Chapter 6
DELANEY
‘Oof,’ I groan, climbing the stairs to our suite. I love gelato, but it does not love me and my stomach is blowing up like a balloon.
‘You all right?’ Nick asks from behind me, but I’m not about to admit to being gassy – especially with him in the firing line.
‘Uh-huh. Long day.’
‘Ah.’
At least that’s true. I left LA a day and a half ago and all I want is to climb into bed and sleep for a thousand years. Or until the ash cloud disperses.
Nick jogs around me to open the door – unlike me, he kept hold of his key – and we go inside. The lights have been turned on, casting a warm glow, and the roll-away bed has been delivered.
‘Oh, good, they brought it,’ I say.
I sink onto the sofa next to the pile of linens they’ve left, swallowing a yawn while Nick investigates the bed. He unlatches the mechanism that keeps it folded and it springs open, launching a cloud of dust into the air.
‘Or not so good,’ I say, getting up and going over.
‘Mmm.’
I stand next to him and we stare down at the bed. ‘I bet Nixon was president when this was new.’
‘That recent?’ he asks, looking at me. ‘I was going to say Roosevelt.’
‘Which one?’
‘Teddy.’
‘Ha-ha-ha!’ I laugh, backhanding him in the arm. ‘You’re a funny guy, you know that?’
‘Thank you, but maybe you could stop hitting me? That’s twice now.’
He’s clearly kidding, but I’ll play along. ‘I pack too much of a wallop for you, big guy?’ I ask with a thoughtful nod. ‘You can’t take the heat?’
‘Oh, I can take the heat, believe me.’
His eyes hold mine, the words lingering in the air, charging the atmosphere.
At face value, it was a simple retort, but those eyes.
It’s as if they can see straight through me.
It’s also the first time I’ve noticed the colour – brown with golden flecks.
I tear mine from his and stare at the bed again.
‘You can’t sleep on this,’ I say. ‘You might catch something.’
‘Like bedbugs?’
‘Like the plague.’
Nick’s bellowing laugh echoes through the suite, and I give myself a pat on the back.
‘You’re a funny gal, you know that?’ he asks, nudging me with his shoulder.
I do know that – or I did.
Any time I make Nicholas laugh – which is rare – it’s more of a polite titter. His sense of humour is polar opposite to mine and I have no idea if he genuinely thinks I’m funny or if he’s patronising me.
But Nick’s compliment makes me feel warm all over. Or that could be the three Aperol Spritzes – off the back of two martinis. I’ve got a nice buzz going on.
‘I’ll wheel this out to the balcony,’ he says, already halfway there.
I skirt around him to open the doors, then let him pass, and the bed frame clanks in protest as he rolls it over the threshold – not even remotely sleep-worthy. Nick leaves it in the corner furthest from the door, then appraises the sun loungers.
‘What do you think?’ I ask, joining him.
‘I suppose I could bring one of them inside, maybe use both mattresses.’
I bend down to examine these so-called ‘mattresses’ but they’re nothing more than foam pads, a half-inch thick. I look back at Nick, my face scrunched. ‘Pretty sure this would suck to sleep on.’
His shoulders lift, then fall back into place. ‘I’ve slept on worse.’
‘Oh yeah, when?’ I ask, straightening and putting my hands on my hips.
His lips twitch like I’m about to be schooled. ‘On location shooting Deadfall. We had to sleep on the ground for three nights in a row.’
‘Wait, you did the stunts for Deadfall? I love that movie,’ I say, sidestepping the part where he slept on the ground – we can come back to that.
‘Love?’ he asks, sitting on the edge of the lounger. ‘Fairly certain nobody loves that film. More like indifference – or even hatred.’
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend,’ I retort smugly. ‘Deadfall has cult status amongst my college friends. And I went to film school – most of us are making movies now, so we know what we’re talking about.’
His lips twitch again.
‘You don’t believe me,’ I say.
‘It’s not that.’
I stare at him – hard – my eyes extra wide.
‘Okay, I am dubious – Deadfall was nominated for a Razzie, remember?’
‘So was The Godfather Part III the same year it was nominated for seven Oscars. Those things are BS,’ I assure him.
‘Razzies or Oscars?’ he asks.
‘The answer to that depends on how cynical and disillusioned I’m feeling.’
I sit on the other lounger facing him, our knees almost touching, and we both scoot back at the same time.
‘And what about right now – where’s your cynicism sitting?’ he asks, his gaze intense. ‘Out of ten,’ he adds, as if it’s possible to quantify.
I contemplate his question, absently biting my lower lip. It’s only when I taste blood that I realise I’ve been doing it. I wipe my mouth.
‘You okay?’
I nod, going back to his question while staring out at the view.
Still no sign of the ash cloud – something to be grateful for, I guess.
It’s so beautiful here, with the twinkling lights of the town reflecting on the water, and the moon – only a day or two from being full – casting a milky glow.
Might as well enjoy it while we’re allowed out on the balcony.
‘You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,’ says Nick, mistaking my distraction for deflection.
‘I was just thinking that even if we’re locked inside for the next week – or longer – at least we had today.’
He smiles. ‘That’s a good reminder.’ He taps the side of his head. ‘Sometimes I get fixated on the deficits, not the pluses.’
‘Like not taking credit for an awesome movie because the critics panned it?’
He chuckles softly. ‘Yes, like that.’
‘Ah-hah! So you are proud of it!’
‘I’m proud of my work on it. I’ve never actually seen it.’
‘What?’ I ask with a laugh.
‘Why is that funny?’
‘Maybe because I’ve watched everything I’ve ever worked on. Have you seen any of the movies you’ve done?’
‘A handful,’ he replies.
‘Is it an ego thing? You don’t want it to go to your head?’
‘Hmm, no. More of a… More of a what, Nick?’ he asks himself and I stay quiet, giving him the space to reply. Eventually, he looks at me. ‘It’s more that I prefer to look ahead – focus on what’s coming, rather than dwelling on what’s already happened.’
‘I get that,’ I say. ‘A lot of people get hung up on the glory days and they get stuck, you know – they can’t move forward.’
There’s so much going on behind Nick’s eyes, I’d need a month and a cipher key to make sense of it.
‘And what about you?’ he asks after a long moment.
‘What about me what?’
‘Do you dwell on the past or focus on the future? Workwise, I mean.’
‘I’d say both. My previous work informs what I do next.
Like, say I’m watching an episode of TV from ten years ago – even if it’s a shitty episode of a shitty show – and I can identify one good decision I made, one moment of truth we captured because of me…
I can take that and bring it to future projects. ’
‘Fuck, you’re clever,’ he blurts, taking us both by surprise. ‘Sorry, that was…’
‘No, it’s cool.’
‘I only meant that you have this way of looking at things that’s… well, hopeful and pragmatic. I admire that.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, inflating with pride. ‘No one’s ever told me that before.’
Not even Nicholas. The thought buzzes in my brain like a mosquito and I swat it away. Nicholas is super supportive in his own way. He even saw the last movie I worked on, and he hates action adventures.
‘You’re right that a single moment can be a success, even if everything surrounding it is rubbish,’ Nick continues, pulling me back into the conversation.
‘So, you have experienced that?’ I ask.
‘Once,’ he says, an amused glint in his eye.
‘On Deadfall,’ we chorus together.
‘Which brings us full circle,’ he says, bouncing up and down on the sun lounger. ‘Hmm.’
‘Hard as a rock?’ I ask.
‘Not quite, but nearly – not sure I’d get much sleep.’ He grimaces, then rolls his right shoulder a few times.
‘Did you hurt yourself?’
‘A bit – it’s probably just bruised.’
‘On set?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you report it?’ I ask, slipping into producer mode. Any injury on set, no matter how minor, needs to be reported.
‘I reported it,’ he says.
‘Good. But you haven’t seen anyone about it?’
‘I didn’t have time. We wrapped last night, and I came straight here.’
‘Okay, but we’re keeping an eye on it.’
‘Yes, boss.’
He’s teasing me, but I don’t mind. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am, and if a hulking stunt coordinator wants to call me boss, I’m cool with that.
‘Okay,’ I say getting up, ‘that decides it.’
‘What decides what?’
I wag my finger at his shoulder. ‘You’re in pain, you get the bed – the king, I mean, not the roll-away.’
‘Oh, no, no, no.’
‘Oh, please – do not play the chivalry card with me. I can sleep on the sofa.’
‘It’s hardly a sofa – more of a love seat.’
I throw my arms out wide. ‘Look at me, I’m tiny.’
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s rubbish enough to sit on – no way you’d be able to sleep.’ He gets up. ‘Come with me.’ We go inside, stopping just inside the bedroom. ‘This is a super king, right?’ he asks.
I walk around the bed, sizing it up. ‘We call it a California king in the US but, yeah, it is.’
‘What if we did that thing from It Happened One Night,’ he says. ‘You’ve seen it, right?’
‘Uh, hello? Pretty sure I mentioned that I went to film school?’
‘Sorry – stupid question. But how ’bout we fashion some sort of border to hang down the centre of the bed?’
‘Hmm,’ I reply, looking around. ‘The only thing is…’
‘There’s no way to hang anything.’
‘Nope.’
‘Bugger,’ he mutters. He sucks in a deep breath. ‘So, Ms Producer, what’s Plan C then?’
I regard Nick, my new man-mountain friend, and two thoughts pop into my head at once:
Share the bed, for god’s sake – nothing’s going to happen and it’s only one night.
How would I like it if Nicholas and Pippa were in the same predicament and they shared a bed?
‘You’ve got a funny look on your face,’ says Nick.
‘Do I? Eh, never mind. Let’s just share the bed. We can put a row of pillows down the middle. They brought extra,’ I say, nodding towards the sofa.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ I say, way louder than necessary. ‘I mean, no biggie, right? Totally chill.’
‘You don’t seem very chill. More like the opposite.’
‘Yeah, well, this whole thing was supposed to be super romantic, because I haven’t seen my boyfriend in, like, forever – but he’s in a totally different country and now there’s a natural disaster and who knows how long we’re going to be stuck here, and there’s no way you’re sleeping on a frigging sun lounger, not with a bad shoulder, and you’re being all gallant and saying I can’t sleep on the sofa – which, to be honest, would suck even though I could fit if I curled up – and there’s nowhere else for you to go – not till tomorrow – so what choice do we have? ’
I stare at him, eyes wide – and probably wild – and gulp down several breaths.
‘That was a really good monologue – and all in one take.’
There’s a beat, then I crack up. Nick laughs with me and we grin at each other across the huge bed.
‘How do you do that?’ I ask.
‘Do what?’ he asks, the sassy glint in his eyes throwing me off balance.
‘Nothing – never mind,’ I say with a shake of my head.
I reach for a pillow, fluff it, then move onto the next one – anything to distract me from the twinge in my stomach. A man I’ve only just met should not be giving me stomach twinges, no matter how cool he is. Maybe sharing a bed is a dumb idea.
I’m on the verge of suggesting that we go into the living room or back onto the balcony when Nick sits on the edge of the bed. Argh! I move onto the next pillow. Very important work, pillow fluffing.
‘Delaney,’ he says.
I stop mid-fluff and look up, not quite meeting his eye.
‘Mmm?’
‘Sorry for not asking earlier, but did you get a chance to talk to Nicholas? About the volcano.’
‘Oh, um, yeah. Yeah, we talked.’
Or I talked and he huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Wolf. It was not a great phone call, but I’ll keep that to myself. I don’t want to make Nicholas out to be the bad guy here. He’s disappointed, is all.
‘That’s good,’ says Nick. ‘I spoke to Pip as well.’
‘And?’ I ask, perching on the other side of the bed.
He bares his teeth in an exaggerated grimace.
‘That good, huh?’
‘She thought I’d arrive tomorrow – she’s devasted. I imagine it’s the same with Nicholas.’
‘Hmm,’ I reply noncommittally – devastated might be too strong a word, but I don’t want to say that either.
‘Anyway…’ Nick says, climbing off the bed. ‘I suppose we should—’
My stomach makes a very loud gurgling noise, interrupting Nick, and I fold my arms over it, willing it to shut the hell up. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s the gelato. I’m lactose intolerant and I shouldn’t have it.’
He chuckles, which is even more mortifying. But thank god he’s not Nicholas. Nothing romantic about sexy time when you’re Ms Gassy McGasserson.
‘Maybe you should use the bathroom first,’ says Nick.
Okay, he may not be Nicholas, but this is still frigging embarrassing.
‘Ah, yep, thanks,’ I say, leaping up and crossing to the dresser.
Only, being mortified has turned my brain to mush and I have no idea where my cosmetics bag is. I rifle through the drawers, horrified that my stomach sounds like it’s doing laps in the Monaco Grand Prix.
I finally find what I need and scurry into the bathroom. Right as I’m about to close the door, Nick’s phone chimes and a second later, he says, ‘What the hell?’ I poke my head around the doorframe, finding him frowning at his phone.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask.
He looks up, confusion stamped on his face. ‘My brother and his wife are in Reykjavik.’
‘That’s weird. Why?’
‘I have no fucking idea,’ he says, getting up from the bed, ‘but I’m about to find out.’ He takes his phone outside, and I close the bathroom door to get ready for bed.
Could this day get any weirder?