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Now I’m fully done with Flick. The only thing I care about is the glowing goddess on stage, looking as glimmery as an award herself.
I’ve been thinking about Harley nonstop since the interview. We ended on such a strange note after our conversation about love. She barely even looked at me when I said goodbye, opting instead to start listening to playback in the booth with her producer. All I got was a wave and a pitiful smile.
I chalked her distance up to my indiscretion. Mentioning her age was…wrong of me. Regardless of what I think or my questions, I shouldn’t have devalued all her experiences just because she might have been young when they happened. I don’t know her whole life. Herwholestory.
I know that everything that happened with her mother must have caused her a lot of pain. But from the look in her eyes, the pain, I think there is more to the story.
I have found myself wishing for her trust. For her honesty. It’s all so wrong, feels more wrong every passing day that I still desire her and wish for her to be in my life.
Now, here she is. A mere coincidence.
Or a fated encounter.
“And the award goes to…” she opens up a golden envelope, “Live with Daisy.”
The applause resounds as Daisy Sinclair, host of the show, climbs the stage for her acceptance speech. Harley hands her the award and they exchange a hug and a kiss on the cheek before Harley starts to walk offstage.
Her eyes immediately land on me. I notice the hesitation in her feet. But she has no choice but to walk right to me unless she wants to make a scene at this awards show.
With each step she takes toward me, I stand a little taller. What should I say? What should I do? I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but I can’t just let her walk by without–
Any plan I have is immediately scrapped when Harley hits the wings and walks right past me without so much as a smile.
What the fuck?
I turn to Flick and give him a pat on the arm. “You’ll do great. Just stick to the cards.”
“You got it, Neville.”
I don’t care if this man starts shouting a string of expletives on stage at this point. I need to talk to Harley.
I turn around and see that she’s talking with one of the stage managers with a friendly smile. I can tell she’s trying to walk away but the SM is holding her captive, talking her ear off. Perfect. She’s a captive audience.
“I just love your show. I try to listen to it live, but sometimes–”
“Just listening to it at all means a lot,” Harley says, pulling at her skirt, ready to dart away.
“I loved the one with the plumber. I had no idea how talented they have to be!”
Harley laughs nervously. Her eyes flick to me. She’s been spotted and can’t run.
“Excuse me, may I interrupt?” I ask.
The stage manager looks at me with big eyes. “Of course, Mr. Neville.” Then, she looks at Harley, “I also loved your episode with Mr. Neville.”
“You’re very kind,” Harley says. There’s an edge of discomfort in her voice. I know it’s my fault. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Neville.”
Mr. Neville. That makes me sound like a middle school biology teacher. Not her friend. Her former lover. “Yes, always a pleasure to run into you.” I eye the stage manager; she gets the hint and skitters off to deal with Flick before he goes on to present his award. “You mind if we talk for a minute? Somewhere private.”
Harley’s body goes rigid. For a moment, I think she’s going to refuse, but then she nods. “Alright.”
“Perfect.” I nod in the direction of the green room. “This way.”
I touch the small of Harley’s back to guide her in that direction. She glances up at me in surprise. “You lead,” she says, stepping out of my touch.
Fine. That’s fair. I overstepped too quickly. I clear my throat and push my hands into my pockets. “Very well.”
I lead Harley into the green room which is empty now. I don’t want to risk us being interrupted, though, so I take it a step further and open the door to the private dressing room along the back wall. “After you.”
