Chapter Thirty-Two #2
He took a deep breath. “Lucie, I don’t want you to go. I really, really want you to stay in New York. Stay with me.”
I felt like I was floating out of my body. Elliot was saying everything I wanted to hear and, also, the very thing I didn’t. Bex’s tearstained face flashed into my memory and a leaden, hopeless feeling spread through my chest. “It’s not that I don’t want to. But … you know I can’t.”
“I know.” His eyes widened. “And I respect that. I just … I guess I needed you to be under no illusion as to what I want. When it comes to you, I’m all in. And I can wait. Until next week or next year. All. In.”
“Okay,” I wobbled, fighting tears.
Elliot reached inside an inner pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
I laughed as I took it gratefully. “Of course you have one of these.” I dabbed my eyes.
“How do I look?” He smiled that slow, wolfish smile I adored, only this time it was tinged with sadness, and I could feel my eyes threaten to leak again.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I ordered with a watery grin.
“Never,” he said gently.
I took a deep breath, then stepped back from him, conscious that we were attracting attention. “Let’s keep going.” This was an important night for Elliot; he should be celebrating RJF’s successes, not consoling a snotty me in front of industry greats. “Tell me about today on set.”
“Great.” His whole face lit up. “We had to rework the scene with Joan Baez’s performance, so it looks more authentic.” A cloud crossed his face.
“What is it?”
“RJ.” Elliot’s lips thinned. “He’s not happy.”
“Still not spoken to him since the network offered you the job?”
Elliot sighed. “Barely. He’s sent notes via email but that’s it.”
“Not even a congratulations?”
Elliot shook his head.
“But that’s insane!” I said. “Woodstock was at risk of cancelation; you basically saved RJF’s bacon.”
“I know that, you know that …” Elliot threw up his hands. “But RJ’s ego is having all kinds of issues with it.”
I fell silent as we walked through the final display of enormous pitcher plants.
Although it had been evident from day one that RJ had an ego, I worried for Elliot, especially given what Sadie had told me.
Would RJ let Elliot be second unit director on our script now that he’d taken this Woodstock job?
I had my doubts. But now was not the time.
Tonight was about All Kinds of Killing, and Elliot and I had jobs to do.
We emerged from the conservatory into a large courtyard, where a screen had been erected with banks of luxury seating, ready to show the movie once the sun went down.
Waitstaff milled about with trays of champagne and VIPs flitted around the lawn dressed in colors so bright they almost outshone the exotic flowers we had just walked past.
Elliot stooped to brush my lips with a brief kiss, and it took everything I had not to fling my arms around him to take more. He pulled back slightly, so our faces were inches apart. “You know,” he said, “if I hadn’t made it absolutely clear, you are beautiful.”
I wasn’t used to being ardently and openly appreciated like this and all I could do was snort awkwardly. “This old thing … ?”
His grin twisted me in knots. “Okay,” he said. “Time to socialize.”
“Enjoy it,” I said. He deserved to, that was for sure.
“I do as you tell me,” Elliot said. “Come find me later.” He backed away a few steps, drinking me in with an openly lascivious smile, then turned to greet a small group of guests, who cheered loudly at his approach and showered him with backslaps and hugs.
I hurried off to find Sol, who had made her way to the green room, which was just a cluster of luxury RVs hidden by a bank of tulip trees behind the screening area.
Flashing my AAA pass to the intimidating security detail ringing the vehicles, I entered Sol’s RV to find her already out of her red-carpet outfit, curled up on a banquette and swathed in a fluffy dressing gown as her team bustled around her.
“Everything all right?” I asked.
Naya peeked her head around the corner, mobile phone glued to her ear. “Having some issues with Sol’s jet,” she explained. “Can you just stay with her while I fix this?”
Sol toasted me with a mug of what smelled like chamomile tea. “Would not be the worst thing in the world if I didn’t fly to Paris tonight.”
“Contractually, yes it would!” Naya yelled from the other side of the RV.
“I’m kidding,” Sol said, then she yawned. “Just recharging before I go out there in that.” She pointed towards where her next gown hung, being dutifully steamed by Lando’s assistant. It was a frothy cloud of pink tulle, shot through with delicate floral embroidery and almost entirely see-through.
“Yeah, I get why you’d need to rev yourself up for that one,” I said.
“It’ll look fire though.” Sol sighed dreamily.
“Sol!” Blaise yelled. “If I’m sticking these gems on your face, I need you in the chair yesterday.”
“Ugh.” Sol groaned and downed the rest of her tea. “Coming.”
“You want another?” I took her mug. She nodded gratefully and I ushered her towards Blaise. “Coming right up.”