And, while the idea of selling Molly’s secrets to someone like Demi makes my skin crawl…I still can’t help but admit how appealing the offer is. An introduction to a producer at Key Five could go a long way. I could pitch my documentary, and my idea of having an all-woman-identifying crew. Or maybe they’d accept me into their mentorship program and I could finally start the career I’ve been dreaming about. I’m not above starting from the beginning again.
At the end of the day, an intro is anin.
And, honestly, I’m so faroutthat this might be exactly what I need to pull my career dreams back from the brink of death.
Without another word, Demi turns to join Sora and Glen’s huddle across the room, and I go to pull my SD card from the camera so I can log Molly’s footage back in my room. But I’m interrupted before I can finish.
“Oh—hey, Chloe? We’re going to need you to stay on the ship today and get some footage of the contestants who stay behind. They’ll just be at the pool. You good for 8 AM?”
I give Glen a polite smile and nod. “Of course, no problem.”
I’ll just stare at the Acropolis from the deck, then, and wish I was there instead.
After slipping the memory card into my bag, I turn and nearly collide with Probably-Mark. He clearly had no trouble overhearing the entire conversation, based on the way he lets out a low wolf whistle and says, in a sing-song voice, “Draaamaaaa.”
I blink at him, and he smirks.
“Um…right. Have a nice day, Mark,” I say awkwardly.
To which he replies, “My name is Greg.”
ELEVEN
Chloe’s ‘90s Hits, Now Playing:
BANG BANG BOOM — THE MOFFATTS
The next fewdays pass in a blur. Working twelve-hours shifts will generally do that to you, although my load is lighter than some of the other camera operators on the crew.
Despite this, I still find myself falling into bed each night as if I haven’t slept in days. Unfortunately, there’s no restorative sleep to be had—my anxieties have returned in full force, waking me up every hour in a panic, thinking I’ve forgotten to charge my batteries or log footage.
By Friday, I’m completely fed up with the sleep interruptions. After my fourth wake-up, I fling the sheets off in a fit of sleep-deprived rage and stomp around my room looking for my sneakers.
Because a normal person would totally go for a run at five in the morning.
On a cruise ship.
In the middle of the MediterraneanSea.
Once I’ve located them wedged under three empty gear cases, I yank on my sports bra, a pair of yoga pants, and a long-sleeved athletic shirt. I lace up my shoes, then make my way down the quiet hallway and up the stairs to the Lido deck.
The briny sea air and cool humidity wash over my senses like a wave as the automatic doors open for me. My skin prickles with goosebumps underneath the thin running shirt, and I suppress a shiver. Even though it will be scorching by noon, the early morning breeze is refreshing, and I can already feel my mood lifting.
The top deck of the Gemstone was built with a walking track, which loops around the entire ship. During the day, it’s typically busy with passengers. But now, just before dawn, the deck is perfectly quiet. I climb the stairs near the pool to the top deck and slowly ease my body into a jog, letting my limbs and muscles warm up.
In my early twenties, I took up running during a shoot, as a means of becoming closer with a DOP I looked up to. When we were filming, he was gruff and reserved; nearly impossible to get to know. But he was also dedicated, spending an hour running each morning, no matter where we were in the world. One day, he asked me if I ran, and if I wanted to join him; to which I (obviously) replied, “Yes, of course,I love running!”—even though I did not run, nor did I love it. Still, joining him on those quiet morning runs proved that I, too, was dedicated. Not only did I learn to run, but I also gained a new hobby that helps me clear my head before a long day of often-challenging work.
And, better yet, that gruff DOP became a great mentor to me, until he retired a few years ago.
Even during this past year, after Dad died—I never stopped running.
After a few laps, the soft hues of sunrise begin to seep into the inky black sky, chasing away the shadows of night. As Iloop around the bow of the ship, I notice a lone figure leaning over the rail, gazing out at the ocean.
My stomach drops, and for a split second, all I can think about is whether I’m about to witness something horrific. That thought is stopped in its tracks when the figure turns and I can make out their features under the dim overhead lights: broad shoulders, and dark hair that curls softly at his nape. His dark, expressive eyes fasten on me behind his glasses, and he offers an easy smile as I slow to a stop in front of him.
“Chef Braddock,” I gasp, voice raspy and chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. “It’s, like, five in the morning. You know that, right?”
His gaze is unwavering as he chuckles quietly. I’ve only met this man twice now, but the way his entire face lights up when he finds joy or humor in something is so addictive that I find myself working harder to coax those sounds and smiles out of him.
