Page 13 of Lights, Camera, Love

‘Budapest,’ Kye murmurs, verbalising my exact thought.

As I watch Buzz make his escape—disregarding the wardrobe check that Kye requested—my stomach hollows with regret. I should’ve told Buzz that him wanting to ‘see my ass’ makes me deeply uncomfortable. Plus, I would like my agent to be involved in any discussions regarding intimate areas of my body.

Romy rests an elbow on the clothing rack and gives me a once-over. ‘I think it looks good. Should we try on the next one?’

‘Yes, sure, lovely,’ I say, with a tight smile that aims to please.

I’m stepping over to the changing curtain when Austin suddenly intercepts me, unpinned fabric flapping from his suit leg.

‘Austin, get back over here before I knock those eyes out of your head,’ Kye snaps.

‘Be right there, bro,’ Austin tosses back, but Kye’s chastisement wasn’t necessary. Austin isn’t salivating over my bare thighs like Buzz was. He’s only studying my face.

‘You don’t look happy,’ he says.

The comment catches me off-guard. ‘No, no, I’m good, thanks. I just want to make sure that I’m getting the right feel for Constance. So that when we start filming, I’m good to go.’

‘And you’re not feeling her yet?’

My smile fades as I give the rack of vampy, strappy outfits an uncertain glance.

‘You know, none of this stuff is locked in stone,’ Austin says, waving a hand at the costume racks. ‘I fuckin’ hate my costumes half the time. That’s why I always bring in Kye—someone who actually knows how to make me look good.’

All I can offer in response is another muted smile. While Austin has enough fame to negotiate his own styling team into his contract, I’m pretty sure I’d be laughed out of the room if I made the same request.

‘Unless you have plans, darlin’, why don’t you and I go get some lunch after this?’ he suggests. ‘We can chat about Constance and her journey, and where you feel comfortable taking her.’ He stuffs his hands into his half-stitched suit pockets, his fingers tearing through the ends. I hear Kye sigh. ‘I want you to believe in this project and feel good about it,’ Austin says to me.

My heart jumps into my throat.Lunch with Austin Reynolds?I give an eager nod. ‘That sounds really great. I’d love to—thank you.’

‘Not getting any younger over here,’ Kye says sharply.

Austin gives me a friendly pat on the back, then hurries over to Kye.

Watching them, I can’t help but think of a dog on a leash. I just can’t figure out which one is the dog and which one is holding the leash.

I’ll admit, when Austin Reynolds invited me to lunch, I pictured a crisp white tablecloth, a waiter in a penguin suit, and a menu adorned with headings like ‘Secondi’ and ‘Dolce’.

Right now, though, we—we being Austin, meandKye—are squeezed around a rickety table for two that tilts on the uneven footpath outside a vegan cafe in the city’s east.

It’s not that I’m a snob or want things I can’t afford. It’s just that I assumed Austin Reynolds lived the high life. I also can’t help but wish my lunch with him had more of a date vibe than this casual catch-up for three does.

As I pick up the menu, my elbow accidentally bumps against Kye’s. He jerks his arm away and grunts an apology while I peruse the lunch options, wondering why that felt so awkward. It was just a bit of elbow contact.

Austin orders for both himselfandKye, I notice, then folds his arms on the table. ‘So now that we’re all alone,’ he says, like we’re a secret little trio, ‘what areour thoughts onMoving? Because I need this film torockthe box office. It’s my best chance to get back in tight with the big guns over in LA. Buzz Winter knows everyone. Us three?’ He waves two fingers between himself, Kye and me. ‘We gotta get all our ducks on the same page.’

‘Ducks in arow,’ Kye corrects, thumbing through his phone.

When he adds nothing else, I lean forward, happy to have found this spark of connection with Austin. ‘I wantMovingto rock the box office, too,’ I say. ‘I don’t really see myself becoming a full-time actor because I’d miss dance too much, but it could help launch me into something bigger in my dance career, like a major stage musical.’

‘You wanna hit Broadway?’ Austin asks, emptying three packets of sugar into his soy latte.

‘Maybe something closer to home,’ I reply with a smile.

I might be entitled to a US passport because my biological father is American, but leaving my mum for Gabriel Dean’s homeland is not something I’ve ever considered. My ex-boyfriend learned that the hard way when he decided to chase his music dreams in Nashville, and I couldn’t bring myself to go with him. It didn’t help that he had a fidelity problemanda communication problem, but those were separate challenges.

Kye shrugs off his bomber jacket, and the tattoo I noticed in my dance class materialises on the underside of his forearm. It’s some sort of beautiful winged insect.He swivels to hang the jacket over the back of his chair, and another tattoo—a word in cursive letters, unreadable from here—gleams from the back of his bicep. How much ink does he have?

‘Suit yourself,’ Austin says to me while licking soy milk off his spoon. ‘But if you want to make it in movies,’ he adds, as if he didn’t hear what I just said, ‘you gotta put in the hard yards in LA. I’ve already got some auditions lined up there for pilot season. Should’ve bought a place down in Santa Monica while we had the chance, right, man?’ He nudges Kye as he continues. ‘Fuckin’ LA housing crisis; we’ll have to rent again.’

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