Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“He’s a great guy, and you seem to be really cool, for what it’s worth.”
“He’s an incredible guy,” I agree because it’s true. “He deserves the world.”
I don’t know what made me say that, except I believe it. The man Monk was when we were together… I’ve never met anyone who made me feel that way. And the times since when he’s been harsh to me, I still know him well enough to see it comes from a place of pain. Pain I caused.
“Well, I better get home.” Jill adjusts the strap of the backpack on her shoulder. “Seth’s cooking, so I always need to be prepared for last-minute takeout.”
“Have a good evening,” I say, smiling back and standing, too.
“Think about that party. The team that plays together and all that.”
“I’ll think about it.” I dig into my purse. “Shit. I think I left my phone in Café Society.”
“Get over there before they lock the set down.” She waves. “See you tomorrow.”
I jog past a row of Harlem stoop apartments and the replica of the Lafayette Theatre. On my way to Café Society, which is my favorite set piece, second only to the Savoy, I see a few crew members working on a backdrop. I wave to them, and Chris, one of the guys I’ve become friendly with, approaches.
“Verity,” Chris says, wiping his hands on a cloth and shoving it into the back pocket of his dusty jeans. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I smile and resist glancing at my watch, impatient to grab my phone and get home.
“Leaving?” he asks.
“Yeah, but I think I left my phone. Wanted to check.”
“Oh, sure.” He licks his lips a little nervously. “You coming to the Halloween party tomorrow?”
“You’re the second person to ask that. I’d forgotten about it until Jill reminded me.”
“Should be fun. Graham’s great at planning stuff like this.”
“I’ve noticed.” I shift, waiting for him to say why he stopped me, which doesn’t happen. “Well, I’m gonna see if my phone’s in Café Society.”
“Yeah, sure. Great.” He hesitates, opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, uncertainty flickering across his face before he speaks. “Hope you come tomorrow.”
“I’ll think about it.” I wave my water bottle. “Have a great weekend either way.”
I keep past him and review our interactions. I don’t think I’ve done anything to lead him on. He was probably just being nice. I hope so. I don’t date my colleagues while we’re working on a project together.
When I enter, Canon and the lighting director are in the same spot I last saw them, blocking a scene for tomorrow. Sure enough, my phone rests on the table where I sat a few hours ago in the production meeting.
“Okay, this works,” Canon says, looking from the tables set up in the crowd to the stage.
“’Scuse me,” I say, holding up a finger. “Just grabbing my phone.”
“Hey, Verity, hold up,” Canon says. “Lemme holla at you.”
“Sure.” I grab my phone and take a seat, waiting while he finishes with the lighting director.
Canon wraps up their discussion and joins me at the table.
“I wanted to ask about the Hazel Scott scene we’re shooting next week,” he says.
I nod and shift my phone from hand to hand. “Did you get to look at the new lines? The tweaks?”
“Yeah, looks great. Monk will be back on set since that is one of Hazel’s big piano scenes.”
“Sounds good,” I say, ignoring the little blip in my heart rate.
“How have you been?”
I blink twice, discomfited by Canon’s sudden shift from work to personal. “Um, fine. It’s a lot of work, but it’s great.”
“Not too stressful?”
It takes a few seconds for me to figure out what he means. I sometimes forget he knows about my diagnosis because no one I work with ever does.
“If you mean have I had any nervous breakdowns lately,” I say wryly, “so far, so good. I think your set is safe from any of my crazy-lady antics.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Canon frowns and shakes his head. “Sorry. That came out like I’m concerned about the movie, which of course. That’s my job, but I’m concerned about you, too. Note I said concerned, like I want to make sure you have what you need to succeed. Not worried, like I think you’re gonna jeopardize my shoot.”
“I didn’t mean to be defensive. It just gets old—friends and family always watching you closely, making sure you take your meds and aren’t going off the rails. Part of the reason I don’t tell folks is because it puts them on some kind of guard, like they need to keep an eye on me.”
“I didn’t mean to come off like that. I’m not the most tactful guy.”
“You’re not so bad,” I say with a smirk. “But to answer your question seriously, I’m fine and stable.”
“Good.” He hesitates as if he’s weighing another question.