“Just the coffee. Thanks.” I peel and snack on my banana while I wait for my coffee to cool, then walk back to the set, trying to stay positive. Outlook and frame of mind are everything. They can make an obstacle feel like a speed bump or a mountain. So Ethan called? What? That doesn’t need to change anything about my day. I’m more disappointed there aren’t any muffins.
If anything, his call serves as a reminder that I can’t get tied up in a man again. Someone who’s willing to swoop in and save the day, make promises and earn my trust, only to screw me over when I’ve become dependent, needy, and half the woman I want to be. I’ve come a long way since leaving Chicago. I’m stronger. I know what I want from life, and I’m no longer willing to settle.
As I reach the set, my stomach rumbles with another wave of hunger, my coffee and fruit not nearly enough to keep me satisfied. I scrounge in my bag and produce a granola bar. It’s crushed and by the look of it, has been at the bottom of my bag for God knows how long, but it’ll do. I just have to get through a few more hours.
I wonder if Jude will want to have dinner again. As much as I enjoyed last night, I can’t accept if he does. I already feel an imbalance in our relationship. He’s wealthy and I’m not. He’s offered me so much: his assistance with my car, free rides, and dinner. I can’t lean on him. It would be too easy to fall into old habits.
12
Jude
“Fantastic. Thank you.” The VP on the line sings my praises and I can’t help but pump my fist at the small victory. “I really appreciate your commitment to the environment and local art.”
Last night at dinner with Rachel, the perfect solution for procuring bottle caps struck me when I noticed how many beers and specialty soft drinks the restaurant was tossing in the trash. The store manager was open to my idea of collecting them, and today’s call with corporate gains me even more support.
“Thank you for reaching out, Jude. This is a fantastic idea. We’re always open to ways we can support our communities.”
I thank him again, say good-bye, and hang up the phone feeling accomplished. Chance will have all the bottle caps—and more—he needs to finish his sculpture on time.
The bigger challenge will be collecting the volume of plastic he requires. Especially with his insistence they be collected authentically. I ditch my home office, grabbing my wet suit and board to spend a few hours in the surf. I get my best ideas out in the ocean. Away from the hustle. Away from the day-to-day grind. The cold water revitalizes my mind. The exercise is good for my body as much as my soul. Out here, I can’t think about the next project or looming deadlines. It’s just me, a man and surfboard, against the ocean’s ruthless power.
Sometimes the waves are easy, my path smooth and practiced. Other times it’s a constant battle, the riptide threatening to pull me under. I’m a sick bastard, because I prefer the days when I have to work to stay afloat. When there’s a chance I might not make it out alive. I don’t know what that says about me or my mental status, but I don’t ponder it more than a few minutes. I can’t because all my attention is focused on not drowning, and attempting to catch the next killer wave.
Today, I’m distracted, though. Frustrated, and it’s all thanks to a certain woman. Rachel is as tenacious and unpredictable as today’s surf. Maybe that’s why I’m so enamored. Why I can’t stay away no matter how many times she knocks my ego down. I’m sure a shrink would have something to say about it, but I’ll stick to my surf time therapy.
When my muscles strain to the point I’m hardly able to push myself to my feet and the sun begins to set, I call it a day. I notice a few water bottle tops on my walk from the shoreline to the parking lot, and toss them into the center console of my Escalade. Three down, a few hundred to go. Great. I grab a quick shower back at my condo before changing back into my suit, then race to the studio to pick up Rachel.
I shouldn’t be so excited, I’m only giving her a ride, but the promise of seeing her again is the highlight of my day. I’d like to do a whole lot more than give her a ride home. I’d prefer if she let me take her back to my place. Like she’d agree. One step at a time. I hardly know the woman. I need to gain her trust first. The mind-blowing sex will come later. Call me cocky or plain self-assured, but I’m counting on it.
Me: Here when you are ready
Rachel: Wrapping up now. I’ll just be a few minutes.
Me: Take your time.
I find an open parking spot and then wander outside the studio. This time of day, the lots are still busy. Some still filming. Others breaking for dinner. One thing most people don’t realize is the crazy hours that come with the film industry. I wonder if Rachel always works on sets, and if she has a regular gig. Something tells me she doesn’t. Not with the way she lugs her own makeup kits around.
“What the hell? Jude Lawrence?”
I turn toward my name and the man jogging my way. I recognize him instantly. “Trent Donavan.” Rock star. Business owner. He hired me to track down a few guitars for his wife’s recording studio a year or two ago. Classics, no longer available for purchase, and played by
