Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’d been on a few sets in my time, and so when I learned we would be visiting the set of RJ’s new show, I’d thought I knew what to expect.
But the set of Woodstock at the famous Silvercup Studios was like none I’d worked on before.
For a start, it was vast, occupying a huge hangar along with an enormous crew.
I’d arrived during some kind of lull – no cast were on set and a group of people were congregated around the tea point, talking quietly.
Video village – the huddle of monitors used to view and playback footage – was manned by one bored-looking runner, swigging coffee and fiddling with his phone.
“Help you?” asked a woman in studio blacks holding an iPad and with a radio strapped to her belt.
“Yeah, looking for RJ and Elliot?” Sadie barely looked up from her phone. “We have a meeting.”
“Oh yeah, they’re in conference suite A,” the crew member said. She pointed to the floor. “Follow the pink line of tape to the double doors at the end, walk through and it’s down the hall on the right.”
“Of course, thanks.” Sadie glanced back at me. “Come along.”
I shouldered my bag and fell into step beside her, wishing I’d taken the time to check my hair and make-up before leaving the office. It had occurred to me only in the Uber when we were halfway here that I would be encountering Elliot, due to my extreme surprise at Ralf’s exit from RJF.
Sadie and I left the set and entered a long hallway flanked by multiple doors, eventually coming across a set of large double doors marked ‘A.’ I wanted to stop, take a breath and mentally prepare myself for seeing Elliot, but Sadie charged through without missing a beat. I followed meekly, head down.
The room was surprisingly modest for a world-famous studio like Silvercup.
A simple boardroom table and chairs took over the bulk of the room, while an ancient-looking cabinet groaned under the weight of coffee and tea-making stuff.
RJ and Elliot were by the window overlooking the parking lot deep in conversation with what looked like a couple of network suits.
Even from the other side of the room I could tell Elliot had the executives under complete control.
He was calm and smiling, with the execs gazing up at him starry eyed – a real contrast to the slumped and frowning RJ, who looked for all the world like a spoiled child.
As I neared, Elliot glanced up and caught my eye – to his credit, he didn’t flinch – but I saw his jaw clench minutely.
“We can make that work,” he was saying to the executive with a lavender tie. “I’ve talked to Cillian and the rest of the cast; they are totally on board.”
“Fine,” Lavender Tie said. “But, honestly, we’re gonna need more reassurance on that timeline.”
“Of course.” Elliot looked visibly relieved. “Anything you need, you got my number.”
“That we do,” Lavender Tie said. The men exchanged handshakes, with RJ stomping over to Sadie without so much as saying goodbye to the execs. And then it was just me and Elliot. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but where to begin when I didn’t even understand what I was feeling myself?
I decided to start things simply. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He offered me no more, but his eyes fixed on mine, waiting.
I wanted to say so much. I wanted to tell him that I’d decided to leave Temper, that Ralf had quit RJF but was also having some weird, twisted affair with Vivian.
But more than anything I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for making him think our kiss was a mistake, and I wanted him to know that I missed him.
I missed watching him eat stupid amounts of sugar while debating movies.
I missed exploring New York with him and channeling that discovery into our work.
I missed the way I felt when I was with him, like anything was possible.
“El, Lucie.” Sadie’s no-nonsense voice dragged us from our stupor. “Shall we sit?”
“Of course.” Dragging my eyes away from Elliot, I took a seat at her side, while Elliot and RJ sat opposite us.
“So I spoke to Janice’s office,” Sadie began with no preamble. “And what Melroy told me is true; they will only greenlight one movie this quarter because of internal finance allocations.”
“So, what, even if they like our movie, we might not get a shot?” RJ said.
“Possibly,” Sadie answered. “So, we have options. One, we try and take it to other studios, I have calls in with my contacts.”
“But we won’t have Melroy’s funding,” Elliot pointed out. How I’d missed that deep, rumbling voice of his. “So we’ll have to refinance or—”
“—or get a studio on board as a producing partner, not just distro, I know,” Sadie said.
“I’m working on some plans for that, but it will take time.
” She didn’t mention why, but I knew that helping her with these plans would normally fall under Ralf’s remit.
“Everything hinges on this meeting next week,” Sadie went on.
“RJF has sunk so much into this script that for our cashflow, we gotta get this greenlit.”
“Hang on,” I said. “Are you saying if this script doesn’t get made, RJF’s in trouble?” My head swam with anxiety; as if there hadn’t been enough pressure on my and Elliot’s efforts, now the financial health of RJF rode on it?
RJ and Sadie exchanged glances.
“Yes and no,” Sadie said hurriedly. “At any rate, it’s not good. So we need to make sure our pitch is on point.”
“Perhaps Lucie can help with the financing research,” Elliot said. “Allow you and RJ to focus on the pitch itself. Should we not win, we can hit the ground running with alternative plans.”
“I’d be happy to,” I said quickly, shooting Elliot a grateful look. “Once the script is ready.”
“I think I’m good with it,” RJ said, delivering another surprise. “It’s of the standard for a pitch.”
“So … just like that, we’re done?” I couldn’t look at Elliot.
No more writers’ room. No more arguments over British spellings versus American.
We didn’t even get one more day of it. I’d known this moment would come from the second I’d arrived at RJF; I’d not once anticipated it would sting this much.
“Well, obviously it needs proofing for spelling and grammar,” RJ said. “Fastidiously.”
“I can do that,” I choked the words out.
“Can you do it before Monday?” Sadie asked. “Because the next item to discuss is the fact that the pitch moved up a day earlier and we need to send the script to Janice Monday morning so she can read it.”
“It’s Friday today,” Elliot said. RJ and Sadie looked at him like he’d grown two heads.
“It’s fine,” I said. I wasn’t the best at grammar so I wouldn’t be able to turn it around quickly, but I could handle it. “It’ll be in your inboxes long before Monday morning.” What was a little weekend work? I could certainly do with the distraction.
“Wait.” Elliot raised a hand. “The pitch happens the same day as the All Kinds of Killing premiere?”
“Uh-huh.” Sadie nodded grimly.
Elliot’s face darkened. “That’s—!”
“I know,” Sadie said. “But Janice has spoken and so we must accommodate.”
“And we can accommodate.” RJ’s words sounded like a threat. “Because we must.”
“Okay, so let’s go over the pitch and our schedules,” Sadie ordered. “The next few days are critical, and we need to have a plan.”
We stayed in that meeting room for several hours, running through different pitching options for RJ and Sadie.
Late afternoon, we ordered pizza in as the heavy clouds I’d seen earlier in the day fattened and darkened, spilling over with rain.
Although Sadie didn’t raise the possibility of Elliot directing Woodstock, I could tell she was feeling him out for the role, asking leading questions about the week.
As for me, I did my best to contribute, but it was insanely hard to divorce myself from the Elliot-related turbulence and focus on the prep.
When one of the Woodstock producers tentatively edged into the meeting room to call Elliot and RJ back to set, I was somewhat relieved.
Elliot was barely acknowledging my presence and I had a huge night of proofreading ahead of me; there was nothing to be gained by lingering here.
The producer dragged Elliot and RJ out of the room before they could even say goodbye and Sadie followed in hot pursuit.
I decided to find a way out that avoided the set – it was clear Elliot wasn’t going to make any effort to patch up our relationship and I needed to respect that.
I wandered out into the corridor, relieved to see ‘exit’ signs and so I followed them.
A door slammed at the far end of the corridor. “So you’re just leaving? Without saying a word?”
Heart in throat, I turned to see Elliot. “What else am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, talk to me?” he said, striding towards me.
“I tried,” I said. “But you ignored all my calls, every text … so, forgive me, but I’m only trying do right by you.”
“I think you and I have different ideas of what right is,” he said, bitterly.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I told him. “I didn’t mean half of what I said.”
“You did.” He was now inches from me, his face stony.
“Not the bit about it being a disaster!” I said. “But you need to look at it from my point of view! When I came to New York, I planned to work, maybe do some networking, hopefully get a break in my career, I never imagined that I’d—”
“What?”
I choked. I’d nearly said fall in love. But that wasn’t what this was. Was it? Was such a thing possible after a few weeks and one mind-blowing kiss? I hated that I didn’t know. “That I’d meet someone special.” It felt like the safe thing to say. “It’s a lot.”
“No shit.” His face softened.
Emboldened, I decided to share my momentous decision earlier that day. “And, look, you’ll be proud of me, I’m quitting Temper.”
“You’re … seriously? With no other job to jump to?” His eyes widened.
“I can’t stay there a second longer,” I said. “After these past few weeks, how can I?”
“That’s huge,” he said.
“I know.”
“So if you can take a risk like that …” He stepped closer. “Why not take a risk with me?”
I gazed into his gorgeous face, every inch of my body listing towards his as if being pulled by millions of tiny little threads. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I whispered. “I just don’t know how to.”
“How to what?” Elliot’s hand brushed mine, tentative, hoping.
“I think when it comes to you, I have a tendency to lose myself,” I said, forcing the words out. “And as fun as that sounds, I can’t right now. I want to, but I can’t.”
“Lose yourself?” Elliot’s voice turned ragged. “That’s funny, because when I look at you, it’s the opposite. I’m found. For the first time in a long time, it’s like I have a safe place to go.”
I was dumbstruck. Why was it he could verbalize everything so clearly and beautifully, whereas I seemed to always say the wrong thing? “Elliot, I—”
The doors at the end of the corridor blasted open and the same producer from before streaked through them straight towards us.
“Elliot!” she called. “You’re needed on set. Sherman’s putting his foot down about the Janis Joplin scene and RJ is—” she was interrupted by the sound of a distant, guttural roar. “RJ is losing his shit.”
“Can I have a second here?” he snapped.
“Sure.” The producer hung back, twiddled with her walkie-talkie.
“Alone?” Elliot yelled.
“Okay, um.” A stream of curses flowed down the corridor towards us from the set and the producer stared at Elliot, pained.
“It’s fine, go.” I was getting in Elliot’s way.
“But – I – can we—?” His head darted back and forth between me and the producer.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Take care of this and I’ll see you …” I didn’t know when I’d see him again. My flight was next week and if he was to be stuck on set between now and then, I probably wouldn’t see him at all. But perhaps that was for the best.
I took a breath, looked at him squarely and drank him in, filled my mind’s eye with every line and plane of his perfect face. “Bye, Elliot.”