we walk into the cafeteria, my heart stutters a bit. She sure knows how to make me feel good. We’re standing in line laughing about how she’ll react to upcoming milestones in my life—graduation, wedding, babies—when a shadow falls over us.
My smile falls away when I see who it is. I shift so that I’m facing the upcoming line of food and away from him.
“Crispin!” Sally grins. “What are you doing here? You never come to the cantina.”
“Hey Sally. I’m here to apologize to Arabelle.”
That gets me to look over my shoulder, but the sight of his arrogant face just makes me shake my head and turn away.
“Please, Arabelle, can we talk?”
Sally has gone quiet, and I feel like the jerk now, even though he doesn’t deserve my consideration.
“Please,” he repeats. “I screwed up.”
I feel like I’ve been on a rollercoaster since I woke up this morning, and if I don’t get off soon, I’ll toss my cookies. Or maybe not that, because I’m really hungry and I see fajitas. “Let me get my lunch first.”
“Okay, great. I’ll just be over there.” He points to the wall of windows and smiles.
Sally watches him walk away. “Ari, that guy is untethered.”
I watch him sit at a table for two up against the window. No wonder he knew I was here. Had he been waiting for me? “What do you mean?”
“His usual arrogant confidence is nowhere to be found.”
I blink at her and can’t quite hide the smile fighting to escape. “Wait a minute. I thought you said you’ve never seen his arrogant side.”
“No, I didn’t say that. I think I said I don’t see him that way.
” Sally grabs a tray and hands it to me before grabbing her own.
“I think that’s his persona. The him he shows the world.
The thick skin he wears to avoid all the darts and arrows thrown by the media and fans.
I think growing up in the industry shapes people differently, and that he automatically hides his real self. ”
I narrow my eyes. “Have you seen his real self?”
She shrugs. “I’ve seen hints of it. He’s very solicitous on set. Especially when I’m feeling lost over the set direction or having a hard time finding the mood my character is supposed to be in. He’s right there to help. And there’s no arrogance involved.”
I think about him blowing in my face. That was the first time we worked alone together.
The first time I openly struggled in front of him, and she’s right, he was right there to help.
But then I think about the goth comment and my blood immediately boils.
So thoughtless. He knows I lost my father. How could he not connect those dots?
Sally must see when my anger returns. “I just think you should hear him out. He’s not all bad and that boy…” She points to him. “The one who just asked to speak with you. That boy is feeling something new and doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s facing it anyway.”
“Join the flipping club,” I mumble, as I hold up two fingers for the gal dishing out fajitas.
I give Sally a nod and half a smile as I head in Crispin’s direction.
Then I coach myself to keep an open mind and to listen to what he has to say.
To hear him. Because if Sally is right, then he may not do a great job explaining himself.
I know that from personal experience. I’ve been an incoherent jabbering mess since we lost Dad.
Setting my tray down, I slide into the seat across from Crispin. It seems like everybody in the room is either stealing glances at him or flat-out staring at him because he’s in here, so I’m not sure how private this conversation will be.
“Hey,” he says.
The blush on his cheeks and his inability to hold my gaze racks up points in Sally’s theory column. “Hi.”
He studies my food and frowns. “Those look really good.”
“And that worries you why?”
“I’m just surprised.”
“These are my favorite. Please excuse me for stuffing them in my mouth while we talk. I have no self-control with fajitas.”
He smiles, his gaze tracing across my face with such a fond expression, I want to hide. “Listen, I’m so sorry about what I said.”
I add sour cream to my fajitas while I consider his apology. Finally, I stop and look at him. Really look at him. “Why are you sorry?”
He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”
“What you said – why are you sorry for saying it?”
“It hurt you.” His response is tentative.
I press my lips together until my emotions calm. “Why did it hurt me?”
He looks down at his hands. My gaze follows, and it’s the first time I see the closed paperback sitting in front of him. Octavia Butler’s Kindred. Interesting. Unexpected.
“It hurt because my comment was insensitive to your loss.”
I squint. He’s saying the right words, but there is something missing in the delivery. “Cut. Start again from ‘Why did it hurt me?’”
He blinks up at me.
“Do you understand why your comment was insensitive?”
Again, his gaze drops. This time to the fajitas I really want to eat.
“In theory,” he says.
I sit up. I did not expect that. I watch him pick at a fingernail, stare at my food, jiggle his leg. “You’ve never lost anyone.”
He shakes his head.
My anger dissipates so quickly, I almost choke on the void inside me. For some reason, tears spring to my eyes. I’m jealous of him and ridiculously happy for him at the same time. I let out a humorless laugh. “Crispy, you are one lucky guy.”
He chokes. “Crispy?”
I smile at him, shaking my head. “There is something about you that really riles me up. The least I can do is return the favor.”
He sits back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and extends an impossibly long leg. With a nod, he says, “Mission accomplished.”
Uncrossing his arms, he folds his hands together on the table, on his book.
“I can be that way. Insensitive. I don’t mean to.
I just forget to think things through. See it from someone else’s perspective.
As soon as you stormed out, I knew what I’d done wrong.
I’d forgotten about your father. About your loss. ”
I stare down at my fajitas.
“Even after the other day,” he says quietly.
“What other day?”
“The scene. With the police officer.”
I close my eyes. That’s right. He was there watching us that day. I’d completely forgotten. “The scene they wrote me out of.”
“I only overheard a little bit about why. It isn’t like I asked around or anything.”
I chuckle ironically. Why does his insistence that he doesn’t gossip make me happy? Especially in this moment.
“Maybe that’s why I didn’t really think about it.” He taps his fingers nervously on his book. “What that must have been like for you.”
I frown. “But you have now?”
“As soon as you left the trailer, it all fell into place. I mean, I still don’t claim to know what you’ve been through.
Don’t get me wrong. I just…You said the thing about mourning, and I remembered the look on your face on the set that day when the actress playing the cop was saying her lines.
I even remembered the shock on your face when T offered his condolences.
Back on the day of the table read. And I felt—feel, so horrible. ”
I’m impressed. That’s a lot of puzzle pieces to put together. I cock my head as I pick up a fajita, poised for the first bite. “So, why did you say I’m not like you thought? What about me is a surprise?”
I would laugh when panic flares in his eyes, but my mouth is full, so I just motion for him to go ahead with my free hand.
“Well, back when I was an insensitive jerk who thought you’d purposefully chosen a goth persona, and then you started doing really smart and intuitive things with your character and saying funny things that made me laugh, I was surprised by that.”
I swallow. “So, goths can’t be smart, intuitive, or funny?”
He rubs a hand down his face. “Gah, I cannot win, can I?”
“I’m going with no.” I pause before taking my next bite. “I do appreciate the self-deprecation, though. Nice touch.” I raise my food to toast him.
His eyes sparkle as he watches me chow my fajita.