by Julie Wright
“Right. Everyone can feel timing, but you happen to be lucky enough to feel it stronger than most people. So if you shave . . . here . . . and here—now watch.” He adjusted the sliders on the panel for a few moments before the film began to play again.
We re-watched the scene. He was right. I could’ve kicked myself for not catching the error on my own. We spent the next few hours sliding through the scenes, edging parts in, taking parts out, rearranging the order of certain shots, slipping in second-team footage in places I hadn’t considered before. We worked at a pace Superman would have envied. Ben was like a magician.
“I wish we had time to watch it again,” he said, clicking his pocket watch open to glance at the time. It was a full-on Doctor Who replica, complete with the Gallifrey writing on the case. Ben was nerdy and old soul all wrapped up into one.
“I’ll invite you to the premiere,” I said.
He gave me a sidelong look. “Really?”
“Sure. You should be able to see your masterpiece.”
“Nope, not my masterpiece. This will be known as the work of Dean Thomas.”
I laughed and leaned to the side of the panel between several of the sliders. “But we’ll know who the real geniuses are. You can be my date.”
Ben swiveled in his chair to face me directly and put his hands on my knees to stop his chair’s momentum. “You and me? On a proper date?”
I laughed under the intensity of his stare. “Fine. We’ll even go to dinner first. After all, you’ve earned it.”
Ben smiled, though it looked forced. “Right. Earned. Like a cookie or a sucker.” He slid his hands from my knees to his own. “Have you ever thought about—” He broke off, squinted at me, then shook his head.
“What?”
“Nothing. Never mind. I’m tired and delirious.” He rubbed his hands on his knees and drummed his fingers.
“I so get delirious. Thanks, Ben. For everything. I do believe you, in just a few hours, did a better job than what Dean could have done if he’d been around for the entire time.”
“I’ve seen Dean’s work. He’s brilliant when he’s actually doing it, so I accept your compliment.”
“He used to be so good at what he does,” I said, not meaning to excuse my new boss by pointing out skills he chose to no longer use. “He seems to be pulling away more every day. He’s slipping.”
“Well, he’d better sober up soon, or the slip will end up in a free fall.”
“True. I want to loathe him for being the worst boss in the business, but it’s hard to pass judgment when I don’t really understand the guy. Because, who knows? People often turn to substance abuse because they want to fill the holes inside their souls. I don’t know what’s going on in Dean’s life, but chances are good that it didn’t come from him having a really great day.”
Ben rolled his head from one side to the next. “And that’s why I think so well of you. You try to see the reasons for everything, which includes allowing people to have reasons for acting reprehensibly. But don’t forget that he has acted reprehensibly. It doesn’t matter what the guy’s got going on, the reality is that he overworked you, left you in a bind, and should be slapped for it.”
I smirked. “Well, I did already slap him.”
“Do it when he’s awake next time. He deserves it.”
We both laughed, which felt good after our grueling night of intense collaboration. Ben had given up a lot to help me.
“I’m sorry about your date,” I said.
“Don’t worry about it. The night I got was worth giving up the night I’d planned.” Ben stretched his way to a standing position. “I’ll make it up to her.”
I couldn’t say why, but I didn’t love hearing that. Sure, the first part was fine, but the second part made me bristle—proof that I was not exactly rational. “Where do you know her from?”
“Film school. She’s an old girlfriend. We reconnected on Instagram, and she’s been trying to get in touch in person for a while now. Last night was our first time together in a few years.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It seemed like a good idea to get together and gauge our compatibility.”
I stood as well and began shutting down the equipment. “What made you break up the first time?” The question should have sounded like non-nosy, non-concerned, just-curious idle conversation. But to my ears, it sounded like a catty way to remind a guy that he already didn’t choose that girl and had no business looking to try again. I didn’t mean any of it in that way but worried that was how it sounded to him.
He either didn’t notice the snark or he was too tired to call me on it. “We were young. She had her own ideas about how relationships worked and failed to imagine that I could have any opinion in the matter.”
I laughed and did a final sweep of the room before we left. “I bet that didn’t go well for her since you have an opinion on everything.”
“True that.” He offered me his fist. I pressed my knuckles to his in our job-well-done fist bump that we had used as our victory dance for the last few years at Mid-Scene Films. I shut the light off, and we left to go check on my sleeping boss.
Dean still snored the sleep of the cluelessly guilty. Adam slept on the floor near the couch. He had yanked one of the throw pillows off the couch to use for his own personal pillow and had drooled on it liberally. Someone would either have to take it home to wash it, or—more likely—I would just throw it away. Adam’s mouth hung open but, surprisingly, no sound came from him. The horrible noise rumbling through the room was all Dean.
The room smelled like old coffee, unwashed feet, and fetid alcohol. I’d need to open a window or two—or all of them.
I wrinkled my nose. “Sleeping people stink.”
Ben nodded his agreement and pulled the neck of his shirt over his mouth and nose. We made our way to the kitchenette where I’d abandoned my purse. I didn’t want my personal items in a public space and needed to haul it to my office before everyone started showing up for work.
“It doesn’t look like Adam got Dean to drink any of the coffee,” Ben said. Thirteen full cups of coffee lined the counter. Ben grinned at me, and, altering his voice, said, “Excuse me, miss; there seems to be a mistake. I believe I ordered the large cappuccino. Hello!”
“So I Married an Axe Murderer,” I said. Ben high-fived me for getting the movie quote right.
Adam hadn’t bothered to empty the mugs or wipe down the coffee maker. Once I woke him up, I would insist he be a grown-up and clean up his messes.
I dug through my purse until my fingers wrapped around the cold metal of my keys. I pulled them out and offered them to Ben. “You’ll need a ride out of crazy town.”
“I can call for a driver.”
“You could. Or you could take the easy, fast way out.” I jingled my keys. “I can swing by your place later to pick it up.”
“How will you manage that without a car?”
“I can get a ride.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, making the ice-blue in them seem positively frigid. “From who?”
I shook my head and rolled my eye. “My friend Emma is coming into town. You remember her, right?”
He nodded and leaned over me as if trying to intimidate me. “Is she already coming into town, or will you have to arrange all this after I’m gone?”
I didn’t back down from his leaning. Honestly, the guy was such a worrywart. “We’re going to dinner. Take the keys. Take my car. I’ll see you tonight.” I jingled my keys until he finally took them.
I then folded my arms around him. He seemed surprised and froze as if not sure what to do. “It’s called a hug, Ben. It works best when you hug back. It’s when you take your two arms and put them around me and then squeeze. You can squeeze a lot if you’re really happy to see someone or are leaving them and going to be missing them too much to let go.”
“I know how a hug works, Silvia.”
“Prove it. Put those arms where your mouth is.”
Slowly, his arms came up and encircled me. It was then that I noticed how nice he smelled. I’d worked for three years in close proximity to Ben, but I had never really been this close. There was a time or two I thought he might have asked me out, but Mid-Scene Films had a pretty intense no-fraternizing-with-your-coworkers policy. After a while, romantic notions ended, and we settled into the steady friendship that made us who we were.
Which is why me even noticing how good he smelled felt out of place. Ben was my friend. That was it.
But dang, that friend of mine smelled good, like an orange spiced with cloves and sandalwood—citrusy, musky, and masculine all at the same time. I pulled away and blinked rapidly at thoughts that must have been provoked from going forty-eight-plus hours with no sleep.
I dropped my arms abruptly, stepped away, and patted his shoulder. “Glad to have been able to train you on the finer points of hugging. Let me know if you ever need a refresher course—”
I cut off, feeling heat flare to my ear tips. I’d just said that out loud. I’d invited him back for hug seconds in the flirtiest way possible. I needed sleep. I needed days of sleep. I would apologize after that—when I could be sure of my own coherence.
He didn’t respond to anything I said, which made sense. Ben wasn’t a flirty kind of guy. He wasn’t a hugging kind of guy either. He was the kind of guy who memorized the morbid stats of mortality and who loved classical film with the devotion of a religious zealot. He was the guy who had memorized the dialogue from more films than most people ever saw in their lifetimes. I didn’t dare try to make any determination of how uncomfortable I must have made him feel. Instead, I smiled brightly and shrugged. “You saved my bacon tonight. I totally owe you.”
“It was no big deal.”
I started walking him toward the hallway. Our time was ticking. He had to make a quick exit, unless we wanted to explain why an editor from a different studio was here doing Dean’s work. I shuddered at the thought. “It’s a huge deal. Your creative efforts will have someone else’s name on them. We can’t ever tell anyone. Is working incognito going to sting later?”
He shook his head and lowered his voice now that we were in the commons area where the two sleepers snoozed on. “No. It was good practice. It made me rethink a few of the things I could do for the film I’m currently working on. Practice never hurt anyone.” He looked down at Dean. “Time to wake him up.”
“Let’s get you safely exited first. Chances are good he won’t remember you were here. It’ll make it easier to hide the crime.”
Ben chortled softly. “Crime? What crime? Yes, I can see it now—‘I find the defendant guilty of committing art. Life in prison. Glass of unfiltered water, white bread full of gluten and preservatives. No TV.’”
“You know what I mean. I need him to sign off on this. He might not if he knows you were the creative genius.”
Ben passed the couch and kept his steady pace in the direction of the glass doors that led to the also-glass lobby. Even though he obediently walked in the right direction, he gave me a look out of the corner of his eye. One I recognized well.
I shot it right back at him. “Don’t give me that snide-ways look of yours. It is your work, not his.”
“At seven forty-five in the morning, I can snide-ways look at whoever I want,” he said. “It’s not my creative genius. It’s yours. This was all you, Sil. I just built on what was already there. What I did was the equivalent of adding a few potted plants to a newly built palace.”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s our secret.” I held my pinky out to him the way Emma and I always did when we wanted an agreement to be binding.
He smirked at my offering before he linked his pinky in mine. “Our secret,” he agreed.
I nodded and walked him out of the personal office area and down to the main floor lobby, where the guard who worked the day shift was taking his post. I waved at him. “Hey, Nathaniel!” I called and tried to put some cheer into my tone.
“Silvia! Good morning! What are you doing here so early?” Nathaniel, being the good guard that he was, eyed Ben closely, likely memorizing details in case he needed to pick him out of a lineup later.
“Just working. Dean and I had to finish cuts on a new film. He had a few friends over to show off our work.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Oh, right. Dean’s up there, then?”
I nodded and hurried Ben faster through the revolving door to avoid further scrutiny. Allowing Nathaniel to believe that Ben was one of Dean’s friends made him less likely to bring up the fact that anyone out of the ordinary had been in the office at such an unusual hour.
Hitting fresh air filled me with a new surge of energy. I pointed down the row of parking spaces to where my car sat alone. Portal Pictures people were not early-bird people. They were come-into-work-as-late-as-you-can-get-away-with people. “I’m parked right there.”
“I know,” Ben said. “I wasn’t drinking last night, so parking information wasn’t hard to hang onto.”
I smiled and then frowned. “Thanks again. There’s no one else I’d rather perpetrate fraud with than you.”
He did his snide-ways look again. “You take all the fun out of it if you’re going to feel guilty. Besides, we didn’t do anything wrong. There was no crime.”
“Right. No crime,” I echoed.
He gave me a salute. “Wake Dean up, slap him again if you get the chance, and get this presentation over with so you can go home and get some sleep.”
With a return salute, I promised I would obey.
Ben folded himself into the front seat of my compact car and drove away.
I frowned. No crime?
Then why did I feel so guilty?
“I don’t care how you treat me. I don’t mind your
swearing at me. I shouldn’t mind a black eye;
I’ve had one before this. But I won’t be passed over!”
—Eliza Doolittle, played by Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady
I stood on the curb for a long time waiting. For what, I didn’t know. With a sigh, I made my way back to the office. I stood over the other cohorts in my night of criminal mischief and gently shook Adam’s shoulder. “Adam,” I whispered. “Time to get up.” I kept my voice low and bent down close to his ear so Dean wouldn’t wake up yet at the noise. Not that I thought Dean would wake up to anything. The guy was practically a corpse.
Adam snorted awake and bolted upright, almost knocking into me. I dodged him and backed off fast in case he was one of those people who woke up delirious and violent.
I put my finger to my lips and pointed at the still-sleeping Dean.
Adam finally reached consciousness enough to slide his body along the floor so he could stand up without knocking into Dean. “I was just resting my eyes,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep.
Not likely. The drool on that pillow was the work of at least two hours . . . probably longer. Plus, I’d told Adam to make coffee every fifteen minutes. If the cups on the counter were any indication, he’d only made it through three and a half hours before succumbing to the siren call of the sandman.
Not that he could be blamed. “It’s fine,” I said. “I appreciate you staying. Hopefully when this is all done, we can get back to our regular lives.”
It made sense to be nice to Adam. After all, none of this was his fault, and he had been willing to stay and help, which was more than anybody else would have done in similar circumstances.
Besides, I still had to give Adam the unpleasant news that he had to clean the break room while I woke up Dean.
Adam took the news better than I expected. Oh, sure, there was whining and grumbling, but he hung his head when he realized I wasn’t his mom and had no intention of giving in on the point.<
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“Oh, and Adam? Dean will need another cup of coffee.” I shot a glance to the couch. “Better get him a glass of ice water with a freshly squeezed lemon—and add a squirt of those liquid vitamins and a splash of apple cider vinegar. He’s going to need to hydrate quickly.”
Once Adam left, I stared down at Dean on the couch. This was going to be a long day. “Mr. Thomas? Mr. Thomas, it’s time to wake up.”
His snoring stopped, but he only smacked his lips together and rolled over as if to try to get back to a deeper sleep.
With a grunt, I shook his shoulder. Seriously? He’d slept all night. He got more sleep on the couch than I usually got on a regular night in my bed. I was not going to feel sorry for him. And I certainly wasn’t going to let him sleep any longer. He had to at least watch the film before he presented it. If he wasn’t going to sign off on it, then he would have to be the one to ask for an extension. He would not make me the fall guy for a delay.
“Mmngh.” He swatted at me to make me go away.
“Mr. Thomas! Dean!”
Though his eyes didn’t open, he rolled to his back and sighed in a way that let me know I’d finally made contact.
“What do you want, Sara?” he asked, still not opening his eyes.
“My name, sir, is Silvia. Silvia Bradshaw.” I tried. I really did. But the frost in my tone could not be hidden. It was one thing for him to call me by a different name when he was out of his mind with alcohol, but now? He was just being belligerent.
“That doesn’t answer the question of what you want.” His shut eyes tightened as if speaking hurt his head. Chances were good he had a hangover. If I’d had less self-control, I would’ve done something mean like scream at the top of my lungs in his ear.
As it was, I spoke softly and slowly. His understanding was imperative to us both. “You have a meeting with Christopher and Danny this morning at ten. You’re supposed to present Sliver of Midnight.”