20
JESSE
Aslick, winter mist watered the early morning. After only three weeks on set, unseasonable rains had slowed production.
But Jeremiah was a clever and experienced director who knew how to utilize his time well, rearranging the schedule to shoot the indoor scenes.
On his laptop, Jesse scrolled through the daily footage Jeremiah uploaded each night, awed and amazed to see his baby come to life.
On screen, Chloe and Chris leaned in for an Esther and Hamilton kiss, and jealousy nipped at him. Her lips were touching another’s. Not his.
He fast-forwarded as Chris-slash-Hamilton embraced Chloe-slash-Esther, intensifying their intimacy. He’d watched it live a few days ago and knew they were acting, playing the part. But in this moment the kiss seemed,felt, real.
Jesse advanced to the end. Why was he jealous? He knew acting. Understood actors. But he’d witnessed his share of on-set romances. Indulged in one or two himself. Two people who had absolutely no intention of developing a meaningful relationship would go hot and heavy while filming, while living in an alternate reality.
He wanted Chloe to himself. During filming and after. The real Chloe. The one who bought him a gift for no reason. Who inspired him to be a better man. Who spoke of faith as if it were real and dependable. Who was just as beautiful in a pair of jeans whileeating chicken and rice on the lanai as she was gliding down the red carpet for a movie premier.
Ah, what was he thinking? They were friends. Just friends. Jesse paused the daily and slapped his laptop closed. Friends who kissed, sure, but those were... moments. Yeah. Moments.
He didn’t believe his own argument. Deny it all he wanted, but Chloe was special. Maybe the kind of girl he’d waited for, the imaginary one that he spoke of that fatal night with Loxley.
How did he have any right to happiness and love? To success?
A knock on his hotel-room door took him from his mental path. “Yeah, coming.”
Chloe stood in the hall, leaning against the wall, cute and casual in jeans, boots, and a blue coat with a matching scarf. Her reddish-gold hair fell in large waves over her shoulders.
“H-hey.” Jesse tried to act casual, as if he was not just thinking of her, as if she did not stir conflicting desires. As if not reminding himself he did not deserve her. “What’s up?” He retreated into his room, leaving the door ajar for her to follow.
“Let’s go to the battlefield. Walk it without the cameras and crew. What do you say? Looks like there’s a break in the rain.” She did a jig with jazz hands, her mouth open, her expression wide. “Then maybe we could grab some breakfast at that place on Highway 11, the old vegetable stand turned restaurant. Remember the crew talking about it? Said they served a mean breakfast on Styrofoam plates...”
“The five hot dogs for five dollars place?”
“That’s the one. You game?” Her smile made him relax, settle his pulse, and forget his internal battle. “I like to absorb the local flavor when I’m on set.” She squinted at Jesse’s computer, wincing. “Were you watching dailies? I hate to see myself on screen.” Nevertheless, she dropped down on the two-seater sofa and raised the screen, clicking play.
Jesse joined her, watching the end of the kiss.
“W-what were you thinking and feeling here?” Stupid, really.But he had to say something. Otherwise she’d note his nervousness, the flash of heat on his face.
“I don’t know... vulnerable, I guess. Hamilton had just told Esther he was going to war, and she feared he’d never return. Then I thought how familiar Chris was to me, and then a flash of a tabloid headline: ‘Chloe Daschledashedafter Chris Painter declared he hadn’t met his soul mate.’ Then Haden popped into my head. For a split second I wanted to pull back, close down, but then...” She ran her fingers through the fringe of her scarf. “I thought of you.”
“Me?” Her confession powered his curiosity, powered his pulse. “Your little brain-people sure were busy during that scene.”
She sat back and patted his thigh, resting her hand there for a second. But just a second. “If you only knew... So, yeah, I thought of you, how much this meant to you, how your screenplay was giving me a chance to be the lead in a film where the girl doesn’t die. So I gave the kiss all the life I had.” Her gaze lingered on his face. “How’d I do?”
He nodded, thumbs up. “As if that kiss might have been with the man you love.”It made me jealous. It made me want you. It made me realize I don’t deserve you.
“Thank you.” She smiled. “Not only for the compliment but for your words, your characters, the story you’re telling. It fills me with hope. That love truly never fails.”
“But love did fail. Failed Hamilton and Esther. Failed... me, you, hundreds of thousands of others. And that was just yesterday. Forget this week, this month, last year, the decades and centuries past.”
“Whoa, slow down, mister. I can’t be responsible for human history, but I can be responsible for me. Hopeful for me.” She fiddled with her scarf again. “Us.”
“Us? Friends us or—”
“I don’t know...” She wrinkled her nose. “Us, us.”
“Chloe.” Jesse moved toward the closet for his coat, forming his truth. “In my heart I know I did not kill Loxley, even if my behaviorwas inexcusable. Yet my head tells me I have no right to love, to happiness, to even this”—he motioned to his laptop—“success. To my dreams and goals coming to fruition.”
