Chapter Fourteen #2
“RJ, if I may.” Ralf raised a hand. “I’m happy to supervise Elliot and Lucie, keep them on track vis-à-vis the research?” He waggled the iPad. “I’d love to demonstrate this software too.”
“Is this the one you pitched me last month?” Sadie’s voice was loaded with skepticism. “The AI?”
“AI gets a bad rap,” Ralf said with a rueful shake of his head. “But this is custom-built using established storytelling models.”
“So, cheating then,” said Elliot. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Um, no.” Ralf’s slick demeanor dropped. “It’s actually—”
“Unoriginal,” Elliot interrupted.
“Wrong again,” Ralf said. “The AI applies machine learning to simply improve what is already there.”
“And what was the source material it learned on, huh?” Elliot demanded. “The work of other writers!”
“Now, hang on,” said RJ. “Why don’t we hear Ralf out on this?”
Elliot looked at his boss. “Are you serious?”
“We’re fighting a war, Elliot!” RJ said. “AI can be a tool in the right hands. And we have a lot at stake here. All I’m saying is we consider what options we have.”
“RJ, no.” Elliot shook his head. “Research is one thing, but AI?”
“Tools, Elliot, tools,” RJ said.
“That we don’t need,” Elliot said, leaping up. “Look, Lucie and I will action the research. You want more New York; we’ll give you more New York. We don’t need AI, you’ll see.” He grabbed my hand. “Come on.”
I yelped as he dragged me out of RJ’s office. “Where are we going?”
“You heard the man,” Elliot said with forced cheeriness. “More New York! Where shall we go?”
“Can I please request more coffee?” I said. “The RJF coffee machine decided I needed an extra shower this morning.”
“Ohhh.” Realization spread across his face. “That’s why I could see – I mean, it explains your shirt.” His cheeks were a furious red as he jabbed the lift call button.
“Yep. Thanks for the hoodie and preserving my dignity,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, stabbing the call button over and over.
“Are you okay?”
“Fucking Ralf, man,” Elliot spat. “This is classic. Cut corners, take the glory.”
“I think he’s just trying to make this script a success the only way he knows how,” I suggested.
“And that’s the problem,” Elliot fumed as the lift doors slid open.
I thought back to what Ralf had accused Elliot of doing. “If this is about what happened at university, I—”
“You know what, I can’t even talk about that guy anymore,” he blurted. “Let’s get a coffee you can actually drink instead of bathe in. I have an idea.”
We didn’t go to Have a Java as I expected.
Elliot made me walk several blocks downtown to Greenwich Village, where the modern tenements gave way to picturesque townhouses with grand doors and ornate shutters and the streets were lined with an abundance of magnolia and cherry trees swaying in the spring breeze.
Even the shopfronts were historic looking, with faded signage and large bay windows displaying all manner of luxury goods.
“Where are you taking me?” I could smell sweet pastry and my stomach rumbled in response.
“You wanted coffee, I’m taking you to the oldest café in Manhattan.
” Elliot pointed down a little cobbled street, where pastel-colored townhouses shone brightly in the sunshine.
An elderly lady, immaculately dressed in a navy trench coat, tottered past with a tiny fluffy dog on a leather leash.
I instantly felt shabby in comparison wearing Elliot’s workout hoodie.
We turned abruptly into a little alleyway where a simple trestle board advertised Giorgio’s Café.
I followed Elliot down some narrow steps into a dimly lit café that was surprisingly full for a mid-morning.
It was a tiny space of dark wood and red walls that were crowded with gilt-framed oil paintings that should have been too shadowy and dramatic for a coffee shop but, somehow, they added a faded charm to the place.
Elliot cleared his throat. “Consider this lesson one in your New York education. It’s not the best coffee to be found in Manhattan, but this place has remained unchanged since, like, 1920, which in New York real estate terms makes it a dinosaur.
” He pointed to a small round table in the corner. “Shall we?”
We ordered from a friendly waitress in a formal white shirt and black tie, who recommended the cappuccino, so I requested a large one. Elliot asked for a mocha with all the trimmings, whatever that meant.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What did RJ mean back there?”
“Where – back at the office?”
I nodded. “He told you something was at stake.”
“He loves to remind me of this.” Elliot rubbed his chin, scraping at stubble. “He’s promised me second unit director should this movie get made.”
“That’s a big deal.” Many directors got their big break directing the supplementary footage needed for a feature film.
“Yeah, and I’m ready,” he said. “I’ve been RJ’s guy for ten years now, but I want to make my own movies. It’s time. This film gets made and I get that second unit credit? Maybe I can finally move on, make my own movies. We really gotta get that green light.”
“Elliot,” I said. “You better believe I need that too.”
At that moment our drinks arrived. His was a huge, sugary concoction layered with cream and dustings of cocoa and I couldn’t hide my reaction.
He tutted. “So what, I like my caffeine with a side of tooth decay.”
My coffee was piping hot, so I blew gently on it. I glanced up to see him staring at me, his expression unreadable. I put the mug back down. “I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to help. I have just as much riding on this as you.”
He scooped up some whipped cream and I tried not to stare at the sight of his full lips closing around the nub of his thumb. “Tell me why you want to work in movies.”
I was going to get dizzy from his sudden changes in topic. “Tell me yours.”
His eyes met mine in a challenge. “I asked first.”
“You can’t laugh,” I said, my cheeks heating.
“Why would I laugh?”
Because I’ve never told anyone this. “My mum decided to rent this movie.” She’d made an unexpected and rare cameo one gray Sunday, taking me to the park before we got rained off and rented a DVD.
“What did your mom choose?” he asked politely.
“Independence Day.”
Elliot hesitated. “What – you mean, the alien invasion movie?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Is it embarrassing to say I haven’t seen it?” Elliot said with a wince.
“Downright shameful,” I said. “You’re American, isn’t it written into law that you see that movie?”
“Surprisingly no,” Elliot retorted. “Thank goodness.”
I fought back a wave of frustration. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a philistine who wouldn’t know art if it jumped up and bit her on the arse, you don’t have to say it again.”
Elliot blinked. “That’s not – wow, arse?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his American accent mangling arse.
“Independence Day may not be Citizen Kane, but I love it. It … swept me away. You know that feeling you get when you witness a great story for the first time? It’s like …
you’re aware that there is something bigger than yourself out there.
And even though I was young I knew that I wanted to be part of something like that, to make people feel like—” I stopped, averting my eyes, very aware that he was staring at me like I was a rambling lunatic.
“Like what?” he said.
“Like things can be better.” I had to force myself to look at him, away from where my fingers were twisting together in my lap.
I expected to see skepticism, maybe even irritation, but Elliot’s eyes were warm with kindness, and it felt like a cloud had shifted to make way for the sun.
“So, that’s my origin story, for what it’s worth. ”
But it wasn’t the whole story. I didn’t tell him how the movie ran for two hours and twenty-five minutes and that my mother sat by my side from start to finish.
That her fingers occasionally brushed mine as we shared popcorn warm from the microwave and that she’d laughed when I laughed and shrieked when I did.
My mother, she of perpetual motion, was rendered immobile, if only temporarily, by the wonder of a simple film.
For my ten-year-old self, it had been a form of heaven I never knew existed.
But, like everything with her and me, it hadn’t lasted.
This had been but a fleeting appearance for her and she’d hopped on a flight to Cyprus the next day.
The next time she showed up, I was fourteen and fully wise to her shit.
“So, you have your mom to thank for your love of movies?” he said, knocking back more coffee.
“I have nothing to thank her for.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and his eyes widened.
“I see.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I apologize if I said something inappropriate.”
“She wasn’t a good mum. That’s all.” Saying anything else felt like picking at a scab. “So, I told you something real. Now you.”
“What do you mean?” Elliot said.
“Your turn to share,” I explained. “That’s usually how bonding works. Remember? We need to become besties if this is ever going to work. You can start small, like, how did you get that cut on your lip?”
He took a long gulp of his mocha and kept his eyes on the foam. “An accident.”
“What kind of accident?” I asked.
“An unimportant one,” he said. “Why don’t we talk about how—”
I waved a hand, cutting him off. “I told you something really personal, in the spirit of working together,” I retorted. “Why won’t you—”
“I’m not going to talk about the book!” Elliot snapped.
“I wasn’t going to even mention that,” I said. But the guy had a book on alcoholism and a bust lip; anyone would be curious. “It might be none of my business, but you showed up late to work, you’re injured … It might help if you talk to someone about it.”
“You’re right, it’s really not your business.” His voice cracked. “But to be explicitly clear, you don’t need to worry about me having a drinking problem. So why don’t we just drop it?”
“Because we’re meant to be partners,” I said.
“And what affects you affects me. What I just told you, about my mum? I don’t talk to anyone about her, certainly not men I barely know, but you asked, and I thought being honest might help.
” I shook my head in disdain. “It may not be whatever profound moment of intellectual enlightenment that you went through but that is what happened to me, and I am not ashamed.”
He looked up sharply, his eyes wounded. “I am the last person to tell you what not to be ashamed of.”
“So why won’t you be open with me?” I demanded.
Elliot looked away, his face hard. And maybe it was the vestiges of jetlag, maybe it was frustration, but I couldn’t take a single second of this rollercoaster anymore.
This man was unyielding, packed full of mystery and unwilling to open up, even though he knew the stakes at play here.
He didn’t care about my fate in the slightest, and it was pointless trying to force a connection.
I stood, threw a ten-dollar bill on the table to cover my coffee.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“I have to work out how I’m going to find a new job. Thanks to you.” Because that was the outcome of this mess, if Elliot wasn’t going to let me in and embrace the process as RJ had instructed.
“Hey, where are you going?” he said as I turned to navigate my way out of the little café. “Wait!”
He called after me, but his words were lost as I charged out of Giorgio’s.
Perhaps storming off was a bit dramatic, but Elliot Fox had bought me to the limits of my patience.
I had to admit defeat; I was going to fail at this job and Lin was going to fire me.
I ran blindly up the steps into the obnoxiously sunny street, hoping that I was heading in the general direction of RJF.
If I spoke to RJ now, perhaps he’d let me go back to London with some kind of cover story so I could keep my job?
Surely, he would appreciate honesty, surely, he’d understand that I was doing what was best—
I was suddenly yanked backwards, colliding hard with something warm and firm, just as a courier bike flew down the road within millimeters of me.
“Learn to ride, asshole!” Elliot screamed after the rapidly retreating cyclist, who yelled something intelligible back. He then grabbed my shoulders, gazing into my face. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. What—” I realized that I had stormed out of the café in such a rage I’d walked into the middle of the road but checked the wrong direction for traffic.
Elliot’s eyes roamed all over me. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated, dazed.
“You move so fast.” He was pale. “If I hadn’t grabbed you—” A horn blared. A taxi was making its way towards where we stood in the middle of the road, and Elliot dragged me to the pavement. “I can’t believe you ran off like that.”
He was still holding me, the warmth of his touch burning through my clothes. “He – he came out of nowhere.”
“They are a menace,” Elliot said.
I brushed off his grip, blaming the cyclist for my short breath and flushed cheeks. “Right, well, thanks for saving my life. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
“Lucie.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I couldn’t look at him. I feared if I did, I would scream and not stop.
“Life Is Beautiful,” he blurted.
I halted. “What?”
“The movie.” He stepped closer to me. “The one that made me want to go to film school. It was Life is Beautiful.”
I wavered. It felt like he was offering an olive branch, but I wasn’t sure if I could accept it. “Why?”
I expected him to curl his lip, to snipe at me that he doubted I’d seen it, but he lowered his head, scuffed his feet.
“The power of hope,” he said. “I liked that.”