ELIJAH
I’ve had this office for nearly two years. The windows face a courtyard and we’re one floor down from the top floor, so I don’t get a ton of natural light in the morning, but it’s not exactly dark in here because I do have three windows. I insisted on a room with a minimum of three windows in my contract. But I swear, even though all the lamps were already on and my back is to the door, I know exactly when Cleo Jones walks in here because she fills it with light. Not just light that I can see—it’s a light that I can feel. Lightness. The good kind. Inside my chest. Toward one side, deep within my well-developed pectoral area.
It feels good.
And that makes me feel anxious.
And angry.
Because the last time I let her make me feel this good it led to me feeling very, very bad…and then confused…and then conflicted.
And then I forgot about her.
Sort of.
Most of her.
Those boots are unforgettable.
That’s not true. Everything about her is unforgettable; it’s just easier for me to think about the boots. And how they’re made for walking away from me.
Picking up my own copy of the script, I turn to find her admiring the built-in shelves I had custom made before moving into this office.
“And there it is…” she says, trying to mask her awe at seeing my Best Picture Oscar trophy. I keep it in a glass case on the top shelf. There’s a small spotlight on it. It looks like I care about that award a lot. I don’tnotcare about it. Every film producer in Hollywood wants a Best Picture Academy Award, and I got one for the fourth film I produced. At the age of thirty-one. How lucky am I?
Not lucky at all.
It had nothing to do with luck. It had everything to do with a solid work ethic, determination, shrewd business strategy, and hiring the right publicist. I just wish I felt more proud of it. Why don’t I? Because the family I grew up in, on both sides, are prominent families in the steel industry. Same with the family I had married into. Heavy hitters in the heavy manufacturing sector, for generations. My grandfather moved to LA from Chicago in the 1970s, to establish the family steel business on the West Coast during the construction and aerospace boom. My ancestors helped build the nation’s skyscrapers and infrastructure. They believed the entertainment industry lacked substance compared to an industry that built the backbone of civilization.
I realized the irony—that even though I was thought of as the rebel in my family for putting together movies, I was still chasing a metal object. And so, while the people in my industry always marvel at how heavy the Oscar is, when my father picked up my award, he remarked upon how light it felt. In a bad way. And Ifeel the weight of that comment every time I see it. Which is why it’s on the top shelf.
“Yep,” I say. “There it is.”
And then, she says, “Oh my gosh, look at this!” She spots the trophy that Alyssa had made for me. We were already divorced by the time I won the Oscar, but she was there when my dad made the comment. Her father is also in the steel industry, so she had a trophy forged from molten steel, polished to a mirror finish, placed on a stand with a small plaque that saysHollywood’s Grumpiest Single Dad. It weighs more than twice as much as the Oscar, and it means a lot more to me. I keep it on top of the credenza, where I can see it from any angle in this room. “Can I touch it?”
The reverence and enthusiasm with which she asks that question. I feel it in a part of me that desperately wants to be touched by her, held, stroked, massaged, licked, sucked…and so on. “You can.”
She picks it up and says the thing I needed to hear. “Wow, it’s so heavy!”
“It’s steel.”
“Really? Like, family steel?”
She remembers. She remembers things about my background. That’s…surprising.
“Is this a gift from Paxton?”
“Alyssa had it made for me, actually.”
“Ah.” She carefully places the trophy back where she found it. “She seems really nice.”
“She is nice.”
“And classy.”
“Sure.”
She strokes the edge of the credenza with the tips of her fingers, holding on to the script with her other hand. “I hopeit was helpful, last night. Pretending to have a date to your ex-wife’s low-key holiday wedding reception.”
