agreed time, I made my way to the lobby. Haven was waiting for me. Of course she was. Most of the filming in Paris was taking place outside. Although there were apparently a few scenes in cafes, that meant being in the cold for most of the day and Haven was prepared to the point it was almost comical. She really didn’t seem to care that she looked a little insane.
“You look warm.” If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was smuggling duvets under her coat and she had at least two scarves on and a hat. She could barely move her arms.
“I’m a little too warm, actually. Let’s get outside.”
“You know this isn’t Antarctica don’t you?”
“I’m not good in the cold. You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face when you’re frozen to the bone later on.”
I couldn’t not laugh at her. She made it too easy. “Come on.” I put my hand on her lower back and guided her out.
When we arrived at the set we found people running about in different directions, shouting and waving. It all seemed very chaotic. We were ushered to our pre-assigned chairs, which Haven struggled to get into because of all her extra layers. There was no sign of Sandy, Phil or the director. Haven would be pleased not to have missed anything.
The sun was out and Haven stripped off her hat, taking with it her ever-present, neatly arranged bun. “Can you hold this for me?” she said passing me her hat, and pulling out the pins that held the last of her hair. As it all tumbled down, it winded me. I picked up my camera and began taking shots of her. At first she was so focused on getting her hair under control that she didn’t notice me.
“What are you doing?” she said more softly than I expected when she eventually realised what I was up to.
“Taking beautiful pictures.”
“Harry, no.”
I put my camera down. “Call me Jake.” The only people who called me Jake were my family and a few old buddies back in Chicago, but I wanted Haven to use my real name. My friends used my nickname and I didn’t want to be a friend to her.
“What?”
“I don’t want to be Harry to you. Call me Jake.”
She watched me studiously, her mouth half open as if she was about to ask me a question. She didn’t, though, and her lips curled into a breath-taking smile.
“Okay, J—”
“He’s here!” Sandy’s voice cut across our connection and swiftly Haven finished securing her hair, took a seat and opened her laptop.
“Hey, Sandy.” I greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
“Harry, we’re in Paris, there’s going to be lots of French kissing. Get ready!” she said as Phil directed her toward the front of the crew.
“Holy hell,” I muttered to myself.
“Like I said, a sure thing,” Haven said. I didn’t reply. She surely couldn’t think I was interested, even if Sandy was a sure thing.
The scene that they were shooting was an argument between Sandy and her male co-star, Bobby. As usual, we couldn’t hear anything and so we sat watching, trying to seem interested.
We’d never gotten to see the script, so from time to time we guessed what was going on. Sandy was waving her hands in the air and Bobby seemed exasperated. “I think he left his pants on the bedroom floor,” I said.
“No, she’s really mad. I think he asked her to try anal.”
I spat out my coffee. “Jesus. You sound like you’re talking from experience.”
Haven laughed. “Yeah, I waved my arms about just like that.”
I joined in her laughter.
“I imagine your girlfriend Millie doesn’t take such offense,” she said.
Did I hear her right? “Wow. There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t know where to go with it. The fact that you might have imagined Millie and I discussing anal sex is just plain disturbing, and then there’s you insinuating that’s what I’m into. I think that constitutes a record for you in terms of how many insults you can pack into a single statement. Anyone would think you’re asking to
“You look warm.” If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was smuggling duvets under her coat and she had at least two scarves on and a hat. She could barely move her arms.
“I’m a little too warm, actually. Let’s get outside.”
“You know this isn’t Antarctica don’t you?”
“I’m not good in the cold. You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face when you’re frozen to the bone later on.”
I couldn’t not laugh at her. She made it too easy. “Come on.” I put my hand on her lower back and guided her out.
When we arrived at the set we found people running about in different directions, shouting and waving. It all seemed very chaotic. We were ushered to our pre-assigned chairs, which Haven struggled to get into because of all her extra layers. There was no sign of Sandy, Phil or the director. Haven would be pleased not to have missed anything.
The sun was out and Haven stripped off her hat, taking with it her ever-present, neatly arranged bun. “Can you hold this for me?” she said passing me her hat, and pulling out the pins that held the last of her hair. As it all tumbled down, it winded me. I picked up my camera and began taking shots of her. At first she was so focused on getting her hair under control that she didn’t notice me.
“What are you doing?” she said more softly than I expected when she eventually realised what I was up to.
“Taking beautiful pictures.”
“Harry, no.”
I put my camera down. “Call me Jake.” The only people who called me Jake were my family and a few old buddies back in Chicago, but I wanted Haven to use my real name. My friends used my nickname and I didn’t want to be a friend to her.
“What?”
“I don’t want to be Harry to you. Call me Jake.”
She watched me studiously, her mouth half open as if she was about to ask me a question. She didn’t, though, and her lips curled into a breath-taking smile.
“Okay, J—”
“He’s here!” Sandy’s voice cut across our connection and swiftly Haven finished securing her hair, took a seat and opened her laptop.
“Hey, Sandy.” I greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
“Harry, we’re in Paris, there’s going to be lots of French kissing. Get ready!” she said as Phil directed her toward the front of the crew.
“Holy hell,” I muttered to myself.
“Like I said, a sure thing,” Haven said. I didn’t reply. She surely couldn’t think I was interested, even if Sandy was a sure thing.
The scene that they were shooting was an argument between Sandy and her male co-star, Bobby. As usual, we couldn’t hear anything and so we sat watching, trying to seem interested.
We’d never gotten to see the script, so from time to time we guessed what was going on. Sandy was waving her hands in the air and Bobby seemed exasperated. “I think he left his pants on the bedroom floor,” I said.
“No, she’s really mad. I think he asked her to try anal.”
I spat out my coffee. “Jesus. You sound like you’re talking from experience.”
Haven laughed. “Yeah, I waved my arms about just like that.”
I joined in her laughter.
“I imagine your girlfriend Millie doesn’t take such offense,” she said.
Did I hear her right? “Wow. There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t know where to go with it. The fact that you might have imagined Millie and I discussing anal sex is just plain disturbing, and then there’s you insinuating that’s what I’m into. I think that constitutes a record for you in terms of how many insults you can pack into a single statement. Anyone would think you’re asking to
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