He pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. “What about the flower bed?”
“Already handled. Just like you asked.”
He nodded even though she couldn’t see him. He checked the time again. He’d used his five minutes, but rushing inside wouldn’t change anything happening back home, but it would mean hanging up before he was ready.
“You okay, baby?” Georgie asked.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m good. Just make sure those flowers look right. She was particular.”
“Boy, who you telling? I have known that woman for sixty years. I’ll send you a picture when it’s done.”
“Thank you, Georgie. I mean that.”
“I know you do. Now go handle your business out there. She’s proud of you. And so am I. Don’t forget that.”
He sat there after the call ended, his hand still gripping the phone against his thigh. He exhaled through his nose, getting his emotions in check. He grabbed the keys, killed the engine, and stepped out into the heat.
By the time he pushed through the studio door, the heaviness was tucked somewhere behind his ribs where nobody could reach it. The mask was on. The smile was loaded.
“Aye, this where I’m supposed to be?”
Kennedi looked up from her notes, and whatever warmth had been in her expression was gone. She sat in the director’s chair with her arms folded, one leg crossed over the other; her expression could stone him.
“You’re forty-five minutes late.”
He strolled in, wearing a fitted tee, sweats, and Jordans. Simple. No chains today, just his watch. His locs hung loose past his shoulders, his beard freshly lined. She couldn’t help but notice that he looked better today than yesterday.
“My bad,” He said, like forty-five minutes was nothing. “I had to handle something.”
“Handle something?” She repeated it flat, letting the words sit between them. “You were late to the plane yesterday. Now you’re late to my shoot. Should I expect this for the premiere tomorrow too, or is that one special enough for you to show up on time?”
In a brief moment, a flicker appeared behind his hazel eyes, something she didn’t have the chance to explore. It quickly vanished, replaced by his irritating smirk.
“I said my bad, Kennedi. What else you need from me?”
She pressed her lips together.
“I need you to sit down so we can get started. We’ve already lost almost an hour of studio time.”
She motioned toward the stool positioned in front of the backdrop. He moved toward it, but he didn’t sit right away. He stood there studying the fake garage setup, the painted tool wall, and the branded Customs by Giovanni banner.
“This look like a garage to you?” He turned to her, forehead creased.
“It’s a set. It’s supposed to suggest the environment.”
“It suggests bullshit.” He tapped the foam wrench mounted to the pegboard. “Ain’t a real tool on this wall. Who approved this?”
“The network’s production team.”
“Have they ever been in a real shop?”
“Probably not.”
He shook his head and sat on the stool, looking out of place and unbothered about it simultaneously.
The cameraman adjusted his lens while Kennedi grabbed the lapel mic from the sound cart. She moved toward Rolani, and the distance between them became a problem. She could smell him again.
“What is that?” The question left her mouth before she could catch it.
