“He feels a need to protect people. He’s dedicated to his job, and this is an extension of that. Maybe?”
“But you said that his boss wants to fire him if he tries to help her. If his job is the only thing in the world that he really cares about, then it doesn’t make sense. He would just pass the case off to someone else at the CIA and check up on her. He’s willing to risk everything for this girl, which is absolutely insane.”
“I told you, he’s in love with her,” Chris says again, arms crossed.
I throw up my hands. “He can’t just fall in love with her after one meeting. They’ve hardly exchanged more than two words. There has to be something else. It just can’t be that simple.”
“So, no faith in love at first sight, huh?”
“No.” I cross my arms now, imitating his posture. I do think two people can have an undeniable connection, some chemical balance that ties them together.
Lust at first sight, certainly. But love? I have to believe that love is bigger than a jolt of electric chemistry, that it involves history and memories and shared experience.
“I thought everyone believed in love at first sight, deep down.”
I scoff at him. “Is it possible to fall for someone the first moment you meet them? Theoretically, I guess. But in reality?”
He’s grinning and poking the script. “It’s a movie, Hallie. We’re allowed to take liberties with reality.”
“I surrender!” I say, grinning back and grabbing the script. “You win. So, we’re going with your theory that James falls in love at first sight with…What’s her name again?”
“Jane.”
“James and Jane. That’s cute.”
He snorts. “Real cute.”
“That’s still not the end of the explanation.” I’m flipping through the pages of the screenplay, looking for some scene between James and Jane where they exchange more than sexual innuendos. All I’m finding is an endless stream of explosions.
“Find any of that rich character development yet?” He’s laughing at me now, so I poke him in the arm.
“That’s your job.” He looks sufficiently humbled, so I go on.
“There must have been something that happened to him and to her in their pasts that make love at first sight possible, and that’s what you need to tap into, his motivation. On page 4, he’s hooking up with this Desiree girl, the dancer, and she actually seems a lot less whiny than Jane here. But for some reason, Jane’s the one he’s obsessed with.”
“Maybe he realizes that you don’t get many shots at love, and he makes a decision not to let Jane go, even if it means that he loses his job and gets killed in the process.”
I consider this for a second and I want to think of a witty response, but I seem to have reached my limit for the day. I decide to focus on the second part of his statement, and I force my voice into a light-hearted tone. “I mean, obviously, he doesn’t get killed. There are probably like six sequels already planned.”
“But he doesn’t know that,” Chris says, still intense.
“I guess you’re right.”
He smiles at me. “I’m sticking to my guns. He’s in love with her. You haven’t gotten to page 107 yet. That’s where it all comes out. It just comes down to whether there’s any way I can sell the lovelorn asshole James Ross to the director or not. Whether I can make him believe that I’m in love with Jane.”
I have to look away, because his eyes are intense and focused entirely on mine as he speaks. The irrational part of me wants to fall into them and stay there for days. The rational side of me says that wouldn’t be productive, considering that he’s asked me here to try to help him get ready for the biggest audition he might ever have.
“Let’s see what you got, movie star.” I shove the script into his chest.
He thumbs through the pages, finding a few that are marked. “I need to read three...” He pauses. “No. Four scenes.”
“Ok. Set the first one up for me.”
“The first one includes James—that’s me—and his supervisor at the CIA—that’s you. The supervisor, Nick, is pissed because James has gone against his wishes and has run off to Europe with Jane. Everyone else in the agency wants to fire him, and James is trying to tell Nick that there’s some shady stuff worth investigating with Jane’s ex. He’s basically trying to bullshit Nick to save his job.”
“Using all of the famous James Ross charm, I’m sure.”
He nods.
“Ok. I have to get into character. Nate is a tough guy boss, but he likes James. I think I got it,” I say after a few minutes of looking at the scene.
“His name’s Nick.”
“Nick. Right.”
“Now, who’s forgetting the name of their character?”
I purse my lips together and give him my best angry face. “Nate. Nick. Tough guy boss to the tough guy CIA agent. Ok. I’m ready for my close up, Mr. Demille.”
I offer the script to him, but he merely shakes his head, so I start with my first line.
“James, have you lost your brain?” I do my best to imitate what Nick/Nate would sound like, and Chris is momentarily distracted by my attempt at a low baritone, but he recovers quickly. He delivers the first mini-monologue without so much as glancing down at the script. I stare at him in amazement.
“Have you seen this before?”
He seems embarrassed, really humiliated, for the first time since I met him.
“I, ummm…”
He’s unable to come up with anything to say, and at first, I think it’s because he’s secretly been working on this script for weeks and doesn’t want me to know how much he wants the part. But then I remember the conversation that he had with his agent, and it definitely sounded like this was a new development. It had to be something else.
It hits me in a flash. “You totally have a photographic memory.”
He’s practically sweating now. “Maybe.”
“What’s maybe about it? That’s the coolest thing ever! If I had one of those, I would introduce myself with, my name is Hallie and I have a photographic memory. So there.” I stick my tongue out, and some of his uneasiness seems to lift.
“People always act like I’m some kind of freak.”
“We’re all freaks,” I say, covering my mouth quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you a freak. I just, I have this theory that everyone is a secret dork and that we all just need the opportunity to let our freak flags fly sometimes. I think it’s really cool. You shouldn’t feel like that’s something you should be embarrassed about, I mean, especially as an actor…”
I’m babbling and then he takes my hand again and the little current that runs between us puts a screeching halt to my words. For a moment, I think he’s going to say something else, but he breaks eye contact by looking away and I’m the one who’s embarrassed now.
“Thanks.” He clears his throat, and I peer back down at the script.
“Oh, sorry. Ok. I’m Nate. Nick.”
I go back to reading the lines and whatever was there in the moment passes pretty quickly. But when I’m finally able to look up at him, I have to stop talking again.
He’s standing and pacing back and forth on the tiny patch of grass, and it’s exactly the way that I picture the character. He is James Ross is such a way that I don’t even remember the other actor’s name. It’s like he unzipped his own skin and crawled into the character so completely that all traces of Chris have been forgotten. I’m staring, mouth agape, as he speaks.
He’s magic.
“What? Was that the wrong delivery? I can try it another way.”
“No!” I’m practically shouting. “It needs to be exactly like that. You are James Ross. It’s yours.”
They’ll take one look at him in the audition and if they have any sense at all, they will make it so that he will play this character for the rest of his life.
“Keep going. Read the monologue again.”
I am transfixed. He is in complet
e command of the words that are on the page. He slips again into the character as I stare, unabashed, at the transformation.
“Was that okay?” he asks, stepping adroitly out of James Ross and back into himself. He sounds nervous.
I stand up to look him directly in the eye. “You are the most talented person I’ve ever met.” He’s staring back at me intently and the air is heavy with everything else I’ve been fighting all day, but I look briefly down at his feet and gather up some more courage.
The moment passes, and I add an offhand remark. “Just think, in a year or two, I’ll be sitting in the theater and I’ll be able to tell my friends that I once had the honor to play the distinguished Nate opposite the next big thing.”
But I don’t want to say anything to anyone about it. I want to keep this entire day locked away in a jar so I’ll never forget even one second. I want to remember him as the James Ross standing in the park, although he is so breathtakingly, astoundingly good at this acting thing that I know his face will soon be plastered everywhere. That thought actually cheers me slightly. I’ll still be able to look at him, at least, when this is all done.
The darkening sky tells me that the day will be over in just moments, which makes me want to press the rewind button.
“Thanks,” he says, grabbing my hand again.
I look up at the sky, and he follows my gaze.
“Listen, there’s still a lot of work that I need to do here. Sophia said that she would be gone until tomorrow, and that I should figure out something fun for us to do tonight. I know it’s not quite a party, but maybe I could come over and we could keep reading lines. Yeah?”
I was sure that the disappearing sunshine meant the end of our day. I figured that I might see him at one of the other countless parties Sophia planned on dragging me to, but it wouldn’t be anything like this. I should really turn him down and tell him thank you for the day. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this up without saying the complete wrong thing or throwing myself at him like a total lunatic.
But he’s pleading with me. For a fleeting moment, I wonder whether there’s any chance that he felt something for me in all of the times that we touched each other, in all of the talk about James and Jane. I give in.
“Sophia’s is fine, I guess. I was planning on being there alone, anyways, and I definitely want to be a part of the making of a movie star,” I say, winking at him and trying to throw aside my most recent thoughts of grabbing his hair in my hands and kissing him until I forget my own name.
“I was hoping you would say that.” He pulls out a bottle of wine from the bag he’s carrying. “We can maybe order dinner in? I wouldn’t want to have to tell Sophia that I made you do all of my work for me without at least feeding you.”
If he brought the wine, it meant that he was planning to keep going into the night. I manage to gasp out, “Dinner in sounds good.”
I’m a goner. For sure.
Chapter 12
CHRIS
I managed to get as close as humanly possible in the cab without literally sitting on top of her. She tried to edge away when we got in, but I blocked the space on the other side, and basically pinned her into me. I can feel the heat of her skin next to mine. It’s driving me crazy but I only move closer and the only thing that I’m aware of is the sweet smell of honey and mint and the feel of her skin on mine.
“Chris? Hello. Chris. Hey…” She’s tapping my arm and pulling me from the cab and towards Sophia’s building.
I have now totally lost my mind. “Sorry.”
“Space cadet.” She shakes her head and pulls out her keys. The doorman grins at her as we walk into the door.
“Miss Hallie! I hope you had a pleasant day.”
“Charles. How on earth did you remember my name? And it was an absolutely fabulous first New York day.”
He gives me a sidelong look and I stare back. Great, now I’m jealous of a seventy-year-old doorman who she met yesterday.
“There’s a lot of people coming and going from Mr. William’s and Mrs. Cleo’s and Miss Sophia’s. I been here twelve years and can’t remember more than one or two who had a moment to stop and introduce themselves, Miss Hallie. So it’s a pleasure to remember your name.”
“Well, that’s their loss, then. And you better forget the Miss part. I’ll be here for two weeks, now and it will get annoying to have to correct you each time.” He reaches to press the elevator button for us, but she holds up a finger and he backs away, smiling.
“All right, Miss Hallie.”
She winks at him over her shoulder as we get into the elevator. He’s still watching us, giving me a wary eye and then grinning at her. Great. I’m even more jealous now.
I don’t know how I was able to stop myself from kissing her in the park.
I reached for her a dozen times, fully meaning to run my hands through her masses of hair to pull her down beneath me. But she was so cute, biting her lip unconsciously, a little habit that I noticed the night before and again in the art museum. And then she was so absorbed in playing the role of Nick, slipping in and out of a deep-throated voice, trying to immerse herself in the character, that I had pulled back and watched her instead.
I had almost given in to the impulse to pull her into me when she said she didn’t believe in love at first sight. If she didn’t believe in that, it was a pretty good sign that she hadn’t felt the same way as I did when we touched.
It was crazy. I had never felt this way about anyone before. Not any of the “slut parade,” as Diana called them, not Sophia. It felt as if we were drawn together for a reason, that I was meant to meet her on the balcony and in the diner and today.
I’ve never really believed in fate, but the two of us feel absolutely, perfectly right. I had to know whether there was a chance that she felt it, too. I knew one thing—I wasn’t leaving that apartment without kissing her. No matter what she did in response (visions of pepper spray did cross my mind), there was no way I could resist it.
As we walk through the door of the apartment, I glance at the counter where Sophia had dangled her legs the night before. It was a lifetime ago when I had stood in this room and yet it hadn’t even been 24 hours. I said a silent thank you that I had never been able to forget my lust for Sophia Pearce. I never would have come to this stupid party or gone to that diner or met this incredible girl.
“I think there’s probably something in the fridge that I can whip up,” she says as she flops onto the couch. “We don’t need to order anything. Just as soon as I can get these stupid shoes off.” She kicks off the boot and groans. “I definitely should have gone for the flip flops. I have no idea why we members of the female species need to be tortured this way. Screw fashion.”
The shoes discarded, she walks into the kitchen. “Salmon, pasta, chicken,” she lists. “Chris! What kind of food do you eat? Please, God, tell me you’re not a vegetarian.”
“I’m not a vegetarian!” I yell back, grabbing the bottle of wine from my bag and following her into the kitchen.
She’s biting her lip again as she sorts through the refrigerator. Before I spontaneously combust, I grab a couple of wine glasses from the rack and pour two.
“What is that? White?” she asks.
“White.”
“Ok, hmmm…” She takes the glass absent-mindedly as she grabs a package and places it on the counter. “Hey! What are you doing in here? No one bothers the chef. Go take five seconds to memorize your lines and then figure out something to do with yourself.”
Her command turns me on, and I’m trying desperately to hide the evidence of that, so I duck out the door. Distraction. Distraction. I sit on the couch and page through the script, and the lines implant themselves on my brain. For once, I’m grateful for my stupid photographic memory. I’ll be ready for the audition. I know this character. I am this character.
Thirty minutes later, she calls out. “Hot plates. Coming out!”
“Sorry for kicking you out.�
� She places a plate of food in front of me on the coffee table. “I can’t cook if people are watching. I get really nervous, and I didn’t want to burn Sophia’s apartment down.”
The food looks absolutely delicious. As I take my first bite of the salmon, I let out a little satisfied sigh. “Now, this is a talent.”
“No, this is one of my thirty-minute specials. Give me a couple of hours and a farmer’s market, and I’ll give you a masterpiece. I figured that we had too much work to do on the script for that.” I don’t even want to think about the script anymore, but she’s right. The audition is the day after tomorrow and I still haven’t run through the other scenes.
The salmon is covered in some sort of honey glaze that’s sweet and spicy at the same time and she’s added some potatoes and asparagus. I have no idea how she was able to do that in thirty minutes, but I’m not complaining.
“This is absolutely delicious. How did you ever learn to cook like that?”
“Eh, a little of this, a little of that. It’s cooking, not rocket science. My dad was the chef in my family, but he died when I was ten. It was either learn to cook or learn to live on overdone casseroles. I chose the former.” Her voice catches when she mentions her dad.
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
She nods. “Yeah. Me, too.” She clears her throat and gives me a smile. “At least I got one skill out of it, though.”
It’s clear that she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, and that’s certainly a sentiment I understand. I change the subject. “Is there anything you’re not good at?” It’s a real question. I haven’t found anything yet.
She erupts with laughter. “Haven’t you heard anything I said? Walking, using a hockey stick, eating without dropping food all over myself…those are just the beginning of the things that I have no hope of ever being able to do. I probably wouldn’t make much of a maid or a coat girl, either.” She grins slyly at me, and I throw my napkin at her.
Falling into You Page 10