Chapter 7
Jesse
The next morning, Jesse was slated for his very first photo shoot.
If it was anything like his screen test had been, he knew he needed to prepare himself for more poses and outfit changes than necessary for one person.
He showered and dressed in a hurry so that he would have time to try a coffee like Cal had suggested. It seemed like a good day for it.
After darting across the street to the studio lot and being let through security, he found his way to the correct building with little effort. Years of memorizing streets for his delivery work proved helpful in this endeavor.
Even at a few minutes before seven o’clock, there were people everywhere.
He passed one person arguing with another over papers on a clipboard.
A rack of clothes went sailing by. Someone ran past him holding a steaming mug in both hands.
He looked in the direction they had come from, spotted a kiosk, and went to stand in line.
“How would you like it, sir?” the young lady behind the counter asked when it was his turn.
His brows bunched. “I’m sorry?”
“How would you like your coffee made?”
“Oh,” he said cautiously. He had no idea what she meant. Was there any kind of coffee other than strong and hot? Perhaps he should continue with Cal’s advice. “How does Mr. Campbell take his?”
The lady proceeded to create a blend of dark coffee and sugar, which lightened with the addition of cream.
She finished it with a sprinkle of spice that smelled like the holidays.
When he took his first sip, there was no question as to what it was: cinnamon.
He thanked her and carried his drink back into the crowd.
After asking someone who looked knowledgeable if he was in the right place, Josue appeared with a trail of assistants.
“Good morning, Mr. Morgan,” he said, lifting Jesse’s drink out of his hands and passing it to someone behind him. “You are late.”
Jesse’s jaw dropped. “I’ve never been late a day in my life, sir.” He’d read the paper three times that morning.
Press photos: 7:00 a.m. (Building C).
“You are not late for the photographer, but you are late for me. I have my magic, yes, but I am no miracle worker. Time is time. And we have very little of it now. You will do better.”
Jesse apologized and swore that he would.
Before he could say anything else, the wardrobe team had stripped him of his own clothes and put him in something entirely different.
The trousers fit him so well that he could hardly believe it.
Somewhere between the shirt and coat he was also visited by the makeup artist, who dusted his face with powder and brushed more gel into his hair.
All of this happened while he was ushered toward a lonely stool set up under a dozen lights.
“Wait,” he pleaded, turning toward Mr. Ramos’ assistant who was still holding his coffee.
Wasting food had never been a luxury he could afford and he wasn’t about to start now.
He drained the mug in three big swallows and then gave it back to her before he found himself perched on the stool.
He had to hook his feet on the bar because they didn’t quite reach the floor.
“Mr. Morgan!” the person behind the camera crowed in greeting. He squinted in their direction but couldn’t see them past the lights.
“Jesse,” he said back with a nod.
“Jesse,” they echoed. “I can tell you’re a natural.”
Despite the compliment, more hands were already on him as he was instructed to turn his hips a certain way and sit up straight. Hands on knees. Chin up. Not that much. Shoulders back. Face more to the left. More to the right. Somebody fix his tie. Chin up again. Now smile.
Flash. He blinked hard.
“You’re doing great, kid.”
This went on for two more outfit changes. The stool disappeared. Jesse began to sweat under the intense heat of the lights. Someone from the makeup department blotted his forehead dry.
“How much longer is this going to take?” he whispered to her.
“Not long. They should be wrapping up any minute.”
Jesse’s shoulders drooped with relief. If the unhappy gurgling sounds his stomach was making were any indication, that was all the time he had left to give. Maybe it hadn’t been the best morning for coffee, after all.
* * *
One urgent trip to the nearest water closet later, Jesse was back in his own clothes and ready for another appointment with the choreographer.
When he arrived, he was directed to the same private rehearsal room as the day before.
He hadn’t noticed until now that there was a sign hanging outside the door with their names on it: C.
Campbell, J. Morgan, A. Price. Mr. Price was in the hallway talking with someone but motioned for Jesse to go inside, so he did.
Cal was already waiting. He’d removed his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
It wasn’t much, but Jesse could see by the look of determination on the man’s face that he was planning on taking whatever came his way seriously.
Jesse removed his own coat and hung it on a lower hook beside Cal’s.
“I took your advice with the coffee,” he said.
“Oh?” Cal was leaning against the piano with his arms and ankles crossed. “And how did it work out for you?”
“I almost shit myself. And not in the surprised sort of way.”
Jesse smiled at Cal’s big laugh as it filled the room.
“I’m sorry,” Cal wheezed. “I don’t mean to laugh at you.”
“It was a little funny though,” Jesse admitted. “But if that’s going to keep happening, then I’d probably be better off sticking to orange juice in the mornings.” He’d had luck with that one so far, at least.
“Do you feel well enough to dance?” Cal asked just as the door opened and the choreographer strode inside.
“What’s this about ‘well enough’?” Mr. Price asked. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m fine,” Jesse promised both of them at once.
Mr. Price hummed with his eyes narrowed. “I’ll take your word for it. Speaking of wellness, we’re going to do a much better job of starting these lessons off correctly. I think we were all so eager yesterday that I didn’t even have you stretching before we began.”
“Stretching?” Cal had straightened from his position against the piano and was standing next to Jesse now, hands on his hips.
“Yes, Mr. Campbell, stretching,” Mr. Price said with an extra flourish. “Judging by what I’ve seen, I’m not surprised that you’re unfamiliar with the word.”
Their choreographer did not take a seat at the piano like he’d done during their first meeting.
Instead, he had them face the wall of mirrors and stand behind him so they could copy his motions.
They started with simple neck and shoulder rolls, moving next to crossing their arms across their chests one at a time before reaching over their heads and leaning left, then right.
Jesse managed to keep his eyes on either their instructor or his own reflection almost the whole time.
He found it was surprisingly tempting to look at his co-star.
The next set of stretches took place on the floor. Jesse was glad to have a moment to sit after his busy morning. Cal, on the other hand, took his time in getting onto his knees before swiveling onto his rear end with a grunt.
Mr. Price sent a look of concern over his shoulder.
“These daily warmups will help with that, too,” he mused.
Jesse and Cal exchanged a look that left both of them grinning. He knew Cal was a few years older than he was, in his early thirties at most, but he did tend to carry himself like a man much older. Even Jesse knew that would have to change if they had any chance of being successful in their roles.
Mr. Price had them bend forward and touch their toes. They leaned back on their hands and flexed their feet before rolling their ankles in both directions. When it was time for something called a butterfly, Cal finally began to protest.
“As much as I would like to oblige here,” he said, “I believe my trousers will have a different opinion on the matter.”
“Next time I’d like both of you to wear something more appropriate,” Mr. Price agreed. “Athletic tops and shorts should do fine.”
Jesse looked down at his clothes and felt a different unease swirl in his stomach than the one he’d felt before. Another expense.
“I’ll ask Hilliard what we should get so we don’t end up looking ridiculous,” Cal told him in a hushed tone. Jesse’s concern faded as quickly as it had come and he nodded.
The rest of their morning in the rehearsal room was spent going over some basic steps as the choreographer had promised.
Jesse thought it was great fun and, to his credit, Cal at least moved his feet the entire time and never complained.
When they were finally released, a third feeling had settled in Jesse’s stomach—hunger.
He wondered if Cal remembered what he’d said about dining together.
“Have you got another lunch date?” Jesse asked as they stepped out into the midday sun.
“I do,” Cal said pensively. “I promised someone I would meet him in the commissary. But I’m secretly hoping that he will be okay with eating somewhere else.” He scrunched his nose and Jesse bit his lip to hold back his smile.
“Are you too good to eat with the common folk?”
“I just know what they serve on Wednesdays. I could throw a rock from here and hit five places with better food.”
Jesse looked in the direction of the commissary and shoved his hands in his pockets. “More expensive food.”
“My treat,” Cal said easily.
“That’s what you said about dinner.”
“And about lunch,” he added.
“I’ll owe you,” Jesse told him.
“If that’s what it takes for you to agree, then I’ll allow it.”
* * *
The deli reminded Jesse of a place he’d eaten at a few times back home.
As tight as his budget had always been, something as simple as a sandwich felt exorbitant.
He stared at the one that’d been placed in front of him for so long that he almost forgot it was his to eat.
Across the table, Cal was already several bites into his, further proof for what he’d said about this being one of his favorite restaurants in the neighborhood.
“Do you come here a lot?” Jesse asked.
“Several times a week,” Cal said.
“Do you ever ask for something different?” He’d noticed the way Cal’s food had been delivered without anyone taking his order.
“Almost never.”
Jesse thought of all the times he’d stared down into his can of dinner and silently wished for it to be anything else. He pushed the memory away with a bite of his sandwich. The freshness of the ingredients was criminal.
“I enjoy the familiarity,” Cal went on. “Of the food and the company.” As he said the last part, Cal moved over on his booth seat to make room as someone sat beside him.
Jesse recognized her instantly as Cal’s most frequent co-star—and ex-wife.
Their romantic relationship had been plastered across magazines and newspapers from start to finish, and Jesse’d followed along like the rest of the country, reading every article at the corner newsstand as fast as he could before he was asked to buy a copy or get lost.
He swallowed quickly so as not to choke over how beautiful Edie was. She could’ve stepped directly off a stage and into the deli, with her perfectly-coiffed hair and many accessories. Then he remembered it was possible she had done exactly that.
“Ms. Haywood,” he sputtered.
“Oh, Cal, he’s precious,” she said, drawing out the last word as she settled beside the man after accepting a kiss on her cheek. They both regarded him with similar expressions across the table and Jesse felt himself flush.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he managed before returning back to the safety of his sandwich. He didn’t want to be rude, but she was clearly there to see Cal, not him. And frankly, he was a little too tongue-tied to know what else to say.
Ms. Haywood had other plans.
“I see Mr. Campbell is already introducing you to all the best places. That’s a fine way to start your new career. It looks like you could use a little meat on your bones, anyhow. Where are you from?”
“Edie, let him eat,” Cal cut in. “He’s running on coffee fumes.”
“Aren’t we all,” she quipped.
“Georgia, ma’am,” Jesse finally said.
“Hmm. I’ve been to Atlanta a few times on tour.
Tough city. Even tougher people. I think you’ll do just fine.
” Ms. Haywood continued to inspect him almost as intensely as he’d been doing to his lunch, as though studying his face would provide answers to questions she hadn’t yet asked. “Were you a dancer in Georgia, too?”
“Only for fun.”
She leaned forward and propped her chin on her fist. “How did you earn a living?”
Cal sighed. “Edie—”
Ms. Haywood sat back and shoved at Cal’s shoulder with her arm. “What are you, the warden?” She turned to Jesse again with a smug look. “Very well. I’ll just get my answers another way.”