Chapter 13
Jesse
Filming was different than Jesse expected.
He was used to seeing the polished final product up on the screen with every line delivered flawlessly, every important moment marked with a close-up reaction, every plot point organized to tell a whole story from start to finish.
He’d never imagined all the things that had to happen to bring those moments to life.
From his position just out of view behind a set wall, Jesse studied the crew situated around Director King. There were at least a dozen of them, all with varying levels of interest in what was happening under the hot lights.
They were three days into shooting the scenes with no dancing or singing, but Mr. Price was there whispering to one of the voice coaches.
Other faces had become familiar, too, after seeing them for countless hours each day.
Ruth was on standby with three copies of the script in her hands.
Folks from each department were ready and waiting, including the lady who was busy fixing Cal’s hair.
His co-star was seated at a table in the middle of a sparse but elegant restaurant, complete with tuxedoed waitstaff and shiny silver cloches coated with something to dull the reflections of the vast open space where the ceiling should’ve been.
Across from Cal sat the actor who was playing his fiancé.
He fit the role well: dapper and uninteresting.
Jesse had spoken to the man a couple of times and still didn’t know anything about him aside from his first name—Hugh—and his love for flavorful cigars.
“Quiet on set,” the assistant director announced suddenly.
Cal’s hair was back in place. He’d been pushing his fingers through it all day in what seemed to be frustration, though it only showed between takes.
“Rolling rehearsal.”
Jesse cleared his throat quietly and prepared to make his entrance. It was the sixth time they were starting this scene over.
“Action.”
“Monsieur LeFevre!” Jesse cried as he stumbled through the doorway. It had taken him an embarrassing number of times to pronounce that correctly, only to be told by King that he should continue to say it with too much emphasis in all the wrong places to match his wide-eyed, countrified persona.
Cal looked up in surprise and stood from his chair, one hand on the back of it like he’d been instructed to do after the last take.
“Mr. Eaton—”
“Cut!”
The mix of confusion and concern fell from Cal’s face instantly as Jesse stopped halfway to his mark. They both turned to King, whose eyes and mouth were pinched in thought.
“I’d like Pierre to wait until Jack is closer to the table before he stands,” King said, going against his own suggestion of Cal standing the moment Jesse called out to him.
“And Hugh, don’t turn around in your chair.
It puts your back to the camera. Wait until Jack is beside you to look up, but remember to look at Pierre first.”
As Jesse returned to his first position, he realized he actually only knew one thing about Hugh, apparently.
When action was called again, Jesse watched Cal slip effortlessly back into character, all of the same worry returning to his handsome face as though it never left.
“Mr. Eaton?” Cal stood when Jesse was nearly to his place beside the table this time, the crisp white tablecloth clinging to the front of his trousers momentarily before falling away. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, sir, I hate to bother you this way, but it’s very important,” Jesse said with just enough dramatic urgency to make him want to roll his eyes at himself.
Hugh looked from Cal to Jesse, puzzled.
“Pierre,” he said haughtily, “who is this?” He finally set down the fork he’d been holding since the first take.
Jesse felt a thrill at the fact that King hadn’t stopped them yet.
Cal sighed. “I’m sorry, darling, give us just a moment.” His hand found its way to Jesse’s upper back as he walked them both to their next mark a short distance from the table and closer to the camera.
When they reached it, Jesse spun to face Cal and grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket—not so high as to wring him out, but high enough that he could get a good grip.
It was no trouble feeling the intensity of the moment when their faces were only inches apart.
Memories of the night at the Powells’ party—and later in his bed—flashed back to him.
“I changed my mind,” Jesse said, staring up at Cal with what he hoped were big, pleading eyes. The makeup on his lashes was a little itchy but he was finally getting used to it. He’d had to ask for help on learning how to wash it off without looking like he’d been mugged in the street, though.
They were angled just right for the camera to catch Cal stealing a glance at Hugh.
“Changed your mind?”
“About taking lessons with you,” Jesse went on.
M. LeFevre was supposed to be the best dance instructor in town. It was nearly impossible to earn a spot in one of his classes. Jesse’s character had passed on the opportunity to take one that opened up at the perfect time, and now he was back to beg for it.
A small grin of understanding tugged at the corners of Cal’s lips.
“You want to impress Sadie after all.”
Jesse’s brows furrowed. “Who?”
Cal laughed. “When you came to see me last week, you said something about a gal named Sadie who only likes fellas who can dance.”
“Oh.” Jesse was still staring up at Cal, allowing himself the freedom to do it as dreamily as he’d wished he could have the night they first met now that he was under the protective guise of his character. “That’s right, I did.”
“So you want to impress her,” Cal repeated.
At some point, Cal’s hands had found new homes. One was curled around the back of Jesse’s arm just above his elbow. The other was resting in a delicate way on Jesse’s waist, only his fingertips making contact with the brown tweed of Jesse’s sport jacket.
“Yes,” Jesse said distractedly, then caught himself.
“I mean no.” Even though these were the correct lines in his script, Jesse felt his face go warm at the honesty in his delivery of them.
“I want to impress someone else now.” He tugged a little on Cal’s jacket.
“Please consider me for the open spot in your class. I promise I’m a good student and a hard worker.
” He paused to make it seem like he was thinking of his next words rather than reciting them, the way the acting coach had told him to do. “The best you’ll ever have.”
Cal’s lips parted as he went to respond, eyes shifting rapidly between Jesse’s. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Line?”
“One of my former students was just accepted into a prestigious program in New York City,” Ruth read out.
“One of my former students was just accepted into a prestigious program in New York City,” Cal told him with a hint of smug pride.
“Second-best, then,” Jesse promised. “I’ve just got to learn to dance. You see, I’m in love.”
His character, Jack Eaton, was the type to jump from one infatuation to the next.
He’d sought out the dance instructor so that he could use his new talent to win someone’s heart, as nothing he’d tried previously seemed to be working.
Privately, Jesse knew that being a good dancer hadn’t ever helped him find anything more than that, either, but he could always continue to hope.
“But not with Sadie,” Cal confirmed.
“I met someone new.”
“What’s their name?”
“I haven’t asked her yet.”
Jesse’s confession was met with a sympathetic head shake.
He let go of Cal finally, both of them turning toward the camera as Cal’s arm came around his shoulders like he was pulling him in to reveal a secret.
The move sent a wash of Cal’s cologne over him, something light and clean and probably very expensive, and Jesse committed it to memory.
“Mr. Eaton, I do apologize, but that spot in my class has already been filled. I told you before that would happen.” They had started the slow stroll to the door where Cal was going to send him on his way.
The camera followed them. “But I’ll tell you what.
Come by the studio tomorrow, let’s say around seven o’clock, and I will teach you a little something to get started with. How does that sound?”
Jesse stopped walking and turned to Cal again on their final mark, this time with more excitement than desperation.
“Do you mean it?”
Cal studied his face for a moment.
“You seem like a good kid. It’s the least I can do…for love.”
“Oh, thank you,” Jesse said, reaching for Cal’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically in both of his.
The stage note in the script said to do it this way to show how eager his character was.
It took everything in him not to look down and marvel at the way his hands put together still didn’t fully cover Cal’s smooth, broad palm and long fingers. “Thank you,” he repeated.
King cut the scene and Jesse dropped their shake, fisting his hands at his sides briefly to hold onto the last of the warmth from Cal’s touch.
“That was excellent,” King said brightly from the director’s chair. “We’ll do it again from the top and then film some of the closer shots. Pierre, keep that right hand on Jack’s hip when he’s looking up at you. I like that. It was subtle but came across very much like a dance hold.”
Jesse had known for years that Cal was talented, but seeing him in action only confirmed it. There was something he did in nearly every scene that the director either complimented or made changes to incorporate because it had worked so well.
“Back to firsts,” the assistant director called out.
“Morgan.” Cal caught his elbow. “Great work on that take,” he said low enough for Jesse’s ears only in the commotion of everyone moving back to their starting positions.
Jesse turned away as a smile broke across his face. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth to tamper it, then remembered the paint he was wearing and released it.
“You, too,” he managed through the warm, tight feeling in his chest, the weight of the compliment too great to allow him to look at Cal again before he hurried off behind the set wall.