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A smattering of applause disrupted the stillness of the room as brief credits soared across the screen. Giddiness persisted within Kenna knowing that Liam’s film was to follow. He could’ve chosen anywhere for their premier date, but he chose to share this night with her and she understood he must have liked her a great deal to endure something so vulnerable during their first outing.
He was willing to share his art with her.
The announcer came on in her smooth, ASMR voice. “Gray Octoberdirected by Sung-Min Park.”
Alluring jazz music crescendoed as the film faded into focus. It was shot in black and white, a distinct choice that set it apart from the rest of the showcase. A woman with a blonde bob, which looked to be a cheaply made wig, entered a private office, slamming the door once inside.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” said a man sporting a ponytail. A fat cigar was lodged between his lips, mangling his dialogue.
Liam tapped Kenna’s forearm, glancing at her in horror. “This isn’t my film.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean what do I mean? I’m telling you, I’ve never seen this in my life.”
Before she had time to process Liam’s concern, shrieks broke out in the audience, diverting Kenna’s attention to the film. The blonde woman bent over the desk, the absence of underwear made obvious by her hiked-up skirt. The man snatched the cigar from his lips, extinguishing it on the blonde’s backside. Instead of screaming, she moaned at the sensation. Kenna averted her gaze before the villainous voice of curiosity persuaded her to further ogle the bizarre film.
A booming baritone rang out through the PA system as the screen went black.
“It seems someone has taken it upon themself to hijack the evening with this distasteful piece. Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the unscheduled breach in tonight’s program. Let us continue to the next film.”
Kenna’s eyes flitted to Liam. He maneuvered the lip ring with his tongue, appearing to be on the verge of tears.
She knew he was telling the truth, that it wasn’t his work, and his string of misfortune was shaping up to be anything but coincidental.
Someone had it out for Liam.
The two hours Dayton stood in the packed, darkened venue were torturous. Sure, the reactions from the first few minutes of the X-rated flick filled him with a sickening delight, but beyond that, the affair was mind-numbing. He could hardly make out the tops of Liam and Kenna’s heads from such a distance, let alone monitor where their hormone-driven hands were undoubtedly wandering. The thought of Liam touching her had him seething.
His lamb. His skin.
Bursting out of the main doors, he barreled down the first set of stairs, and then the second. He crouched on the bottom step and gazed up at the clear night sky. Dayton planted his legs apart, cradling his head in his hands. Weakness devoured him. Had he become softer since scoring Jasmine? Or had it been the misery that followed?
Either way, the thought made him ill. He was getting too attached to the woman who was solely sought out for his passionate harvest. Once he’d ravaged Kenna, she’d be gone.
As if on cue, her distinct feathery voice resonated in the foreground of Dayton’s pity party. Heels and sneakers clacked and clomped against the cement steps, the hideous symphony of a mass exodus.
“That sucks they couldn’t find your film,” he heard her say. The sound was not so distant.
“Guess I’m having a string of bad luck,” Liam said.
Dayton spied through a ridge on his coat sleeve as they passed, admiring Kenna’s straight strands dancing in the breeze. A glossy pumpkin shade coated her lips and complemented her natural hair color. He’d spent so much time staring at her magnificent mouth since they started working together, he knew its every crease, curve, and crack.
Liam scuffed his shoe on the sidewalk. “Do you wanna grab a slice at Vinny’s?”
Pathetic. Surely Kenna would never be interested in someone who bathed in the waters of such cowardice.
“I ate earlier, actually. But I’ll see you at trivia next week.”
Her declination rang in Dayton’s ears like a victory bell.
“Maybe you can come over sometime to see my film.” He backpedaled from where she stood in the middle of the deserted walkway.
Over my dead body, Dayton thought.
He reached inside the breast pocket of his coat, feeling the DVD he’d lifted from the projection area. The chances of reclaiming his filthy tape were unlikely. It wasn’t a considerable loss; an expansive collection lived beneath the floorboards of his home, some of which were personally directed.
“Maybe.”
