He dragged his eyes from the game to mine. “What about it?”
I was struck dumb for a moment; his face was just inches away. I gulped. “What’s it about? Like, what’s it called?”
He was silent for a moment. “The Song of You.”
“That’s a beautiful title,” I said. “I hear it’s a love story.”
“It is,” he said. “It’s more of a character study of this couple and how their everyday life is like a symphony. Like, everything they do for each other, the gestures, the rituals … it’s almost as if it’s choreographed, but it’s not. The movie is meant to show that all those moments, the things they do, it’s love, living through them. And I think that’s the beautiful thing about love, how it … makes all things possible just by being called into existence.”
His face had become so animated with passion I was somewhat sad when he finished talking. “It sounds great.”
“Well, there are no explosions or fight scenes, so you’d probably hate it,” he said with a wry shake of his head. “But it’s on YouTube.”
“I like love stories,” I said defensively. “The movieIwant to make is a tender and moving love story.”
“Youwant to make a love story?” he asked incredulously. “Little Miss Serious Checklist?”
“Yep,” I said. “You really need to work on your nicknames, by the way. It’s an adaptation ofTwin Roses. You know it?”
“Actually, yes,” he said, surprised. “My mom loves it.”
“Most women with a pulse do.”
“Oh, is it porny?” he asked with a grimace, no doubt horrified at the idea of his mother reading such material.
“Measures a solid three out of five on the chili scale,” I said, snagging Riley’s flask for another gulp.
“Meaning?”
“It’s a little raunchy,” I admitted. “But it’s epic, it’s romantic and could totally work on the big screen.” I took a deep breath. “You know, I’d love it if you could read it.”
“You asking me to read softcore porn?” he said, eyebrows shooting up.
“No! God!” This was worse than when I spat croissant at him. “I mean, my adaptation proposal. It’s generic and I’d obviously tailor it for whoever I end up actually pitching it to, but I’d love to get your take on it.” I figured appealing to his professional pride could only be a good thing.
“Oh. Phew.” He allowed me a small, soft smile. “I mean, sure. I don’t mind doing that.” I tried not to dwell on the fact that he had stressed the wordthat, so clearly he was still on the fence about working with me. Oh well. I just had to try harder on that front. But – he wanted to read my adaptation proposal forTwin Roses! Elliot Fox may have been an insufferably stubborn man, but he was experienced and well-respected, just what my work needed.
“Great, I’ll email it to you,” I said, barely able to contain my glee.
There was an uproar from the crowd then as someone made a home run – which I had to have explained to me – and from then on, I was sucked into the game. Despite it being amateur, it clearly meant a lot to the teams playing it, with players passionately debating every foul or strike. At some point, the RJF contingency decided to root for Perspective Pictures andat moments we were all on our feet, jumping and screaming in support of our adopted team. In no time at all, the game was finished, and the win was handed to a jubilant and sweaty Perspective Pictures, much to the joy of the watching crowd.
As we ambled out of the park, I felt notably drowsy. The combination of rum, jetlag and sunshine had me watching my steps very carefully as we navigated the steps to the subway.
“How was your first baseball game?” Ralf asked, gallantly escorting me to the platform.
“A real taste of New York,” I said dreamily.
Ralf wrinkled his nose. “That? Pfft. A little charity baseball match? Let me show you the real New York.”
“Oh, what would that be?” Riley quipped. “A jaunt down the country club to compare the colors of your Amex cards under the gentle fumes of cigar smoke?”
“Ha. Funny.” Ralf rolled his eyes, although I noticed his hand drift to his back pocket where his wallet was. “But there’s no denying I know how to show someone a good time in this city.” He gave me a knowing grin and it took supreme effort not to visibly cringe. Ralf was such a hard person to understand. One moment he was generous and chatty, borderline flirty even, but then he’d say something so arrogantly finance-bro coded it made me want to run for the hills. We reached the subway turnstiles and he stepped back to allow me to tap my card ahead of him.Polite.
“What do you say, Lucie?” Ralf went on, as he followed me through. “You want the definitive guide to New York from me or what?”Smug.
“Sorry, Fisher, she’s going to be too busy,” Elliot said as he tapped through. He caught my look and affected wide-eyed innocence. “What, you thought I’d let you have some free time, catch your breath?”
Ironically, meeting his challenging, gleaming eyes, my breathdid need some catching. I arched an eyebrow. Elliot thought he could dictate my free time. “Ralf?” I said, without breaking Elliot’s gaze. “I’ll take you up on your offer. But no cigars.”
