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‘Give me five minutes.’ She smiled at him as if he had made her day.
* * *
Five years later, on the outskirts of London, in a post-production studio that was costing him an arm and a leg, Jenny was still making him feel better.
He resisted the offer of a real drink. ‘My liver says no, Jen.’
‘So, that’s the final reshoot done. Looks like your movie is made, Harry.’
‘Yeah, Avery and Louise were on fire today, weren’t they? Christ, the sparks were flying. I shoulda told them. Will you tell them?’
‘Tom and Claudine, you mean?’
On this set, Harry had been referring to the cast by their character names. It bugged the actors, and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He had immersed himself in the story in a way he had never done before.
‘You know who I mean.’
‘Sure, Harry. I’ll tell them. When would you like to fly to L.A.?’
Preferably never, thought Harry. He wasn’t ready to face the critics. In his gut, he knew that this movie was the best he’d made. He knew, too, that that didn’t mean much. His previous films weren’t exactly art house classics. He believed this one was good, but he couldn’t know for sure if it was good enough. There was a fair chance that his passion project would crash and burn. Harry was nervous and agitated. This one mattered.
He fiddled absent-mindedly with his watch. It slipped easily off his wrist now; he didn’t even need to open the clasp anymore. He should get it sized. It was the sort of thing he would usually have asked Jen to do, but she had copped that something was up, he was sure of that, and he didn’t want to feed her suspicions. Still, he’d hate to lose it. It had been Nancy’s engagement gift to him. It wasn’t remotely valuable, just a Victorinox with a steel bracelet, but a Swiss watch had seemed pretty fancy back then. He had worn it ever since, even while he was married to Rita.
Rita had never even noticed.
He turned the watch over to look at the inscription, four words running in a circle:Together, for all time.He rubbed his thumb across the words, remembering, letting the ache of regret spread a little further through his body.
He sighed and shook himself back to reality.
‘I need to recharge a bit before we finish the editing, Jen. I’m feeling tired.’
‘How about a few days on the beach? We could go to my grandma’s place in Sagaponack.’
He noticed how her voice faltered when she mentioned her grandma.
‘Thanks, Jen, but no.’
‘Are you sure? It’s beautiful in the Hamptons at this time of year.’
‘I doubt your mom wants guests right now.’
‘Well, that’s the thing. She’s not there. She’s gone to Paris for work. Apparently, she wants to open an office there for Belle Maison.’
‘Belle Maison?’
‘Oh, it’s her latest baby – an interiors magazine.’
‘Is it French?’
‘Not really, just pretending to be. It was a bit weird – she was all mysterious about it. I said I could meet her there, jump on the Eurostar or whatever, but she put me off, said she’d be too busy.’
He looked at Jenny’s face. She was being more introspective than usual; there was something she wasn’t saying. He leaned back and watched as she tapped a stack of scripts against the counter-top to align the pages. She was neat as a pin and, as ever, conservatively dressed, but he recalled in his mind’s eye the compact curves of her body. Maybe a week on the beach with Jenny was just the tonic he needed.
He took a sip of the green slush and sighed. It wouldn’t do any good. It wasn’t Jenny he wanted. Besides, his body wasn’t up to parading on the beach anymore, and his ego wasn’t up to accepting her pity.
‘Sounds to me like your mom’s got a secret assignation,’ he said.
‘Yeah, sounds that way to me, too. I guess she deserves some romance.’
