24. Just Some Book
24
JUST SOME BOOK
Harlow
My dad called me from Cape Cod a few minutes ago, asking for my help. Now, phone pressed to my ear as I talk to him, I’m hunting through the books in a library on the set. A ladder rests against tall shelves of tomes, spines sticking out, inviting hands to touch.
And many hands have touched the books here.
Backs have too.
And let’s not forget butts.
Since my father and his writing staff have written countless make-out sessions that take place in this studio.
This is the library in Cruz’s penthouse on Sweet Nothings. The rich playboy who can’t be tied down. He’s a fan favorite on the show, so he has a new romantic arc every season.
I don’t want to think too hard on whether my father imagines he’s Cruz or not. I don’t want to think too hard on my father at all.
Especially after last night.
I simply want to help Dad so I can get off the phone with him stat and connect with Jules about some things that have been on my mind. I sent her a text seconds ago to see if she could meet me for lunch shortly, but then my dad called so I haven’t been able to check if Jules has responded.
I’m antsy to see if she wrote back. Antsier to talk to her.
At the moment though, my father desperately needs me to find a certain book in the library. But he can’t remember which book he wants. It’s on the shelf closest to some paintings, Dad says. So I’m his ears and his eyes while he’s out of town.
Alone here, I scan the shelves nearest the character’s collection of modern art, reading off the names to Dad on the phone. “ Anna Karenina . The Pelican Brief . Carrie . This is an odd collection.”
“Cruz has wide and varied tastes.”
“Or he likes to show off,” I say, then read the next one. “ Romeo and Juliet. ”
“That’s not the one. That’s tragic,” Dad says with a laugh. I can hear birds chirping off in the distance, then the faint sound of ocean waves. Bet he rented a fantastic beach house for his getaway with Vivian.
“I know it’s tragic. I did read it,” I point out, then continue on, reading more names of more books. With each, I’m met with a no , or a not that one , or definitely not that one .
Dad’s so focused on finding a book whose name he can’t remember that now seems as good a time as any to drop in a question. Being with Bridger is just easier with Dad out of town.
“How long will you be on Cape Cod?” I ask him, as blasé as I can muster, as run-of-the-mill as I’d normally inquire about his whereabouts. He’s been on the Cape for a few days now—last weekend and into this week.
“Oh, you know. As long as I need to,” he says, airily, and if that’s not evasive I don’t know what it is.
I don’t push though, since, well, I don’t want to appear too interested in his life. That might make him think I’m up to something.
But I’m not up to anything he needs to know about. Right? I’m twenty-one. I’m an adult. I don’t need to tell him about my evenings out.
It’s none of his business.
But as I search through the shelves, my gut churns viciously.
Here I am, on the set of their show. Interning at their company. What I’m doing is their business.
Too much of it.
I need to fix this problem I’ve made. I need to do it stat. But first, I have to deal with Dad’s request to find some book .
I read more names to him, and when I’m at the end of the last shelf, hardly any books left, I flick a fingernail against a book of poems. “Pablo Neruda?”
“That’s it!”
Finally .
I run my hand along the slim volume. “Do you want a photo of it?”
“No.” There’s a pause over the phone line. “Take it,” he whispers, even though he knows I’m the only one on the set. “They’ll never miss it.”
“What?”
“Poppet, no one will even notice you nicked it.”
Great, I’m a liar and a soon-to-be thief. “Dad,” I chide softly.
“I promise it’ll be fine.”
Irritated, I roll my eyes. But he’s right. I know he’s right. Still, I glance around at the empty set. If Ollie, the stage manager, sees me walking out with this book, he might be pissed one of his props has gone missing. After all, Ollie let me in because I said it was a favor for my dad. “Dad, Ollie will be annoyed.”
“Only if he sees you,” Dad says, so clever, so devilish.
I quickly assess my options for cat burglary. I’m wearing a pencil skirt. I’m not going to stuff it into the waistband. Briefly, I wish I carried a purse. But I don’t. Gritting my teeth, I grab the book, tuck it under my arm. Best to just look innocent.
Shoes muffled by the maroon Turkish rug, I head out, book in hand, phone plastered to my face. Then, I’ve escaped into the hall.
“Okay, now what?” I ask.
“I’ll text you the address where I’m staying. Pop it into FedEx overnight please. I need it tomorrow morning before we leave.”
“Where are you going to?” I ask.
Dad laughs. A chuckle that says he’s charmed himself. “I’m taking the rest of the week off. Viv and I are having too much fun, and we’re going to tool around New England.”
Ah, that makes sense. An extended vacation. “Well, you deserve it. I’ll take care of this.” I say goodbye, head to the office supplies room, and pack up the book in an envelope. Then I drop it at the studio’s mailing room to go in the overnight shipping.
I return to my messages, ready to check in with Jules when my attention snags on a handsome man heading down the corridor. Empirically handsome that is, with tanned skin, a chiseled jaw, and a lopsided grin fans adore. It’s Dominic, the award-winning actor who plays Cruz. He’s chatting on the phone, but when he spots me, his eyes light up. He covers the phone. “How is the art world coming along, Harlow? Have you taken over MoMA yet?”
I’m impressed Dominic remembers anything about me from our brief chat at MoMA at the silver and gold party. “Not yet, but maybe soon,” I say with a smile, one that I hope covers up any betrayal that reveals I stole a book from your character’s library for my father.
He waves goodbye and heads on his way, and I return to my phone.
Oh!
There’s a text from my brother, asking if I’m free on Saturday morning for breakfast at our favorite diner on Third Avenue.
I stop in my tracks and clasp my mouth. Oh my god. He’s going to extend his San Francisco trip to visit me!
Harlow: Are you serious? Does this mean you’re coming to New York? For real? Don’t tease me!
Hunter : Well, someone made it clear I needed to see her. I’m off to Chicago tonight for a meeting tomorrow morning, so I figured I could extend my trip by spending one night in New York. BUT…any chance I can stay at your flat tomorrow night? I’m leaving on the last flight out of New York on Saturday.
Harlow: As if I’d let you stay anywhere else! I love you madly!!!! Can’t wait to see you! And you picked wisely—Dad won’t be here!
Hunter: I’m pretty much brilliant. Can’t wait to see you, Lo. Will email you the flight info.
Harlow: I can’t wait to see you either.
But as I turn back down the echoey corridor, returning to the set to work, it’s as if a small stone is wedged in my shoe. An annoyance, a trifling thing. But it starts to dig into me.
I’ll have to lie to my brother when I see him tomorrow night since I can’t breathe a word about Bridger.
I shudder involuntarily, a wave of shame and guilt cresting over me.
But then, it’s early days. I wouldn’t tell Hunter anything this soon even if Bridger were, say, some guy I met online.
Only, Bridger’s not some guy I met online. He’s someone I met in my home years ago.
Guilt nips at my heels. But one thing at a time.
First I need to deal with the problem I’ve created. Screw making plans with Jules for lunch.
I call her.