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I’d never been one to play with fire, and I wasn’t going to start now.
9
WILLOW
Ididn’t expect Julian’s demotion from head of the studio to camera man to last more than an hour. That Sony FS7 wasn’t light, for one thing, and despite his broad shoulders and hard chest, I couldn’t imagine he did much of his own heavy lifting. For another thing, Miller continued snapping out commands as though it were still Tom taking his orders and not the man who signed his paycheck.
“Miller, if you keep barking at me, I’m going to shove this camera up your ass,” Julian said at one point, but he didn’t put it down.
Unwilling, grudging respect grew as the hours went on. It wasn’t just heavy lifting and Miller’s attitude that got old. The skateboarding competition itself got boring. At least, it did to me. The tricks and flips that were awe inspiring in the first hour were old hat by the end of the third. I was ready for someone–anyone–to win so we could call it a day.
Worse than the boredom though was the way I started to feelcomfortablearound Julian. I forgot he was a spoiled, rich asshole who would grow up to be exactly like my father and his. I forgot that I was a spy from the enemy camp–even though technically I had no intention of spying. Horribly, I started to feel a sort of comradery with him. The jostling crowd kept me close to his side. Miller’s abrasive commands made us lock eyes in weary solidarity more than once.
Even worse than that, sparkling around the edges of the comfort, was something else. Something I didn’t even want to name. I’d always been a sucker for useful men. Men who didn’t just move people and money around like pawns on a Chess board. Men who didn’t justactlike men. I’d had Julian pegged as the former, but now I was seeing another side of him. He hadn’t been bluffing when he told Miller he knew how to handle the camera. When we pulled it out of the van, he picked it up between his large hands, studied it, and then nodded.
“Yeah, I can do this.”
And then he did. He wasn’t as skilled as Tom, but he did a better job than I could have, and he made it look easy.
At one point, he had his sleeves rolled up, the camera hoisted, the weight of it defining strong biceps beneath golden-tanned skin, and I thought,oh. Feline interest flicked through me before I remembered who he was. Who I was. But as I pulled my gaze away, I ran headlong into his. He’d seen me watching him.
I looked away immediately and put some distance between us, sliding my way through the crowd to where Brendan was standing with Michio’s best friend. Unlike me, they were fixated on the competition that was in its last round and barely acknowledged me when I came up beside them. I was glad for it. I didn’t want to make small talk. I was inexplicably irritated, flustered. My heart was beating too fast, and my throat was dry. I told myself it was because I’d been out here for three hours, and I’d finished my iced coffee in the first half hour.
Standing on tiptoes, I looked around the crowd. Over helmets and brightly colored spikes of hair and high ponytails, I saw a covered pavilion with a drink machine and a snack machine set against the back wall. I felt in my pocket to make sure I had my phone, then made my way over to it. It was deserted at this point in the competition, a few wrappers and soda cans littering the abandoned tables. I got my Dr. Pepper and stood there for a minute, enjoying the space.
What the hell was I thinking, checking out Julian Lewis? He carried around a camera for a couple of hours and I forgot who he really was? That wasn’t like me. I’d made that mistake as a kid when I tried to turn my dad into someone he wasn’t. I’d learned my lesson.
I took another sip of my drink, took a deep breath, and then started back toward the crowd. As I drew closer, I could tell something had changed. The fun had disappeared from the frenzy, leaving a shifting, surging malevolence in its wake. Awestruck faces had morphed into avid, bloodthirsty curiosity. People were pushing forward, trying to see something.
Another accident, I thought, joining the surge after a moment’s hesitation. Someone had gotten hurt, and now everyone wanted to see it for themselves. It was probably gruesome. I doubted Julian would be capturing it on camera, even if he was close enough. It wouldn’t serve the documentary. I tried to spot him in the crowd, but even with his considerable height, I couldn’t find him. There were too many people. I saw bright, lurid colors and all the shades of midnight, but I didn’t see gold.
I was halfway through the crowd, people pressed in tightly on either side. I couldn’t smell the crisp, ocean-salted air anymore. It was stale, a mash of body odor, sweat, and synthetic sweetness. I tipped my head back, trying to get a whiff of fresh air, but my head bumped someone’s shoulder. I couldn’t turn to apologize. People were all around, so close. So many of them.
Fear tried to claw its way up my throat, but I pushed it back down. I’d never liked tight places. I took the stairs instead of elevators whenever possible. When I went to New York City, I’d walk the length of the island before I took the subway.
So you’ll get out, my brain said reasonably.No big deal. You’ll find Julian and Miller when this breaks up.
But I still couldn’t turn around. The momentum of the crowd at my back was too strong. The best I could manage was to stand still, but I couldn’t keep my feet planted for long. There was a relentless drive to move forward, but I couldn’t figure out where they were all moving toward.
I didn’t care. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be part of it. I wanted to get out, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get out of the riptide of people. And the answer of where they were going was answered–they weren’t going anywhere because there was nowhereto go. They were just packing into the viewing platform more and more tightly.
I started to hear cries of alarm.
“Back up. There’s no more room, guys. Back the fuck up.”
But the knot of people that had bunched up around me didn’t loosen. Arms, legs, backs, chests pressed against me from all sides. I caught the wild-eyed gaze of a girl beside me, and my anxiety kicked into overdrive. This wasn’t my claustrophobia making me think it was worse than it was, it really was bad. Dangerously bad. I tried to take a deep breath, but there was no room. No air.
“Back the fuck up.”
“Come on, people are getting hurt.”
“Seriously, get back!”
A few feet away, a guy was telling his girlfriend to climb up on his shoulders. Their friends were trying to help. I could see her face, white as a sheet, her hands shaking. I recognized a panic attack when I saw it because I was on the verge of one as well. I needed help, but there was no one here to help me. Big black circles were clotting my vision as the fear squeezed in as tightly as the bodies. The surging had finally abated, but we were locked in a crushing standstill.
They’re not pushing anymore, I told myself.It’s okay. It’s okay.There was nothing soothing about rationality though. Not today. My breath hitched in my lungs, cutting off even the dank, warm air I’d been breathing. Gray was beginning to swarm between the black dots in my vision, but suddenly, gold and blue cut through it.
Julian, improbably, was in front of me. Against the sea of heads turned away from me, toward whatever spectacle had caused this pile up, to see someone facing me was a shock. It sent a jolt of adrenaline through my body, loosening the band around my chest, clearing my vision. He said something I couldn’t hear. I shook my head.
