Page 2 of Steamy on Set

The day Christian told me he loved me, we were sitting on the floor of my kitchen, two bottles deep into our favorite wine. Tart grapes loosened our tongues of anything we were scared to say while sober, and we cackled over the stupid stories we should have been too ashamed to share. We rested against one another, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg, hands holding on to glasses, and each other.

I remember the way he wouldn’t look at me. I was half way through my tale of the time I put gum in my grade three nemesis’s hair when he cut me off and said the words that would forever shift our relationship.

Hearing that he loved me was the spark to ignite the feelings I had been hiding even from myself. And as the soft pressure of his lips landing on mine shot down into the core of my being, I knew that part of me always loved him too.

I need to understand how we got from that place to where we are now. Which is why I try calling him again. When he doesn’t pick up, I spend the rest of the ride trying to hold it together.

Soon I am perched on my couch, wine and remote in hand. The TV blares in the background, playing the symphony to my dancing thoughts. I’m almost thirty and single, and my career is in shambles. If I take Monty up on her offer, what would I even do in LA?

I think about everyone that I know who lives there, and the first person to come to mind is Mira. We met each other during an internship at a design house in France; being the only two Americans working there had bonded us. If anyone knows about potential work, it will be her.

I grab my phone and click on her contact, hoping her number hasn’t changed. On the third ring, she picks up, her voice just as raspy and bubbly as it was the last time we talked.

“Farrah, oh my god. It’s been forever.”

“I know.” I try to think of the right lead-in. “How are you?”

“Keep on keeping on, living each day in its glory.”

“That is good. Are you still in LA?”

“You know it. Why?”

I put my wine glass on the table, feeling like I need both hands to talk.

“I’m thinking of moving out there and wanted to know what the styling scene is like. Have you heard about any openings or places you could put a good word in?”

“Oh my god Farrah! If you’re willing to step out of your comfort zone a little, I have the perfect job for you.”

“You do?” Elation brews in the pit of my stomach, mixing with the alcohol to make my head spin.

“I just got booked as the lead costume designer on a movie, and I’m currently looking to hire my assistant designer.”

I can’t help but wonder if I’d be good at doing this job.

“Wow, okay. Should I send you my portfolio?”

“No need, I see your work all the time online.”

I can’t believe this is actually happening.

“Okay, so what does that mean?”

“It means get your butt to LA. We start pre-production in five weeks.”

Heat flares across my skin as she rattles off the details, pulling me further into this decision. Thirty minutes go by before I’m off the phone and able to take in what I’ve just done. Working on a movie isn’t necessarily the dream, but the celebrities I can possibly meet and style makes the idea worth it.

Before I can change my mind, I text Monty and let her know I’m in. Falling back against the couch, I steady my breath as I try to picture myself on a movie set. Maybe there I can get my confidence back and finally get over him. Maybe I will even learn to trust again. All I know is nothing is going to change if I stay here lost in the memories of who we were to each other. Before I even think about calling him again I turn up the volume, finally letting TV drama overtake my own.

Chapter 2

Evenwiththemoveto Los Angeles taking up all my time, I still can’t help but think of Christian everyday.

When he’d arrived at my door all those weeks ago, looking like he’d seen the worst side of a ten hour flight, he had seemed rattled. I’d been expecting a steamy reunion, but was instead informed that he had slept with his coworker Lucy. Not feeling the need to explain why or give me the courtesy of being the one to end it, he had walked out of my apartment and apparently out of my life.

I just want a conversation from the guy I’ve known for a decade to get some closure to the end of our relationship. I justneed to know that despite how it all went down, he did really care about me. Did our relationship really mean so little to him?

After checking to see if he has responded to my text messages, I put my phone back into my bag with a sigh. I adjust my dress for the third time while walking towards the gate. The fit is doing wonders for my shape, but very little in comfort when taking large steps. I pull it down into place once again as I come to the front of the studio.

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