yeah. I do know. The media chases me around all the time.” Pamela Sue cleared her throat. “What happened, VJ? I know you didn’t hop on the first set of testicles to wheel through town. This isn’t like you.”
“Nothing happened. It was time.” She injected a note of levity. “I ran into Kris this morning, and he offered me a ride. How could I refuse? Long way to Dallas. Lots of opportunity to help him forget about those beautiful women he used to know.”
Pamela Sue laughed and a tear slipped down VJ’s cheek. They’d never lied to each other. Never. But neither would she let anyone think of her as a victim, besides Kris, but only because it was too late. Pamela Sue might run straight to Bobby Junior or Tackle, tattling about how VJ had been hit. There was a part of her that wondered if they’d let Daddy slide or take his side out of loyalty. If she lost that battle, what then? She’d rather take the real rescue from her knight in a shining Ferrari.
“You gonna stay with Jenny Porter’s cousin?” Pamela Sue asked.
“Yeah.” Beverly Porter wouldn’t mind if VJ asked to stay on her couch until the condo was finished. The worst thing that could happen is she’d have to pay rent early. Or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.
“Call me when you get to Dallas. Be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am. No talking to strangers.”
“I meant buy a box of condoms.”
A diluted laugh slipped out and was ragged enough to communicate to her best friend what she couldn’t say aloud. “Good bye, Pamela Sue.”
She hung up—or at least she thought she did after punching random pictures on the slick screen—and went to retrieve her Greek god.
When she rushed back into the main dining room, Kris was staring at the flaking wall, chiseled lips pursed and troubled, fingers drumming the table.
“Ready?” he said, and unfolded his frame from the chair-table combination bolted to the floor.
Something was off in his rigid stance. An invisible layer drenched with stress. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m ready to go. After you.” His granite expression didn’t waver, reminding her of inaccessible Kristian Demetrious from the diner when he’d faced down her brothers.
This time, that look was directed at her. Their interaction was a lot of things, most of it too difficult to pin down, but she couldn’t stand for strained to be on the list. The foreign engine in his mind had begun to reveal its secrets, and she wanted to take it apart to see what made it tick.
She let it drop until they’d both slid into their seats and he hit the button to start the engine. Over the hefty roar, she said, “If you want to talk, I’d be happy to listen.”
“I said there’s nothing wrong.”
“No,” she said. “You said you were ready to go, as if to imply you were impatiently waiting for me. You’re restless, not impatient.”
His expression relaxed. “I’ve got a lot of things on my mind.”
“Of course you do.” Impulsively, she threaded his golden fingers through hers. After a not-so-quick squeeze, she let go. “Being responsible for an entire movie must be a heavy burden.”
His forehead scrunched. “It is. Most people don’t get that. But I don’t think of it that way.”
“How do you think about it?”
As they sat in the parked car, the air conditioner blasted to life, jetting dark strands of hair off his cheekbones. “Blank canvas. I have this story in my head and a million frames to capture it. Until the final cut, it can turn into anything I choose. There’s a lot of power in committing my vision to permanency. And a lot of nail-biting because I’m opening it to be interpreted through someone else’s lens.”
The tension had almost totally drained away. “What’s the first step when you start a film? Wait.” Before her burst of daring fled, she reached over and slipped off his sunglasses. “Now talk. Your eyes do this thing when you’re passionate about the subject, and I want to
“Nothing happened. It was time.” She injected a note of levity. “I ran into Kris this morning, and he offered me a ride. How could I refuse? Long way to Dallas. Lots of opportunity to help him forget about those beautiful women he used to know.”
Pamela Sue laughed and a tear slipped down VJ’s cheek. They’d never lied to each other. Never. But neither would she let anyone think of her as a victim, besides Kris, but only because it was too late. Pamela Sue might run straight to Bobby Junior or Tackle, tattling about how VJ had been hit. There was a part of her that wondered if they’d let Daddy slide or take his side out of loyalty. If she lost that battle, what then? She’d rather take the real rescue from her knight in a shining Ferrari.
“You gonna stay with Jenny Porter’s cousin?” Pamela Sue asked.
“Yeah.” Beverly Porter wouldn’t mind if VJ asked to stay on her couch until the condo was finished. The worst thing that could happen is she’d have to pay rent early. Or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.
“Call me when you get to Dallas. Be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am. No talking to strangers.”
“I meant buy a box of condoms.”
A diluted laugh slipped out and was ragged enough to communicate to her best friend what she couldn’t say aloud. “Good bye, Pamela Sue.”
She hung up—or at least she thought she did after punching random pictures on the slick screen—and went to retrieve her Greek god.
When she rushed back into the main dining room, Kris was staring at the flaking wall, chiseled lips pursed and troubled, fingers drumming the table.
“Ready?” he said, and unfolded his frame from the chair-table combination bolted to the floor.
Something was off in his rigid stance. An invisible layer drenched with stress. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m ready to go. After you.” His granite expression didn’t waver, reminding her of inaccessible Kristian Demetrious from the diner when he’d faced down her brothers.
This time, that look was directed at her. Their interaction was a lot of things, most of it too difficult to pin down, but she couldn’t stand for strained to be on the list. The foreign engine in his mind had begun to reveal its secrets, and she wanted to take it apart to see what made it tick.
She let it drop until they’d both slid into their seats and he hit the button to start the engine. Over the hefty roar, she said, “If you want to talk, I’d be happy to listen.”
“I said there’s nothing wrong.”
“No,” she said. “You said you were ready to go, as if to imply you were impatiently waiting for me. You’re restless, not impatient.”
His expression relaxed. “I’ve got a lot of things on my mind.”
“Of course you do.” Impulsively, she threaded his golden fingers through hers. After a not-so-quick squeeze, she let go. “Being responsible for an entire movie must be a heavy burden.”
His forehead scrunched. “It is. Most people don’t get that. But I don’t think of it that way.”
“How do you think about it?”
As they sat in the parked car, the air conditioner blasted to life, jetting dark strands of hair off his cheekbones. “Blank canvas. I have this story in my head and a million frames to capture it. Until the final cut, it can turn into anything I choose. There’s a lot of power in committing my vision to permanency. And a lot of nail-biting because I’m opening it to be interpreted through someone else’s lens.”
The tension had almost totally drained away. “What’s the first step when you start a film? Wait.” Before her burst of daring fled, she reached over and slipped off his sunglasses. “Now talk. Your eyes do this thing when you’re passionate about the subject, and I want to
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