“Don’t mention it,” he said, stabbing the call button over and over.
“Are you okay?”
“Fucking Ralf, man,” Elliot spat. “This is classic. Cut corners, take the glory.”
“I think he’s just trying to make this script a success the only way he knows how,” I suggested.
“And that’s the problem,” Elliot fumed as the lift doors slid open.
I thought back to what Ralf had accused Elliot of doing. “If this is about what happened at university, I—”
“You know what, I can’t even talk about that guy anymore,”he blurted. “Let’s get a coffee you can actually drink instead of bathe in. I have an idea.”
We didn’t go to Have a Java as I expected. Elliot made me walk several blocks downtown to Greenwich Village, where the modern tenements gave way to picturesque townhouses with grand doors and ornate shutters and the streets were lined with an abundance of magnolia and cherry trees swaying in the spring breeze. Even the shopfronts were historic looking, with faded signage and large bay windows displaying all manner of luxury goods.
“Where are you taking me?” I could smell sweet pastry and my stomach rumbled in response.
“You wanted coffee, I’m taking you to the oldest café in Manhattan.” Elliot pointed down a little cobbled street, where pastel-colored townhouses shone brightly in the sunshine. An elderly lady, immaculately dressed in a navy trench coat, tottered past with a tiny fluffy dog on a leather leash. I instantly felt shabby in comparison wearing Elliot’s workout hoodie.
We turned abruptly into a little alleyway where a simple trestle board advertisedGiorgio’s Café. I followed Elliot down some narrow steps into a dimly lit café that was surprisingly full for a mid-morning. It was a tiny space of dark wood and red walls that were crowded with gilt-framed oil paintings that should have been too shadowy and dramatic for a coffee shop but, somehow, they added a faded charm to the place.
Elliot cleared his throat. “Consider this lesson one in your New York education. It’s not the best coffee to be found in Manhattan, but this place has remained unchanged since, like, 1920, which in New York real estate terms makes it a dinosaur.” He pointed to a small round table in the corner. “Shall we?”
We ordered from a friendly waitress in a formal whiteshirt and black tie, who recommended the cappuccino, so I requested a large one. Elliot asked for a mocha with all the trimmings, whatever that meant.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What did RJ mean back there?”
“Where – back at the office?”
I nodded. “He told you something was at stake.”
“He loves to remind me of this.” Elliot rubbed his chin, scraping at stubble. “He’s promised me second unit director should this movie get made.”
“That’s a big deal.” Many directors got their big break directing the supplementary footage needed for a feature film.
“Yeah, and I’m ready,” he said. “I’ve been RJ’s guy for ten years now, but I want to make my own movies. It’s time. This film gets made and I get that second unit credit? Maybe I can finally move on, make my own movies. We really gotta get that green light.”
“Elliot,” I said. “You better believe I need that too.”
At that moment our drinks arrived. His was a huge, sugary concoction layered with cream and dustings of cocoa and I couldn’t hide my reaction.
He tutted. “So what, I like my caffeine with a side of tooth decay.”
My coffee was piping hot, so I blew gently on it. I glanced up to see him staring at me, his expression unreadable. I put the mug back down. “I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to help. I have just as much riding on this as you.”
He scooped up some whipped cream and I tried not to stare at the sight of his full lips closing around the nub of his thumb. “Tell me why you want to work in movies.”
I was going to get dizzy from his sudden changes in topic. “Tell me yours.”
His eyes met mine in a challenge. “I asked first.”
“You can’t laugh,” I said, my cheeks heating.
“Why would I laugh?”
