Chapter Thirteen
When Riley had learned I was dragging Elliot to the baseball game, she’d instantly roped in a few other people from RJF to come too.
And I was glad she had; Elliot was distinctly grumpy about being forced to attend a social event with his colleagues, especially when he’d learned Ralf was coming.
But I didn’t care. I’d never watched a baseball game and after a tough but shorter-than-expected day clashing with Elliot, I was excited to do something after work that wasn’t jetlagged moping in my apartment.
I was groggy but determined to push through.
The baseball game was taking place on a pitch in Prospect Park, a dreamy, wooded green space located in an upmarket Brooklyn neighborhood.
The pitch itself looked exactly as they did in the movies, a green diamond encircled by sand with painted markers for each base.
There were a ton of spectators too, some with picnic blankets and snacks, others crowding onto the bleachers lining one side of the pitch.
As our group ambled towards the action, Elliot lagged behind, partaking in a conference call concerning RJF’s latest TV show.
“Everyone’s here,” Ralf murmured in my ear as we approached. “The who’s who of film production.”
“Do you think Rian Johnson is here?” I asked, unable to hide my excitement at the idea of being in close proximity to him.
“Nah, he’ll be in LA,” Ralf said confidently. “He’s over here a lot but he wouldn’t come for this.”
“Do you know him personally?” He’d spoken as if he had.
“Ah, just to say hi to,” Ralf said. “My dad was an exec at Disney for years, distributed a lot of Rian’s product.”
Another nepo baby. The words rang so clearly in my head they startled me, and I glanced at Ralf to make sure I hadn’t said the words out loud.
I could only blame the ongoing jetlag for this.
I had to get over my prejudice against nepotism; it was unavoidable, after all. “Is your dad why you got into film?”
Ralf thought for a moment. “I mean … yeah. I’ve sat in on more studio board meetings than I care to remember. Dad introduced me to the right people and NYU was his alma mater. I even joined his frat!”
He was so lucky. “What’s your favorite film then?”
Ralf laughed awkwardly. “Ahm, when was the last time I went to the cinema? Um …”
“You don’t go to the cinema?” I laughed.
“I’m a busy guy!” he shot back with a chuckle.
“But … but …” I was lost for words. Maybe it was naivety, but I’d assumed everyone at RJF was there because they cared passionately about getting movies on the big screen, about championing that sacred experience for every type of person.
Ralf noticed my flustering and smiled. “I mean, do I like movies? Sure, watched a heap of ’em. Do I love doing deals? You bet.”
“So, it’s the business side of the business you’re into,” I said.
“Doer, not dreamer,” he said.
Remarkably, we found a section of the bleachers that could accommodate our group and we squeezed in, Elliot’s huge frame hanging off the end. I was squidged between him and Riley, who surreptitiously pulled a hip flask from her backpack.
“I thought drinking in public was illegal here?” I looked around, fearful we were about to get descended on.
“Oh, it totally is,” Riley said, taking a nip.
“But everyone does it?”
“Um, yeah.” She gestured around us. “Don’t worry.”
“Okay.” I took the flask from her and sipped tentatively. “What is that, rum?”
“Strawberry daiquiri,” Riley said proudly. “Maybe I leaned in a little too heavily to the rum.”
“I’d best go steady then,” I told her. “Otherwise you’ll be carrying me out of here before it’s over because I’d be dancing topless or something stupid.”
Elliot made a strangled sound, and I turned back to him. “You okay?”
“No,” he said, red-faced. “In fact I—” His phone buzzed. “Save my seat. I gotta take this.” He slouched off.
“How is it going with him?” Riley asked.
“He hates me,” I said plainly. “We’re supposed to be bonding, but look, he can’t get away fast enough.” I looked at Elliot walking away, talking animatedly into his phone.
“He’s busy. RJ relies on him a whole lot,” Riley told me.
“I get it, I’m something he doesn’t want to deal with right now,” I said. “But we have to make this work.”
My words must have come out forcefully, because Riley’s face pinched in alarm. “Hey, you okay?”
“I will be if I can make Elliot Fox become my very best work friend,” I muttered.
“Give it time,” Riley soothed. “He’s one of the good ones.”
So I kept hearing – well, from everyone except Ralf, at least. But even if Elliot was a thief, I had to work with him and if he didn’t stop pushing me away, I was screwed.
I shook myself, sat upright. I was in a gorgeous New York park in beautiful spring sunshine, about to witness my first baseball game.
I had to snap out of it. I took a healthy swig of daiquiri. “So, you a big baseball fan?”
“Oh yeah,” Riley said. “Marlins represent!” She laughed at my blank expression. “It’s the Miami baseball team.”
“Gotcha,” I said.
“Yeah, Noah and I spend a lot of time at the cages, practicing our swing.” Her cheeks pinked a little as she said his name.
Emboldened by the contents of the hip flask, I asked, “Are you and Noah … ?”
“Oh no!” she said quickly. “Like, haven’t you noticed how obsessed he is with Vivian?”
“Not as much as you have, clearly.”
“Ugh. The only reason he’s not here is because she needs some antivirus software installing.” She took a resigned gulp of daiquiri and sighed miserably. “I may have a small crush. Don’t say a word to anyone!”
“Have you told him?”
Riley practically gagged with indignation. “Are you on glue? I could never.”
“Why not?” I asked. “Better out than in.”
“I thought that was fart logic,” Riley said.
“Love … farts … both are essential facets of the human experience,” I replied.
“I can’t! I work with him,” Riley said. “Besides, it’s policy. RJ outright banned workplace relationships post MeToo.”
“Really?” I said. “Would you get fired?”
“I don’t know, probably. RJ believes romance steals focus from the work. So best to avoid.” Riley frowned. “Unfortunately.”
“I kind of agree with RJ,” I said. “Dating full stop has always been off the cards for me, anyway.”
“You don’t date?” Riley knocked back more daiquiri. “Why?”
“I don’t have time for it,” I said quickly.
“Ohhh … you’re one of those,” Riley said, handing me the hip flask.
“One of what?”
“You’re focused on your career, right?” Riley said. “No time for love?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being practical.” She sounded just like Bex.
“Or,” she said, “it could be that you don’t like risk.”
“Who does?” I glugged some more cocktail. “And hey, I take some risks. I moved to New York, hello?”
“You know what I mean,” Riley said. “I’m talking real risk. The kind it’s hard to bounce back from.”
“Like what?”
She pointed to my chest, and I glanced down in confusion. “My boobs?”
“I was pointing to your heart, silly!” She giggled. “Matters of the heart are the biggest risk of all.”
“Oh,” I said. “I’m not afraid of falling in love, whenever that day may come.”
“Uh-huh,” Riley said knowingly.
“We just met,” I said with a laugh. “You don’t know me.”
“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” she shot back. “And I’m sorry for getting your boobs involved in this.”
From behind me, I heard an awkward cough as Elliot slid back into his seat, uncertain where to look.
“We were just toasting fart logic.” Riley explained, offering the flask to him. “Daiquiri?”
“Thanks but no,” he said. Then, “Fart logic?”
“It’s a new philosophy Lucie wants me to embrace,” she told him.
He looked at me curiously. “Is this a London thing?”
“No,” I said, “it’s a really intellectual way of describing the truth as better out than in, and, er, my boobs have nothing to do with it.” I regretted the last sentence as soon as I said it. “Sorry, think I’ve had a bit too much booze.”
“No, that’s okay,” he said woodenly, his eyes firmly fixed on the pitch, where the players were taking their places, charming in matching raglan T-Shirts and caps.
I eyed Elliot. How was I going to endear myself to him, make him take me seriously? I decided to play it safe, talk about the game. “Did you play in this league then?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m the pitcher.”
“That’s the thrower, right?”
“Yes, Lucie, that’s the thrower,” he replied with a possible hint of a smile. I matched it with my own; making this man smile felt like a win.
“Did you play baseball growing up?” I asked.
“We used to play something called rounders in summer, which I think is similar. But I was never very good at it. I’m not built for speed, and I’m not coordinated, like, at all.
I actually developed a borderline anxiety around rounders after seeing Rachel Turner get hit in the eye with a ball so hard, she had to go to hospital! ”
Elliot glanced back at me curiously. “It’s true!
” I blurted. “She didn’t break any bones, but she got so paranoid about her bruises she got her big sister Macy to cover them with make-up, although she got absolutely rinsed over it because it made her look like she had a really bad tan job around her eye – I mean, what eleven-year-old knows what they’re doing with make-up? ”
Elliot’s lips parted but no words came out and I groaned internally. I couldn’t just blame the rum coursing through my veins for reducing me to a babbling idiot. He made it impossible for the professional in me to shine.
“That sounds very traumatic,” he said eventually.
I squinted at him. Was he being truly sympathetic or throwing me a platitude to shut the hell up? I couldn’t tell. “It was.”
“And yes, I played Little League growing up,” he said. “Although I didn’t excel in this particular game, I do enjoy sport. I like moving my body, being outdoors.”