Page 90 of Catch Me
“Changes needed to be made, and Michael was?—”
“Michael? So you’re on a first name basis with director Michael Keith now?”
I pause, taking a deep breath.
“Mr. Keith was upset that the clothes were getting in the way of the scene. And the clock was ticking. He needed to finish the scene to keep on schedule, so I made a quick decision. Since you weren’t here to consult?—”
“Excuse me? Are you blaming me for not being here? Are you accusing me of slacking off?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “I know it’s abnormal for the assistant of costume design to be on set everyday. I’m not blaming you at all. What I’m doing is explaining why I made those changes.
“The director needed something different for the designs, and as your assistant, I chose to make the alterations in your stead. Why? Did Mr. Keith have a problem with the changes?”
He seemed satisfied with the new outfit we put the actor in. At the very least, he didn’t have any more complaints. Which he’s been clear about expressing his misgivings in the past.
Rebecca narrows her eyes.
Apparently, something I just said angered her.
“The point is, you don’t make changes without consulting me. You aremyassistant, not the other way around. You’ve only been here a couple of months. You still have two more weeks in your probationary period.
“I wouldn’t piss me off between now and then.”
I stifle the retort that rises in me to tell her. She’s right. I’m in too much of a tenuous situation to get on her bad side. Or, even more on her bad side.
“There won’t be any more changes without consulting you first,” I assure her.
She stares at me for another beat.
“Fine, that’s it for now, but I would keep my nose clean if I were you,” she warns before pivoting on her heels and walking away.
I glare at her. For the life of me I can’t figure out what it is that I did to piss that woman off so much. From the outset she’s turned her nose up at me.
No, I didn’t finish my degree in fashion design, but if she had so much of a problem with that, why even hire me in the first place?
I shake off those thoughts and questions. From past experience I know asking questions like that is a waste of time.
For too many years, I asked the same type of questions about my own parents. Why did it seem like they barely loved me, let alone liked me? What did I do to make them despise me?
Dr. King was the first person who told me that my parents’ issues are their own and not mine.
Though somewhat comforting to hear, her words didn’t completely fill the void in me left by the hole of having emotionally distant parents.
“Ivy, there you are,” Lillian says, emerging from the back door. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s great,” I answer.
She squints. “Are you lying to me?”
I wrap my arm around hers. “Would you believe me if I said Rebecca just wanted to see me so she could offer me a raise?”
“Hell no,” Lillian replies, and we both burst out laughing.
“It’s nothing,” I tell her. “We’ve got work to do, and then I need your help with something.”
She lifts an eyebrow.
“I’ll tell you once we’re done with work for the day. Let’s go.”
