I snorted I was so taken aback by his random request. He quirked an amused smile.
“Oh, you’re serious? No. Thank you. I don’t think so.” I shook my head with too much vigor.
“I will get you to watch the show.”
“Sure,” I said. “It seems important to you. Is this an ego thing? You want to show off?”
“How gauche. Of course not.” He pretended to be offended. “I think you’ll like it. The reason it was so well-received was because of how it honored the books. Why are you so against it?”
It would be easy to tell some noble lie in an effort to make me seem smarter about how I was anti-Hollywood and the worship of celebrities never made sense. How society attributed unrealistic expectations to ordinary people only to chew them up and spit them out the moment they showed they were only human. Or how women and children were used up as commodities and rejected when they were no longer cute or appealing. But those were stories I told myself when I was younger to feel better about my snobbishness. My life was never stable enough to have a place to live, let alone a TV to watch shows and movies. It only added to my feelings of being an outsider. When Joey made clear her priorities would always be acting, the hatred of the industry deepened.
In the end, I shrugged. “I just prefer the stories in my head when I’m reading. There’s always something lost in translation.”
He looked at me for a long time. He was doing that thing where his gaze tried to penetrate to my hidden truths.
“I’m going to try my best to change your mind. But for now, let’s try something else. A movie. What’s a classic that you haven’t seen?”
All of them.
“That’s okay. Thanks though,” I said, ever the Frowny Frankie.
“Collette and George are sleeping. Just let yourself have the night. You seem tired.”
“Thanks,” I said deadpan.
“I only meant that everybody needs rest. Are you really in a mood to sit down and work when you’ve been at it all day? You’re only likely to make errors.”
“I need to clean up the kitchen.”
“I already cleaned up,” he said with pep.
I hid a flinch. I’d seen how he cleaned up. There were still pizza boxes stacked by the trash that needed to go out and dirty bowls in the sink. He’d just moved the mess from one surface to the other. But I didn’t want to nitpick, not after he’d been so great tonight. The fact that he was still here at all felt surreal.
Could I really do this? Sit down and just be still for at least ninety minutes while we watched a movie? Harrison looked up at me with such earnest pleading I felt my defenses weakening. More than that, part of me wanted to spend the time with him. And that wily part of me was why I couldn’t be trusted.
But before I could think of another excuse, he wrapped strong fingers around my wrist and tugged me toward the living room. I allowed myself to be led to the right side of the couch with half-hearted protests. It was rare that I sat still, but when I did, it was in this exact spot with the little side table to rest my tea, and the good lamp for while I read. Had he already started noticing my habits, or was I projecting more thought onto the situation?
After all, Harrison was charming and talented, dangerously good-looking, but he wasn’t detail-oriented. He wasn’t careful. The missed dishes and pizza boxes were just the tip of the sloppy iceberg.
But I gave in. In the end, it would be more work to argue, and I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to introduce new forms of art into my life. It might help inspire my writing.
“This is a classic from the late eighties,” he explained.
“Ancient,” I teased.
He narrowed his eyes. “The best things were made in the late eighties. And anyway, this is a movie that is quoted all the time. You need to get the references. I’m here to help you.”
“You’re so selfless.”
“I really am.” He clicked on George’s only modestly-sized TV. “Going old-school,” he said as he slid a DVD into the player. Did he miss what I could only assume was an elaborate home theater setup back in LA? How could he possibly want to spend his evening here when he could call on hundreds of friends or ladies who would happily come over with one message?
I settled into the couch, leaning on my fist, legs tucked up under me.
As soon as he hit play, I felt his constant gaze on the side of my face, waiting for every reaction. This was another reason I hated watching things that were classics or other people’s favorites. There was no way not to disappoint.
“I feel you watching me,” I said without turning my head.
“No, I’m not.” His head jerked forward in my periphery.
