36. You Are Rubber, I Am Glue
36
YOU ARE RUBBER, I AM GLUE
Mara
Later, I twisted in my seat to watch Don Ross’s estate disappear behind some trees as we descended the driveway toward the main road. The home’s intimidating effect eased once I couldn’t see it anymore, but I still couldn’t relax. Not yet.
I took a breath, then yanked off the metaphorical Band-aid. “I mentioned I accidentally eavesdropped. It was when your dad was on the phone in his office. I didn’t mean to listen in, but his door was open, and I heard him mention your name.”
Ford rolled to a halt at the end of the driveway and glanced at me. “He got a call from an investor who is nervous about whether or not our father-son relationship will cause problems. Nepotism and all that. He had to reassure the guy. It’s no big deal.”
My hand felt clammy in his. “Actually, it sounded like it really was a big deal. I overheard your dad promise not to let you use Chris Pitt.”
There. I’d said it. Now it was out there, and we could talk about it.
“You heard him mention Chris by name?” Ford’s jaw tensed as he pulled onto the road.
I nodded as I scraped my teeth against my bottom lip. “Whoever he was talking to seemed dead-set against casting him.”
Ford squinted as he adjusted the car’s visor to block the glare of the setting sun. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw tensing. “He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about my casting plans,” he said, his voice clipped.
“Well, this guy definitely knew.” My entire body tensed as I waited for his reaction—for the shock and betrayal I knew would come.
He sighed, frustration flashing in his eyes before he masked it with a shrug. “I’ll have a word with him. No big deal.” He shot me a quick smile, but the tightness in his jaw remained. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll take care of it.”
Was that it? I stared at him in surprise, waiting for some sign of shock or anger. Was he for real? I mean, sure, he’s good at bouncing back from a setback, but this nonchalant reaction didn’t even make sense. How could he be so… calm?
My anxiety spiked. In the same type of situation, Chance would have been terribly hurt, and Doug—well, Doug’s response would’ve been a volatile mess of accusations and demands. He’d been a man of extremes. Calm one moment, furious the next. In love with me one day and screwing another woman the following night. Demanding I take him back, then trying to destroy my business.
That man was broken in some fundamental way.
Ford’s nonchalance felt foreign to me. Maybe I wasn’t used to this kind of steady, rational reaction. And yet, the unease still gnawed at me, as if the other shoe was about to drop.
I glanced at Ford and noted his faint frown. He didn’t speak for the rest of the drive, so maybe hearing about Don bothered him more than he let on.
Ford parked in front of Ghost of a Chance. The air was cooler as we exited his car, the last rays of sunlight casting a golden glow on the brick buildings lining the street. The quiet hum of distant traffic mixed with the soft thud of our footsteps on the sidewalk. I felt Ford’s steady presence beside me, but my mind kept racing, trying to untangle the knots of worry left by Don’s words.
As we headed to my front door, I couldn’t get a read on him. He seemed preoccupied, which was understandable. I kicked a small stone, watching it skitter across the sidewalk and disappear into my shadow. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to do something—anything—to release the nervous energy creeping up my spine. “Your dad’s a man of strong opinions.”
Ford finally glanced at me. “That’s for sure. He’s always been that way. He’s already pushing his ideas about who to cast and where to shoot.”
I opened the street-level door. “Are you worried that your vision for the movie will clash with Don’s? What about those script changes he mentioned? What if he insists on a change that isn’t true to Chance’s vision? You know I won’t be okay with that.” I pushed open the door and flipped on the staircase light.
“Won’t happen. I’m in charge of the creative side. Dad handles the logistics—scheduling, hiring, paying the crew. We’re in different lanes. His plate will be full.”
Ford was an award-winning director, and he loved Ghost . But still, the shadow of Don’s influence loomed large. If his dad held the purse strings, didn’t that give him ultimate control? I knew all too well how easily money could be weaponized—my father had done it with me and Chance our whole lives, dangling financial help like a carrot to manipulate us into compliance. How much power would Don really have?
With a flash of comprehension, it dawned on me that I’d be sharing control of my brother’s creation not only with Ford, but also with scores of people I’d never even met.
A band of anxiety clamped around my chest.
I tried to stomp down my fears like stomping on an ant hill. After all, Ford was an award-winning director. He obviously knew what he was doing, and he loved Ghost . Even so, new little worries kept cropping up like ants crawling up my legs.
When we reached the landing, Ford wrapped his arm around my waist and kissed the top of my head. “Thanks for telling me what you overheard. It’s probably nothing, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t turn into something bigger.” His words were reassuring, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that if Don was willing to go behind Ford’s back once, he might do it again. And next time, we might not catch it in time.
That band of tension eased a bit, but something still lingered. A nagging sense that I was only scratching the surface. Ford might have handled this like it was no big deal, but I knew better. Whatever was still bothering me—it was only a matter of time before it bubbled up to the surface. And when it did, I wasn’t sure either of us would be ready.