before resting his attention back on the road. “I never felt for anyone what I feel is possible with you. What I do feel for you. Right now. After only a week.”
He turns again, showing me with his eyes the depth of his feelings.
“God Isabella,” he says, “if you only knew.”
And then he turns back to the road, as if resolving to say no more.
I sit in silence for a moment, letting a slow sweep of joy burst through me.
He’s never felt for anyone what he feels for me!
I hug the admission to myself, hardly knowing what to make of it.
“I feel that way about you too,” I say quietly.
At the wheel, James breaks into a wide grin. He turns to look at me, and suddenly I’m grinning too. We stare at each other for a brief happy moment, and then James returns his attention to the oncoming traffic.
We’re out of London now, and James puts his foot down. The car leaps forward into the fast lane, eating up the asphalt and sending trees and green hills zipping by.
“I think you’ll like the studio,” he says as the car sprints along. “Who knows? You might even like Natalie.”
We’re pulling off the main road now, heading into the English countryside.
I stare ahead. Will I like Natalie? Somehow I don’t think so.
“You’ll also get to meet Callum Reed,” he reminds me, “whom I know you’ll like.”
Callum Reed. How could I have forgotten?
He’s cast as male support.
“I love Callum in movies,” I say, excited at the thought. “He makes all his characters seem so warm.”
James nods, keeping his eyes forward.
“If it hadn’t been for his drug issues, Callum would have won an Oscar a long time ago,” he replies. “I hope this movie will help him shine. He’s in his forties now. It’s about time he got a break.”
“Did you know him before the movie?” I ask, wondering how this all works.
James nods. “We’re good friends.”
Oh. I ponder on this. Good friends. Both with drugs in their past.
“Did you both…” I hesitate, uncertain of how to phrase the question.
“Get high together?” fills in James, predicting my question with embarrassing ease. “No. We moved in different circles.”
“But you think I’ll like him?” I ask, moving the subject away from drug abuse.
“Oh yes,” says James. “Everybody likes Callum.”
“Even Natalie?”
James hesitates. “Natalie is not the easiest person to get along with.”
Chapter 10
The BMW approaches a set of high sturdy gates, and James tugs the steering wheel to move towards a security booth.
The large sign reads ‘Berkeley Studios’, and once again I am struck with how much James has managed to achieve at such a young age.
He stops the car and walks around to let me out.
“You’ll need to register your fingerprints,” he explains, “for security.”
I raise my eyebrows fractionally.
“It’s standard practice,” he says, leading me to a small window where a burly security guard sits.
The guard gestures to a small laser panel where I should press my fingers, and after a few seconds, informs me the prints have been taken.
“Is all this really necessary?” I ask as we walk back to the car and climb inside.
“It’s how the entire studio runs,” explains James. “It keeps things simple and safe.”
Safe. That wasn’t something I expected to be an issue on a film set.
After a moment, the heavy gate swings slowly open, and we cruise inside.
“Why the huge gates?” I ask, staring at the thick structures topped with razor wire. “It looks like we’re going into a prison.”
James gives a little laugh, but it sounds forced.
“Security has to be tight on set,” he says. “Actors and actresses are natural targets.”
“For photographers?” I ask, remembering the paparazzi shots of James and I tango dancing.
“Partly that,” he says, “partly they’re prey to stalkers.”
Stalkers . I hadn’t considered that.
“For the most part, stalkers are harmless,” continues James.
He turns again, showing me with his eyes the depth of his feelings.
“God Isabella,” he says, “if you only knew.”
And then he turns back to the road, as if resolving to say no more.
I sit in silence for a moment, letting a slow sweep of joy burst through me.
He’s never felt for anyone what he feels for me!
I hug the admission to myself, hardly knowing what to make of it.
“I feel that way about you too,” I say quietly.
At the wheel, James breaks into a wide grin. He turns to look at me, and suddenly I’m grinning too. We stare at each other for a brief happy moment, and then James returns his attention to the oncoming traffic.
We’re out of London now, and James puts his foot down. The car leaps forward into the fast lane, eating up the asphalt and sending trees and green hills zipping by.
“I think you’ll like the studio,” he says as the car sprints along. “Who knows? You might even like Natalie.”
We’re pulling off the main road now, heading into the English countryside.
I stare ahead. Will I like Natalie? Somehow I don’t think so.
“You’ll also get to meet Callum Reed,” he reminds me, “whom I know you’ll like.”
Callum Reed. How could I have forgotten?
He’s cast as male support.
“I love Callum in movies,” I say, excited at the thought. “He makes all his characters seem so warm.”
James nods, keeping his eyes forward.
“If it hadn’t been for his drug issues, Callum would have won an Oscar a long time ago,” he replies. “I hope this movie will help him shine. He’s in his forties now. It’s about time he got a break.”
“Did you know him before the movie?” I ask, wondering how this all works.
James nods. “We’re good friends.”
Oh. I ponder on this. Good friends. Both with drugs in their past.
“Did you both…” I hesitate, uncertain of how to phrase the question.
“Get high together?” fills in James, predicting my question with embarrassing ease. “No. We moved in different circles.”
“But you think I’ll like him?” I ask, moving the subject away from drug abuse.
“Oh yes,” says James. “Everybody likes Callum.”
“Even Natalie?”
James hesitates. “Natalie is not the easiest person to get along with.”
Chapter 10
The BMW approaches a set of high sturdy gates, and James tugs the steering wheel to move towards a security booth.
The large sign reads ‘Berkeley Studios’, and once again I am struck with how much James has managed to achieve at such a young age.
He stops the car and walks around to let me out.
“You’ll need to register your fingerprints,” he explains, “for security.”
I raise my eyebrows fractionally.
“It’s standard practice,” he says, leading me to a small window where a burly security guard sits.
The guard gestures to a small laser panel where I should press my fingers, and after a few seconds, informs me the prints have been taken.
“Is all this really necessary?” I ask as we walk back to the car and climb inside.
“It’s how the entire studio runs,” explains James. “It keeps things simple and safe.”
Safe. That wasn’t something I expected to be an issue on a film set.
After a moment, the heavy gate swings slowly open, and we cruise inside.
“Why the huge gates?” I ask, staring at the thick structures topped with razor wire. “It looks like we’re going into a prison.”
James gives a little laugh, but it sounds forced.
“Security has to be tight on set,” he says. “Actors and actresses are natural targets.”
“For photographers?” I ask, remembering the paparazzi shots of James and I tango dancing.
“Partly that,” he says, “partly they’re prey to stalkers.”
Stalkers . I hadn’t considered that.
“For the most part, stalkers are harmless,” continues James.
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