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I hold up my hand to stop her. “That was very kind of you. And for the record, nothing is going on between Joe and I. We are ancient history, and I doubt that’ll change anytime soon.”
“I just thought with you coming in all upset ...”
“I’m not upset. I think I’m having an allergic reaction to the cat, though. Joe’s car wouldn’t start, and the two of them caught a ride with me.”
“Oh. You know, Colin, my youngest, is allergic too. I think I have some allergy meds in my purse. Let me grab you some. That’ll clear you right up.”
She returns with a tiny white pill and a glass of water. To my surprise, it does the trick. The waterworks stop within minutes, and I feel like I can breathe again. By the time Joe comes to remind me about lunch with Charles, I’m back to my normal productive self, except for a tiny bit of brain fog a coffee will fix.
“What do you think, Charles? Could this work as a romantic dinner location for our movie?” I ask when the three of us were seated at the farm-to-table restaurant I wanted both of them to see. Rooted has become a bit of a favorite, and I’d love to see it immortalized on the silver screen.
“Lighting will be a bit of a challenge, but I know someone who could pull this off. On budget,” he adds when I raise an eyebrow. If producing has taught me anything, it’s that getting the mood and light right can cost you a small fortune and will get you to run over budget almost as quickly as a director doing take after take for the perfect shot.
“How about you? Do you like it?” I look at Joe across from me.
“I don’t know. We haven’t ordered yet.” He grins.
“What does that have to do anything?” I ask deadpan, knowing full well where this is going. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charles sit back, observing us.
“You know how it is. You can’t tell the vibe of a place until you’ve tasted the food. Especially a restaurant like this.”
Right on cue, our server appears, and lunch arrives before I have a chance to take more than a sip of the excellent red table wine I ordered.
“Can you not do that?” Joe asks, taking another bite of his roasted vegetable dish. It looks worthy of my grandmother’s kitchen.
“Do what? I’m just sitting here, eating my tomato pie.” It's delicious as always and goes perfectly with the crisp white wine. I take another sip and am surprised that I’m feeling the effects of it already. I’ve barely had half a glass. I shake my head to clear it and switch to water. I’m not usually this much of a lightweight.
Joe shakes his head. “You know it bugs me when you’re staring at me, waiting for a comment, while I’m trying to enjoy my meal.”
“I’m not staring. Am I staring, Charles?” I ask, turning to my location scout.
He raises his hands. “I’m not involved in whatever this is. All I’m saying is the place will work for the movie, and the chicken is excellent.” He takes another big bite.
“The meatballs are good,” Joe says.
“Was that so hard?” I grin at him and, despite my better judgment, I take another sip of wine. “We all agree then. Rooted is making it into the movie.” I raise my glass, waiting for the boys to join in my impromptu salute.
“I think we should probably have a chat with the owner first.” Joe cuts into a large chunk of roasted beet.
“Who wouldn’t want their restaurant in a famous movie?” I ask. Joe kicks me under the table, and I lower my voice. “Seriously. This could bring them all sorts of extra publicity. A bakery we featured in our last show has a line out the door every Saturday now.”
“That’s true. But remember, we’ll need them to shut the place down for at least part of the day if we want to shoot in here. I’ll have a chat with the owner after we’re done and see what she thinks.” Charles turns to look at something that catches his attention.
“Incoming,” I mutter, spotting the group of young actresses heading our way.
“Excuse me, you look awfully familiar. Did we run into each other at an audition?” the most confident of the bunch asks after they are seated at the table next to ours.
Charles has a huge grin on his face and does his best to turn while still keeping up appearances that he’s having lunch with us. Joe, the object of their unwanted attention, smiles politely. “I doubt it. I just moved here a few days ago.”
“It must have been LA then. I spent a summer out there last year. Aren’t you Joe McAlister?” Her smile is faker than her ample bosom, and her eyes are blinking like she’s trying to communicate in Morse Code.
“I am. It’s nice to meet you.” Joe gets up and shakes hands with each of the women, who introduce themselves to him in turn.
“Here we go,” I mutter under my breath and drink the last of my wine.
“Here’s my card. If you email me, I’ll make sure our office manager notifies you when we open auditions,” Joe says, handing them each a plain white card with his name and email address. I don’t notice a phone number on them.
“Thank you. Hey, listen. We’re heading out on the town tonight. Why don’t you meet up with us? We’ll show you around.” Blondie is holding her hand out, and one of her friends hands her a pen. She looks up at Joe expectantly, eyelashes fluttering again.
