I laughed nervously. “Well, it’s not to spit any more food at you, I promise you that.”
Elliot’s face remained impassive. “Right.”
Okay …Where had that cheerful, flirty man from the coffee shop gone? Perhaps this was him attempting to regain some professional ground now he knew I was a colleague. “I wish I’d known who you were when we met in the coffee shop,” I said.
“Why?”
God, he was so serious. “Um, then this would be less awkward?” I said with a nervous laugh.
“Oh, so you thinkthisis awkward?” he said archly.
“Well, yeah.”
“See, awkward to me is a year of writing and editing an intricate piece of art that’s making an important statement about the illusion of society, alongside my boss whom I’veworked with for ten years,” he said. “Awkward is a year of collaboration and late nights and research. Awkward is me fitting all that in around the rest of my job only for RJ to recruit a total stranger, completely out of the blue, to assess my work, who, it turns out, doesn’t even write?”
Ah. His demeanor made more sense now. “You didn’t like my report.”
“Oh, I loved it,” he said sharply. “Especially loved the part where you said the female lead was thinly sketched and the dialogue was too indulgent.”
“Someof the dialogue,” I corrected him. “And RJ wasn’t offended.”
“Iwrote the dialogue.”
“Oh.” No wonder he was taking this personally. “But if you recall, I actually said in my report that the dialogue is beautiful, there’s just too much—”
“RJ seemed pretty happy with it just days ago,” Elliot huffed. “Yet it all changed on the word of an assistant. But me? I came top of my screenwriting class at NYU. The short film I directed won first prize at Tribeca Shorts two years after I graduated. I’d like to think that by now RJ trusts my word but no, apparently not.”
“I get it, my presence here is ruffling feathers,” I said. “And I’m sorry if it upsets you.”
“Upset?” He made apffftsound.
“I think—”
“I know you traveled a long way,” he steamed on. “And my attitude probably seems unfair.”
Was this guy ever going to let me speak?“RJ said—”
“RJ says a lot of things,” he interrupted yet again, looming over me. “I’d lay money on you not being able to handle the pace of things here and being back on the plane to London before this week is out.”
I drew myself up to my full height. “Well then, watch me.”
“Watch you dowhat?” Elliot snickered. We stood toe-to-toe, so close I could detect the clean detergent smell of his shirt.
“Not back down from a challenge.”
Elliot’s eyes flared in response, but the office door opened, jarring us from our standoff. In walked a familiar figure – Ruben ‘RJ’ James, larger than life and beaming from ear to ear. RJ was known for having a Steve Jobs approach to his wardrobe in that he wore the same thing every day, no matter what. Always a white T-shirt, a Mets baseball cap and a thin scarf in Mets blue. Even his trainers were that same shade of blue and always with crisp white laces.
“El, Tree Harper is calling me about fucking fabric again,” he barked, as his mustachioed mouth simultaneously worked a bubble-tea straw.
“Hey, she’s a stickler for detail.” Elliot wrenched his gaze from me and I felt like I could breathe again. “Exactly what you need from a costume designer on your flagship TV show.”
“Remind me why I’m working with her again?” RJ continued as he rolled towards his desk.
“Because not only has she got like ten Emmys for costume design, she’s also an expert on late sixties-era fashion,” Elliot said. “AndWoodstockjust so happens to be set in, gosh, what era now?”
“Well, if you will be a goddamned voice of reason,” RJ said stonily, fixing with his assistant with a stare. Elliot lifted his chin and met his boss’s gaze, while I eyed the doorway longingly. Nowthiswas awkward. “I would quite literally be lost without you.” RJ let out a warm guffaw and I relaxed; it had just been a bit. He turned curious eyes to me. “Okay, so, Lucie. Hi.” The change in conversational tone added to the utter surrealism of the moment. Until now, RJ had been a name on a screen, someone I’d seen on TV accepting a GoldenGlobe – the trophy itself was up on a shelf behind him – and here he was sipping bubble tea, a smear of tapioca trapped in his graying stubble.
I spluttered some kind of nonsensical greeting and then he invited us both to sit on the couch. As I took a seat, I couldn’t help but notice that Elliot placed himself as far away as possible from me. I did my best to force the unpleasantness of our conversation from my mind and focus on the man before me, the one who really mattered.
