Grabbing the bottle, I pour us each a little more whiskey. Stealing glances at her the whole time as she reads, I watch her face change from delight to what looks like confusion. Her brows knit together. Then they shoot up and she lets out a little, “Oh…”
Is it too spicy? Did I go too far with the metaphors?
When Elsie finally looks up from the pages, she lets out a heavy breath. “Wow. You’ve got it bad.”
“It’s bad?”
“Oh, no. It’s a saying. The writing is wonderful. It’s just… Is this based at all on somebody in real life? An actor staying here, maybe?”
I shake my head quickly, switching our laptops back. “No, of course not.”
I reread the opening pages. Our meet cute where Miles fell in the mud, dressed in his ridiculous tuxedo top and kilt. In my version, when I help him up, I fall on top of him—just as he had suggestedafter it happened—our bodies pressing together, our breath mingling in the morning air, our lips almost touching.
Elsie is on her phone, tapping away. Is she texting Miles? Oh God… What if she talks to him about the pages?
She turns the phone to me and shows me a picture of Miles on a red carpet, a white and gold backdrop behind him, dressed in a tuxedo top and kilt. “I was at the festival too. I saw his outfit.”
I close my laptop. “It didn’t actually happen—well, some of it did. But not like that…” I think about our near kiss last night. We hadn’t actually done anything. What exactly am I trying to deny here? I sigh. “Okay. It’s Miles.”
MILES
Ihead to the dining room. Before opening the door, I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. I can do this. I am a professional, and I’m not even that late.
I open the door. Snacks, cheese, crackers, coffee, and several bottles of wine, all of it untouched cover the table. Everyone has a full water cup in front of them. Ava is speaking. Sitting next to her is Thora Townsend, her silver hair pulled back in a tight French twist, an oversized cashmere cardigan wrapped around her thin torso. Quite a change from the last time I saw her in Dior accepting her second Oscar. Next to her is her assistant, a young man whose name I can’t recall at the moment. We’ve only met a handful of times before.
The rest of the table is filled with various members of the crew, personal assistants, and, of course, Ty. I wish Jake were here so I didn’t feel quite so on my own, and I probably wouldn’t have forgotten about this table read if he was. I resist the urge to check my phone for any updates on his ETA. It’s bad enough that I’m late… Late and scrolling mindlessly on my phone like some tone-deaf teenager is not a good look.
As I enter the room, Ava goes silent. Everyone looks up from their scripts and stares directly at me.
Natalie clears her throat. “So, what is it, Miles? You just hate table reads?”
“Sorry. I really thought this was scheduled for tomorrow. I hate to admit it, but I’m a little lost without my assistant.” There is only one empty seat at the table, right next to Ty, a little placard with my name on it waiting for me to sit. I look a few times in vain for another chair, but there is none. Can I stand?
“Have a seat. Join us,” Natalie says, clearly unimpressed with my excuse.
I’m kicking myself that I got the time of this table read mixed up in the first place. I’m usually really on top of all that—well, with Jake’s help. Maybe I rely on him more than I thought. Natalie and I go way back, but she is a professional first, friend second. I can tell she’s pissed.
I mouth,Sorry, at her, to which she just rolls her eyes and motions for me to sit.
Reluctantly, I take the seat next to Ty. Glancing over his shoulder, I see he’s on page seventeen. I pick up the script from the table and turn to the same page.
Ava reads, and I’m spellbound by the subtle approach she is taking with her character. From what I’ve seen of her other films, I sort of expected an over-the-top performance, but her delivery is quiet, yet compelling. I’m pulled in, and it makes the table read fly by. Except when I have to read with Ty.
Even his voice is grating. Too deep, like he’s trying to sound like Tom Waits or Ron Perlman or something. Ridiculous, since I know for a fact his regular voice is much more nasally. The tension at the table when we say our lines to each other is palpable. We’re talkingateach other, rather than having an actual conversation.
We’ve gotten through a good chunk of the script when Natalie stops me mid-sentence. “I think that’s good for now. Let’s call it a night, gang. I know it’s been a long day,”—she looks pointedly at me—“for most of us. We’ll pick this back up tomorrow at nine and discuss notes.”
There are nods around the table.Tomorrow.If there were a rocknearby, I’d kick it. Skye has a surprise adventure planned. We said tomorrow after my run. I’ll have to find her and see if we can do it in the afternoon.
Ava and Thora start chatting, their assistants following them out. I’m about to beeline for the door to find Skye when Natalie says, “Miles. Hang back a minute.”
My stomach plummets into my shoes.
“Oooh, someone is in trouble,” Ty sneers.
I grit my teeth so I don’t punch him in the face. I’m not a violent person, but something about Ty brings out a white-hot rage in me.
Once everyone leaves, Natalie silently opens one of the bottles of wine and pours herself a large glass. The glug of the wine echoes off the stone floors, punctuating the silence between us. I want to say something just to break the tension, but I also don’t want to speak first. She pours a second glass and hands it to me, still without a word. Then she takes a seat closer to the fire. She motions to the other chair. I sit and try to gauge exactly how screwed I am. Is this booking the next flight and looking for a job in construction screwed? Or just keep my head down the rest of my time here screwed?
