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It took me until the wee hours of the morning to set up my social media accounts and learn how to navigate through them. Randall was right, though. It was incredibly easy to figure out. I watched videos on how to start a vlog, what microphones to use, special lighting, how to get followers and a thousand other useless things. I ended up getting distracted for a couple of hours on DIY videos and made some impulse craft supply purchases. I totally needed to invest in a hot glue gun.
By the time I fell asleep, I had posted a few teasers to my vlog, and had over five thousand followers on Twitter. Easy Peasy. Fast forward to my make-up session with Annie, and I was on fire. Heidi Blickenstaff, eat your heart out. Of course, Annie was rather camera shy at first. I convinced her to splash on a little mascara and tidy her hair to give her some confidence. It didn’t work. She actually ran from my trailer and threatened to send Henry’s hair girl instead. In the end, I had to bribe her with an introduction to Jake Gyllenhaal. She finally agreed.
I decided to keep it raw, just some fun behind-the-scenes moments to share with the internet—but mostly to Randall. He had his moment of internet fame, now it was time for Annie to shine. He’d be eating out of her hand by the end of the week.
I aimed my phone at the mirror while Annie performed her magic, catching her image in the reflection. She was starting to loosen up.
“Now for the serious questions, Annie.”
She frowned and continued to pin jewels in my hair. I gave her a somber glare, showing I really meant business. She waited in rapt attention.
“What are you binge-watching these days?”
She shifted her weight and cocked her head to the side. “Hmmm.”
“Answer truthfully. The balance of the universe is hinged on your answer.”
“Well, I have only recently gotten into the Harry Potter series.”
“Books or movies?”
“Both. I’ll read a book, then watch the movie to compare. I’m on book five now.”
“And?”
“Oh, I like them. The books are better, though.”
This was a conversation I could get into. “Book five has the worst villain.”
She nodded vigorously. “Oh! I can’t stand that woman.”
“She’s worse than He Who Must Not Be Named.”
Her eyes went wide with animation.
“Right?” She laughed heartily. “Look at us. Just a couple of geeks talking fandom stuff.”
“It’s wonderful,” I agreed.
She quickly threw her hand over her mouth. “Oh. Can I say geek? Someone might get offended Maybe you can edit that out.”
“Geeks will get offended?”
“Content police will get offended. There’s a group of people out there that scour the internet looking for ways to get offended on behalf of everyone else.”
“Gremlins.” I nodded.
She tilted her head and stared at me before recognition chimed in. “You mean trolls?”
“Trolls, gremlins . . . hobbits.” Whatever they were calling themselves these days. I couldn't be bothered with it. “Besides, geek is the new awesome.”
She considered this statement for a few moments. I could see the gears in her head clicking away, reasoning with the truth of it. Then sufficiently satisfied, she resumed her work with a cheery disposition. “Carry on.”
“Thank you.” I cleared my throat. Where were we? Ah! “So, did you take the test?”
“There’s a test?”
“To get placed in a Hogwarts House.”
“Oooooh. That test. I’m not sure I want to admit to that on camera.”
“Is there something else you’d like to share with the world? Like maybe who’s your crush?”
“Hufflepuff,” she blurted.
I wondered what house Randall would be. He didn't seem the type to take online quizzes. If I had to guess, I’d say Gryffindor.
“What about you?” she asked.
I wasn’t afraid to admit I was the biggest nerd in the history of nerds. I went to Comic-Con one year dressed as Donna Noble. I hid under that ginger wig for the greater part of a day before someone recognized me and asked for an autograph. They were pretty cool about it, though.
“Slytherin.”
Annie nodded with approval. “I can see that.”
This was getting ridiculous. I didn’t want to talk about adolescent wizards anymore. How was that supposed to get Annie a date with Randall?
Get back on track, Emma. Stealthy matchmaker.
“So now our viewers know you’re a Potterhead and the best bloody hair and make-up artist in all the realms, tell us about your other talents.”
“You mean like being double jointed?”
“I guess.”
“Or crab walking?”
Not really what I was going for.
“Do you paint or draw? Or . . . dance?”
Please say dance, please say dance. Dirty Dancing with Randall kind of dance.
“Yes.”
Yes? Eureka!
“Sort of.”
I could work with that. “Care to give us a demonstration?”
A soft flush of pink spread over her face. “Right now?”
I realized it was an unrealistic expectation to ask someone to break out into an impromptu dance performance in my tiny trailer. Especially after the fiasco with Randall at Karaoke Unplugged, there were so many ways something could go terribly wrong. Of course, I didn’t expect Annie to get all Jennifer Lopez in that cramped space. I was going to suggest another time, perhaps with a partner. Like Randall, for instance.
I wasn’t prepared for what she did next.
Annie stopped her work and placed her magical hair instruments on the counter. My hair was half glorious and half finger in the light socket kind of crazy. It could be a new look for me.
“Check this out.” Annie thumbed through her iPod with intense concentration before satisfying herself with a selection. She reached for my phone with both hands and drew it extremely close to her face. Then the music started.
And so did her eyebrows.
It was both deeply disturbing and bloody brilliant. Independently, each brow kept time to the throbbing techno beat. The synthesized drums pulsing; her deadpan expression—a voyeur to the party on her forehead. I half expected a disco ball to emerge from the ceiling. I was almost tempted to buy her brows a drink. By the time the music really kicked in, her brows were in full motion, wiggling and doing the snake back and forth, breakdancing across her face. It was infectious. I felt my own brows twitch in response.
Brow dancing! That was her special talent. I didn’t know whether to hug her, run away with my arms flailing or give her a standing ovation.
I opted for the hug.
The next video would definitely have to involve brow dancing lessons.
***
I HAD NEVER PAID MUCH attention to trends on the internet that went viral. I was not living in an absolute bubble, but I was also not very keen to most of the pop culture that millions of people found entertaining. I wasn’t necessarily opposed to it, I was simply too busy to notice. Therefore, when my video reached half a million hits, I was more than a little dumbfounded and admittedly a tiny bit giddy.
Jaxson didn't seem to share the same sentiment.
“How many photos are you going to take of your pad thai?” he grumbled over his pineapple rice. “Is your lunch starting a modeling career?”
“I have to get the right angle.” I loved the dual camera feature on my phone. It made the background blurry like a proper camera.
Click click click.
“Would you like me to serenade your photoshoot with the lyrics to Girls on Film?”
“No, thank you.”
That did not stop him. He started tapping the table with his thumb.
“Peanut crumbles all over the lens as she’s eating. Ba ba ba. Ba- ba ba!”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s just bad.”
He went on without a hitch. “Miles of noodles and sauce going into her mouth. Ba ba ba. Ba- ba ba!”
“Now you're just embarrassing yourself,” I giggled, putting my phone down.
His grin was infectious. “I made you laugh. And you finally put down your phone.”
I dug into my food, skewering three huge shrimps on my chopstick.
“No tofu today?” He grinned.
I shoved the whole thing into my mouth and shook my head. “Of een oo-bay.”
“What?”
I lifted a finger while I finished chewing.
“Love scene today.”
“I don’t follow.”
“With Henry.”
“I know.”
I gave him a hard stare. “I can't believe you didn't do anything about that unscripted kiss.”
“What does that have to do with tofu?”
“Nothing. But it has everything to do with shrimp.” I took another glorious bite.
Jaxson squinted his beautiful olive eyes and twisted his lips. “Is that incriminating information?”
“Why would it be incriminating?” I asked.
He laughed. “Because of the size of his— “
“Ego? Yes.”
“Exactly what I was about to say,” he said with a wink. “Care to elaborate?”
“There’s nothing to elaborate. I hate him. I eat shrimp, I have seafood breath. He passes out. The end.” I shoved an enormous mouth full of noodles into my face. Jaxson propped his elbow on the table, steepling his fingers, studying me with amusement. His eyes shifted to my lips and his breath hitched, almost indiscriminately. But I noticed. I always notice.
“What are you looking at?” I asked indignantly, checking my teeth for cilantro with my tongue.
He grinned. “You have something. Just there.”
Before I could go for my napkin he was reaching over the table, his elegant hand extending towards my face. He opened his mouth ever so slightly, in the sympathetic way one does when coaxing an infant to take a bite, and swept his index finger over the corner of my mouth. His movement was swift and sure, though it felt like the moment was suspended in a bubble.
I was devoid of thought, devoid of feeling, devoid of breath for a long moment after until he brought his finger to his own lips and suckled the pad thai sauce from his fingertip. Then I was slightly self-conscious. And a little disgusted.
“Mmmm,” he resonated. “ I should have gotten that instead.”
“I uh . . . .”
“For the record,” he said, returning to his own meal, “I don’t mind your seafood breath.”
It was such an odd and intimate thing to say, all I could manage was to blurt out, “Well you don’t have to kiss me.”
His eyes flashed to mine and suddenly darkened. It was like his pupils grew three sizes.
“What if I did?”
I’d have done a spit-take if I had anything in my mouth. As it was, I just slobbered all over my chin.
“Whaaaat?” My attempt to take the comment in stride resulted in my voice rising up two octaves. A very uncomfortable rush of blood was now occupying the nerve endings of my cheeks—and possibly my bosom.
He seemed to be enjoying my vexation.
“Are you all right?”
“Peachy.”
“Good.” He handed me a paper napkin. “So?”
“So?”
“So what if we . . . . “
Bloody hell. What was he suggesting?
“. . . did a film together?”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“We’re doing a film together right now.”
“Yes, my dearest Emma. Thank you. But what if you and I starred in a film together?”
I blinked, making sure I heard him correctly. Jaxson, acting in a movie! Would he also direct it?
“I think that would be bloody brilliant.”
“You don’t think it’s a daft idea?” He was gauging my response.
“No,” I beamed. “Not at all.”
“And what if you and I had a love scene?” he added. “Hypothetically.”
Now he was trying to unhinge me. He was always trying to get a rise out of me. It worked back when I was young and impressionable. But now I knew better. Now I just played along.
“Would we be completely starkers?” I asked coquettishly, taking a sip of water. “Hypothetically.”
“Does it matter?”
“Ummm . . .”
“Don’t answer that.” He leaned over the table and grinned impishly, his face inches from mine. “And what would you eat before our hypothetical love scene to particularly vex me?”
He was so close I was suddenly self-conscious of probable peanut crumbles on my chin. If he really wanted my pad thai, he need only ask.
“Coffee,” I said at length. “The strongest coffee imaginable.”
A light and easy smile overspread his face. “I do love coffee breath.”
I cleared my throat. He was acting so strangely it was unnerving. I had to clear the air. On my cue, he retracted from me and returned to his pineapple rice with perfect indifference.
We ate in companionable silence for the next few minutes. Every few bites he would steal a forkful of my noodles and I would try to shoo his hand away unsuccessfully.
Silent moments with Jaxson were fine. They were comfortable. We never had to fill the air waffling along with nothing in particular to say. Sometimes he would come to my house just to read Variety on my sofa, or we’d sit on my patio and watch the sunset over the ocean. We often did not talk at all and it never felt awkward. But today, something very particular was on my mind, and I was equal parts excited and nervous about his opinion.
“What do you think of my vlog?” I asked, a little apprehensive.
He shrugged. “As long as you don’t upset the studio, I’m okay with it.”
“I’m not filming anything I shouldn’t.”
“Okay, then.”
I sighed. “But what did you think of it? Is Annie funny, or what?”
“I haven’t seen it.”
He hadn’t seen it? What the . . . ? If he had a video diary, I would watch it all the time. Half a million people in the world had seen my vlog, but the man sharing a meal with me could not be bothered.
“Why not, Jax?” I tried not to sound upset.
“I’ve been a little busy directing a film. Don’t get pouty.”
“Pouty? I’m not pouty.”
He smiled with a warm glow to his eyes. “Your overly active eyebrows are all twisted in knots and your bottom lip is puffed out.”
He tilted his head and stroked his thumb on my chin. “I’ll take a look at it as soon as I have time to give it my undivided attention.” He might as well have patted me on the head and said, you run along now, child.
I have to admit that although I only created the vlog to get Randall to notice Annie, a small part of me wanted Jaxson to like it. I know it was an irrational thought. He’d see me on camera all day long. It was his job. But I wanted him to see this. I knew it made no sense.
I supposed I was mostly worried that if Jax hadn’t seen it, perhaps Randall hadn’t either. And then what was the point of the whole thing?
“Has Randall seen it?” I asked.
His eyes shot to mine and darkened. “How the bloody hell should I know, Emma?”
Whoa. Where did that come from?
“I dunno,” I said a little impishly. “I thought he was your mate.”
“My mate? Everybody's my mate. I don’t spy on their internet history.”
“I’m sorry. I just thought—”
“Why are you so interested to know if he’s seen your little videos anyway?” He shot up from his chair and gathered up his unfinished meal, shoving it in the small wastebasket next to his desk. “Not enough social relevancy for you all over the internet?”
He stamped into the small lavatory adjacent to his office. I could hear the water running as if he was washing his hands, but when the faucet stopped, he didn’t emerge for what seemed an eternity. I tidied up the table where we were sitting, wrapping the remainder of my lunch in the take-out bag. I would use one of the trash bins on the studio lot. I didn’t need to irritate Jaxson more than I already had by leaving his office smelling of shrimp.
At length, he quietly returned to the room and calmly sat behind his desk. He let out a long breath and ran his fingers through his thick hair giving it an effortless tousled effect.
“I’m sorry,” he said in an octave so low, I’m not entirely sure it came from his mouth. “This film . . . I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. We’re running through our budget like wildfire.”
His voice trailed off as he softly voiced his remorse. I wanted to say I was the tosser so wrapped up in my own triviality I was ignorant to what was going on in Jaxson’s life. But I let my words hang in the air. Sometimes less was more.
Jaxson shuffled through some papers on his desk. “Well, I’ve got some work before we film block two.”
I didn’t like the way I was being dismissed. There was a schism that didn’t sit right with me, but it wasn’t the time to bring it up. I’d talk to him more at dinner.
“Okay. I’ll see you in a few.” I clutched my take-out bag. It was the only thing I had to hold on to, and I needed to hold onto something. Before I quit the room entirely, I turned my head toward him. His face was buried in whatever work he had in front of him, his eyes in deep concentration.
“Should we carpool to the deli tonight? Or should I meet you there?” I was hoping we’d carpool. I didn’t like driving in LA.
“I can’t do dinner tonight,” he said without looking up. “I have to catch a flight to New York.”
Ouch.