Page 122 of Stay for Me
I open my phone, hovering over Brenna’s number, and decide not to do it. If I can make it through this scene one more time, then I’ll call.
“You all right?” Eli Walsh asks as he claps me on the back.
“I’m fine.”
Eli is my nemesis in this scene. He’ll be in only this one movie because, inevitably, I’ll kill him toward the end. “You seem out of it.”
I shrug. “I have a lot on my mind.” That doesn’t seem to give him the clue that I don’t want to talk about it because he just keeps looking at me. “There’s a school play I was directing. It was a big deal because the kid’s father died.”
He nods. “I see, and you had to let him down to be here.”
“Yup.”
“Then stop dicking around and shoot the scene. Use your anger and frustration and channel it the right way. There are so many times when I’m not in the right headspace for filming, but in the end, it’s our job to fake it. You know all that.”
I do, but hearing it from him seems to be what I needed. “I guess I forgot.”
He chuckles. “Being out of Hollywood for a while will do that. It’s why I really never wanted to do movies, but Noah and I go way back, so . . . here I am.”
I didn’t realize that Noah knew him outside this movie. “How so?”
Eli glances over at him. “We’re married to best friends, and we both starred onA Thin Blue Line.”
Jesus. I totally forgot that. “Did he handpick his entire cast?”
“Basically. He wanted to work with quality actors,” he says as he raises one brow.
And I’m definitely not living up to that.
Noah’s voice comes over the megaphone. “Ready?”
“The sooner we nail this, the sooner we’re all heading home. Remember that.” Eli walks away, and I send a quick text to Brenna.
Me: Filming. We’ll talk when I get back.
I shut my phone off and go to work so I can get back to Sugarloaf before the play.
* * *
My legs are bouncing as anxious energy courses through me. Making it back to Pennsylvania before the show is going to be close—so insanely close that I might just be tempting fate. We shot the scene in one fluid take. Noah replayed it, but I was already grabbing my shit to go. I knew the second he yelled cut that it was perfect. Every one of us was on point.
He gave me one solid head nod, and I was running to the car that was waiting. I didn’t tell anyone back home that I was on my way because traffic in L.A. is always an issue, and with my luck, I wouldn’t make it to the airport in time to catch my flight back to the East Coast. Thanks to Catherine’s planning, the plane was ready to go the second I got on board. Within minutes, we were airborne.
“The pilot is making great time, the winds are on our side, Mr. Arrowood,” the flight attendant says as she hands me a drink.
I’m sitting on the couch across from the captain chair on the small private plane, and I can’t even enjoy myself. “Great. Thanks.” I accept the glass and then place it on the table beside me. I don’t care much about eating or drinking, I just want to get there.
She smiles. “Do you need anything else?”
“Nope, just . . . watching the clock.”
“I understand, he’s doing his best. I’ll be back in a few minutes, just ring for me if you need anything before then.” She heads to the front of the plane into the little area where the supplies are.
The only thing I need is for this plane to go faster, but that’s not really possible. It’s been fewer than forty minutes, but it feels like forty years. I should’ve at least sent Brenna a text, but I was laser focused on getting in the air.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, looking at the last text.
Brenna: I hoped you’d call. I just want to talk.
