“You’re acting like a ’tard,” I bluntly state.
“Charming. It’s a wonder you don’t have more friends,” he drawls back.
His comment hurts more than I’d ever admit, especially to him. I start walking and snap, “That’s not something I’d expect to hear from someone who owes me, big-time.”
“I never asked you to take control of this… this… production,” he claims.
“What?” I stop in the middle of a group of dark desks. “Are you an amnesiac? You were frantic, panicked, ‘bricking’ yourself, or whatever the hell you called it. And I rescued you from a crash-and-burn that hasn’t been seen since the likes of the Hindenburg.”
“‘Oh, the humanity!’” he gasps, laughing.
“What the…?”
“I’m only joking!” he explains. “I know I owe you a lot. That’s why—”
“Yo!” Marvin calls from down the hall. “What’s taking you guys so long? Preparing to be amazed?”
I sigh and whisper loudly to him as we continue on, “Do you really understand the magnitude of my sacrifice?”
He scratches his nose. “Yes. I think I do. If I were a woman…”
“Which, coincidentally, there’s a rumor going around that you are.”
He laughs. “Great. Anyway, if I were you, I would be contemplating the pros and cons of doing something to put myself in traction sometime before next weekend.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I give him grudging credit. “Need another rugby teammate?”
“Or you could just tell the bloke that you don’t fancy him and the game is strictly a platonic thing. That is,” he rushes on in whisper, “I think he may be getting the wrong idea…”
Before I have a chance to respond to that ridiculous notion, we turn into the dark editing room, where Marvin’s waiting for us. I’m starting to understand why he resembles a mole. Before my eyes can adjust to the dark, I move too close to Jude in the tiny room, my leg rubbing against his, which is warm and fuzzy and immediately conjures a vision of the two of us naked, tangled, and lazily kissing on a bed. I quickly step away and clear my throat to keep a hysterical giggle from bursting out.
As far as I can tell, Jude’s not affected at all by the physical contact. He doesn’t even glance at me. He’s too focused on the computer screen in front of us. It’s the size of a giant flat-panel TV and radiating enough heat to make it feel like it’s toasting my already-blazing face.
“Are you ready for this?” Marvin asks dramatically.
My vocal cords wouldn’t be able to work right now if I wanted them to.
Jude says, “Bring it,” in an American accent scarily similar to the graphic artist’s.
While I’m openly staring at Jude, Marvin presses the spacebar on his keyboard, starting the animation. I turn my attention to the screen. The video is designed to look like it’s from the viewer’s vantage point. We “walk” through a set of glass double doors and “look” to our right, through a huge wall of curved windows that look out onto a manicured garden. We look left, where the S-curved wall runs parallel to the windows. Paintings appear to hang suspended from the ceiling, supported by gossamer wires. Sculptures and statues rest on glass pedestals of varying heights, so it looks as if they’re also floating in midair. We face forward again and begin to move. It feels like we’re on a giant conveyor belt. Then the picture flickers and goes to black.
“Brilliant,” Jude breathes.
“A whole lot better than your framed poster on an easel, dude,” Marvin brags. “I still have a lot of work to do, but it’ll be ready by Monday night’s meeting.”
The two of them discuss their other ideas for a few minutes; then Marvin turns around and flicks on a dim light, looking me up and down. I’m suddenly self-conscious in my little plaid shorts and V-necked t-shirt. I might as well be naked. “We’re still on for next weekend, right?”
“Uh, sure. A deal’s a deal.” What I meant to sound cheerful actually comes out a little choked.
“You want me to pick you up?” he asks eagerly.
“Oh, uh, you don’t have to do that,” I fumble. “I mean, let’s just meet there. I’ll give you your ticket on Friday so you don’t have to wait on me. I might be a little late.” I’m making it up as I go along, hoping he won’t press the issue. The last thing I need is for him to know where I live.
“Right on. But not too late, right? I mean, you’ll get there before the first pitch?”
“Sure thing. Absolutely. I mean, I’ll try. It’s going to be close.”
Jude pipes up, “Just tell him already.”
I laugh nervously and blush, “What are you talking about?” I glance anxiously at Marvin. “It’s cool. I’ll see you there.”
“Tell me what?”
“Nothing!” I whisper conspiratorially at Marvin, “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
“If you don’t tell him, I will,” Jude insists.
What is he doing? It’s so hot in here! “I don’t need to tell him anything,” I insist, letting out another nervous, barking laugh and fanning myself. To Marvin, I say disbelievingly, “What the fu—?”
“Here’s the deal, Marv. Can I call you Marv?”
“No.”
“Right. The thing is, Libby doesn’t—”
“Jude!” I mean, the guy is gross, but it’s just one afternoon, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
“No, the bloke deserves to know why you’re going to be late. It’s nothing to be ashamed at.”
I stand there with my mouth hanging open. Then I look down at my sneaker-clad feet as if I’m embarrassed, but it’s really to hide my smile.
Jude explains, “Libby doesn’t have a proper sofa. And I told her I’d help her select a new one. But the earliest we can go is next Sunday. And the shops open later on Sunday, you see? So, we’re going to try to squeeze in our shopping before the game.”
“Why can’t you do it the weekend after?” Marvin asks, obviously disgusted at the thought of something impinging on his “date”
