"I don't understand how you could walk away and never look back. How you could claim to love me and then hurt me."
She's holding my gaze for once. "I wasn't in a place to love. I was hurting too much myself."
"You? Hurting?" What did she have to hurt about? She still has her parents.
"Of course I was hurting. My whole life was pain. I hated myself. Only when I was with you did I feel worthy of love. But that kind of love needs to start from within. Without you, I didn't have the spark. I forgot how to feel it. After we left camp, all I did was hurt. So I threw my pain into dance. But it's never gone away. It's always there. And the longer I wasn't a success at ballet, the less worthy I even felt of your love. Of anyone's love. Why would you love someone who was not the best?"
I stare at her for a moment before shifting my gaze down to my hands, still poised over the ivory keys.I should tell her. "You weren't the only one who had shit to deal with, you know."
"I know. Teenage shit is rough for all of us. Some people handle it better than others. I apparently don't handle anything well."
Okay, this is it. I'm going to tell her why my emotions seem way out of proportion for a dumb summer fling. "Leslie, it's that—"
"Oh, Josh, there you are. I need a minute, mate." Henderson strides in as if he hasn't just interrupted something important.
Leslie stands up. "Okay, well, I gotta go get ready anyway. See you later." She gives us both a little wave and then walks out, her head hanging.
Henderson's practically reverberating with excitement, which is a bit unusual for him. He's the strong, silent, grumpy type. I've seen him roll his eyes more than I've seen him smile. "So I was looking through your stuff last night. Give me the elevator pitch."
This is it. It's what I've been waiting for. I inhale deeply, ready to deliver in one breath. "It's a gender-flipped contemporary retelling of Oscar Wilde'sThe Importance of Being EarnestcalledHonor Code." And exhale.
"I never read it. Give me a little more."
"A well-to-do woman lives a double life. She's Dawn by birth but goes out and about on the social scene as Honor. Honor is mostly seen through social media. It's a comedy of errors as Dawn/Honor's best friend tries to claim the Honor persona, and they both vie for the attention of the billionaire, George."
Henderson stares off, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. I don't know why he always does this. "What are you thinking for the social media stuff?"
"Acting out the club scenes. Using a projector to show what George sees on his phone."
Henderson nods. "Cast size?"
Mentally, I run through it. "Small. Dawn is the lead. George. The best friend and her love interest. About five or six smaller supporting characters."
"Ensemble?"
Why is he asking for so many details? I'm trying not to get my hopes up here, but I don't think he's asking all these questions to make pleasant conversation.
"I'd like one, but it can be done without. There's a lot still up in the air and open for negotiation." I'm cool. This is cool. I can be cool.
I'm sweating bullets.
Henderson nods, deep in thought. "Okay. Okay. Sounds good, mate."
Sounds good, mate?What's that supposed to mean?
I need to play it suave, though everything inside me is jumping up and down and screaming. Could Henderson be interested in my show? For real? It's one thing for him to listen politely as I ramble on and on about it. It's another thing entirely for him to come to me with a list of specific questions.
"Anything else I can help you with?”
"I'll be in touch if I need anything else." Henderson starts to walk away.
Play it cool. Play it cool.
"Henderson, why the questions? Are you thinking about producing the show? That'd be awesome if you did. I really want you to. What else do you need from me? I'll literally do anything for you to make that happen."
Cool as ice.
"I can't get into details, mostly because I don't have them yet, but I'm trying to run some numbers."
