Chapter 9
Jesse
It was Jesse’s turn to arrive first in the rehearsal room the next morning.
He was glad of it, too, as he tugged at the folded cuffs of his shorts that were situated a little higher on his thigh than he’d planned.
Rather than going out to buy something new, he’d taken his pair of threadbare trousers that he would likely never have the chance to wear out again and cut them off above the knee.
The result was messy and uneven, but it would serve his purpose. They looked presentable enough after a few careful rolls of the fabric. Paired with his sleeveless white undershirt, it was the best he could do with one day’s notice. He only hoped that Cal and Mr. Price wouldn’t tease him for it.
He was in the middle of stretching his right arm over his head when the door opened and Mr. Price hurried inside.
“It is necessary, Mr. Campbell, if you want to move your body without splitting any seams.” He turned and dipped his head in greeting as he swept his attention all the way to Jesse’s shoes and back up again. “Mr. Morgan, well done.”
Behind him, a quarter-mile stretch of tanned, athletic legs strolled in and Jesse suddenly felt much less exposed in his own clothes.
The navy cotton twill shorts Cal had on were doing him all sorts of favors.
Paired with a white polo shirt and the perfect sweep of his dark blond hair, he looked like he was ready for a tennis match, or an easy afternoon by the pool, or—Jesse’s stomach flipped with pleasure—dancing with him.
Cal’s expression broadened as he took in Jesse’s new look.
“Where did you find those?” he asked in exasperation, gesturing to Jesse’s shorter and paler legs with an open palm. “My secretary went to five different stores and I hated everything he showed me.”
“I made them, sir,” Jesse admitted.
“Made them yourself?”
“Well, I already owned the trousers. I just gave them a new life, I suppose.” The tingling in his hand reminded him that his arm was still stretched over his head, bent at the elbow. He dropped it to his side and wiggled his fingers to bring them back.
Cal hummed faintly in reply, looking up from the shorts to meet Jesse’s gaze. “You are a man of many talents, Mr. Morgan.”
“It hardly takes talent to borrow a pair of scissors,” Jesse contested.
“I live three doors down from someone who works in the costume department.” He pulled his left arm across his chest for a quick stretch and then rolled his shoulders back, fighting the fidgety energy he felt standing so close to the man and his compliments.
“Creative, then,” Cal amended. “I never would’ve even considered such a thing.”
“Any chance you’ll consider using our valuable time here more wisely, Mr. Campbell?” The choreographer was behind the piano flipping through pages of sheet music with a tight smile. “You can flatter Mr. Morgan all you like when this rehearsal is over.”
Jesse turned his face away to hide his grin as Cal apologized and moved over toward the open part of the floor. As he stretched onto his toes to begin warming up the muscles in his legs, Jesse couldn’t help but wonder if that was something Cal wanted, too.
How many times had Jesse stared up at Cal Campbell on a theater screen and imagined being the one he was saying all of those tender words to?
How many nights had he fallen asleep to thoughts of the passionate moments in those pictures, wishing they would find their way into his dreams so that he might get to experience them for himself?
How must it feel to have Cal Campbell place his hand on your waist, or caress your cheek, or whisper sweet nothings into your ear?
The first strike of the piano keys shook Jesse back into reality. He took a deep breath and reached for his magic, drawing on the heat from his toes to better ignore the fire that had spread throughout the rest of him.
* * *
Their next appointment was a final meeting with Mr. Ramos.
The first day of filming was already within sight, and Jesse could hardly grasp how quickly everything seemed to happen on the studio lot.
Everyone had magic, but when the most talented and dedicated people from around the world were pooled together in a place like this, it was remarkable how much of a difference it made.
You could almost feel the energy of it in the air as everyone worked together to create something as magnificent as a picture.
As they rushed over to the wardrobe department, Jesse worried they would gain attention for their lack of clothes.
Even he knew that wearing shorts outside of athletic endeavors was not exactly fashionable.
In some places, it was downright indecent.
But as they approached the building, two dancers exited the double doors with feather hats and what appeared to be lingerie with sequins, and his thoughts suddenly became less troublesome.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Campbell, Mr. Morgan.”
Jesse’s head turned at that. He was already getting used to the people he was working with addressing him directly, introducing themselves and forming a connection he was grateful for each time.
The woman who said his name just then wasn’t someone he had ever met before, though.
It happened again once they’d gone inside, and yet another time as they continued down the hallway.
“How do all these people know my name?” he asked in a low voice. Going by what he had observed over the last week alone, Powell employed hundreds of very busy people. Surely they didn’t all recognize him yet, or care enough to greet him in passing besides.
“I have a hunch,” Cal replied in a murmur. “Excuse me,” he said to the next person they encountered on their brisk walk, “can someone locate my secretary, please?”
“I’m here,” came a voice on Cal’s other side. The man had a cigarette between his fingers and a bored look on his angular face.
“Ah,” Cal said, starting in on a question but pausing to look at Jesse. “Uh, Mr. Morgan, this is my secretary, Fred Forsythe.”
Jesse stuck his hand out at the man for a shake. Fred arched a thick brow in Jesse’s direction before looking at Cal again.
“What do you need?”
“Did Joan Dupree happen to have an article published this morning?”
This finally dragged a small smirk out of Fred. He glanced at Jesse again before he replied, “I think you know the answer to that, boss.”
“Can you get me a copy of it?”
Fred gave a flat huff of laughter. “I’ll put it on your pillow.”
Cal pushed his fingers back through his hair with a look of obvious disapproval. “I would like to see it now, thank you.”
Fred stuck his cigarette between his lips and produced a magazine from the thin briefcase tucked under his arm.
He handed it over and watched as Cal turned it so Jesse could see the cover.
The Stargazer appeared to be a local source for anything you could ever wish to know about entertainment personalities.
“It’s on page nine,” Fred said after a smoky exhale.
Cal flipped the first few pages, past a car advertisement and an article detailing a handful of starlet hairstyles, and landed on something that Jesse was entirely unprepared for.
“That’s—” he tried, taking the magazine when Cal offered it. He stared at the page, vaguely aware that there were many words printed on it but unable to tear his focus away from the top corner.
“It’s a fine representation,” Cal commented softly. He’d moved to stand behind Jesse, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t you agree?”
Of course Jesse knew what he looked like. He recognized himself the same way he did in his reflection over the sink every morning while he got ready for the day. But never like this. Never in something as permanent as ink on paper.
A wash of emotion came over Jesse there in the middle of the busy hallway. Tears pricked at his eyes and he cleared his throat as he attempted to force them back. When the immediate threat was over, he nodded.
“I’ve never seen myself in a photograph, sir.”
There had never been money for family portraits, much as his mother had always wished.
It never seemed so important when he was a child, but the older he got, the more he realized that there were days when he couldn’t quite remember what his parents and siblings looked like anymore. He hadn’t seen them in nearly a decade.
Jesse turned abruptly and looked up at Cal, brows pinched.
“May I keep this? I’d like to send it to my folks back home.”
“Of course you can,” Cal said without hesitation.
“We’ll make sure you get several copies before they’re sold out across town.
” He shot a look at Fred, who appeared to understand this as a request and disappeared into the crowd.
“Now, let’s go and find Josue before he sends an angry mob to collect us. He’s not one to tolerate tardiness.”
“I recall.” Jesse carefully closed the magazine and hugged it to his chest, following Cal deeper into the building.