The midday sun reflects off one of the small disco balls dangling from the restaurant’s glass ceiling directly onto my laptop, and I struggle to make out what’s on-screen. I rotate my position to block the light and dial up the brightness as Tanu lifts her head up from her laptop. She pushes her glasses up into her brown hair, tugs at the neck of her black T-shirt, and stares at me.
“Have you seen the changes Paul sent through? He’s insane.” Her face wrinkles with disdain. She pushes her laptop away and forks up another mouthful of her Waldorf salad.
It seems everyone’s on the hating Paul train today.
“Don’t worry about him. I’ve already flagged it with Alexander directly. He said, and I quote, ‘fuck Paul.’” I make air quotes with my fingers for emphasis.
An email notification from Paul pops up as I continue to flick through the stills taken last night. He’s attached a rough mix of Alexander’s take onIt’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.
I spin my laptop round to Tanu, almost taking her coffee out in one clean sweep. “Want me to play it?”
“Sure.” Tanu shrugs, grabs her coffee and take a sip.
I press play and the sudden sound of bells, drums, and brass instruments startles the waitress walking by.
A wave of nostalgia hits me, transporting me back to Abbey Road when I’d heard him playStolen Moments, the song he wrote about me, for the first time. A lonely tear rolls down behind my sunglasses and drops onto my plate.
The sound of his voice warms my heart, like a blanket wrapped round me on a cold winter’s night. A heavy sigh leaves my mouth as the song finishes. I hit stop and try to compose myself.
“What do you think?” I ask Tanu.
“If Paul doesn’t want the commercial to be cheesy, then why the fuck does he send us a track that’s even cheesier than the original?” Tanu pulls down her glasses and drops her head into her hands. Her fingers slide through her long brown hair. “I stillthink they should have gone withHave Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
Tanu lifts her head back up and reaches for her coffee.
“It’s not that bad,” I say, almost jumping to Alexander’s defense.
Tanu shoots me a look.You’re joking, right?
“Okay sure, it’s cheesy, but then all the classic Christmas songs are.”
I let out a sigh and grab my soda and lime.
You’re meant to be Switzerland on this shoot.
Keep the peace.
Do your job.
And then get the fuck out of here.
“The shoot will be great,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “Leave Paul to me.”
Several hours pass by in minutes, and I once more find myself weaving through the crowd on Eighth Avenue. This time, I navigate my way round the partitioned-off section of sidewalk and through the front door of Brewed, straight into the bustling energy of the shooting crew and various extras.
I make my way over to Tanu by the counter, who immediately knows what I want.
“He’s over there.” Tanu points to the back of the store.
Paul and Connie sit on a green leather couch, a low table in front of them, with chairs on the other side. I shake my dark-blue jacket off my shoulders as I make my way toward them. The air conditioning does nothing to cool down the heat leaving my body.
I sling my jacket over the back of one of the chairs opposite them and cross my arms.
“You wanted to speak with me.” My gaze drifts down toward them.
“Why the hell have none of the changes I requested been made?” Spit flies from Paul’s mouth. His eyes are wide open as he surges upward to stand directly in front of me.
I don’t know whether it’s a Napoleon complex, an ego trip, or the fact that he’s still holding a grudge from Tuesday’s meeting, but that shit ain’t flying here tonight. Switzerland be damned.
