Page 83 of Score
“I’ll think about it. With your three kids, I thought Halloween would be a big deal at your house and you’d be trick-or-treating.”
“Oh, believe me, it is. But Seth and I take those kids with us everywhere.” She runs one hand through the disarray of her hair. “The party should be family-friendly. We could swing through after making the neighborhood rounds.”
I’ve seen Jill on set with her mini-me, Sienna, who rips around like the Tasmanian Devil, with floppy blonde curls and smears of food all over her face and clothes. The cast embraces the little girl like she’s a favorite niece, indulging her wishes and answering her questions. I steer clear of kids as much as possible, but I have to admit, she’s adorable.
“I love that there’s on-set day care,” I tell Jill. “I’ve never worked on a film that offers that.”
“That’s all Canon. Him sticking to French hours is better for everyone, but I know he’s thinking about us moms. The difference between a ten-hour and a fourteen-hour work day for those of us with kids is invaluable. Hopefully, you’ll have that when you need it.”
“Not me.” I twist the water bottle in my hands. “I’m not having kids.”
“Just not into them?” Before I can respond, understanding touches her expression. “But you don’t need a man for that these days! We have several friends who are women married to women. They’ve adopted or done in vitro if that’s what—”
“No, it’s not that.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m just not the maternal type, I don’t think.”
“And you don’t have to be.” She angles me an apologetic look. “I didn’t mean to be one of those people who assumes every woman wants a litter of children like I did. It’s good you know now you don’t want them.”
She winks. “Some women don’t know until they have them, and then it’s a little late.”
I can’t imagine being responsible for someone else, someone completely helpless, dependent on me, when I’m in a depressive episode and can barely stir the energy to wash my own ass, much less change a diaper. Or in a manic state, when the whole world feels like it revolves around my nextwhim, and the energy of a spinning top whirs inside of me. Showing up for car pool in the midst of that—unlikely.
“Anyway,” Jill continues, “I work with Canon every chance I get. The only time I haven’t been his cinematographer is when I was on maternity leave. He’s godfather to Sienna.”
“That’s really cool. Everyone thinks of him as this hard-ass—”
“Oh, he is,” she laughingly inserts. “But he also has a tight group of people he trusts and those are like family. Canon’s loyalty to that inner circle knows no bounds. Get him and Monk talking about their early years. Those two have some stories to tell!”
“I can imagine,” I murmur.
“I think he’s coming tomorrow,” Jill says, slanting me a sly look.
“Who?” I ask, faking the funk.
“You know whoheis. I won’t pry, but I could have sworn I picked up on a vibe between you and Monk a few months ago at Canon’s house. I bet there’s a story there.”
“Not a good one,” I admit wryly. “Let’s just say him working on that album in New York has probably been for the best.”
“He’s a great guy, and you seem to be really cool, for what it’s worth.”
“He’s an incredible guy,” I agree because it’s true. “He deserves the world.”
I don’t know what made me say that, except I believe it. The man Monk was when we were together… I’ve never met anyone who made me feel that way. And the times since when he’s been harsh to me, I still know him well enough to see it comes from a place of pain. Pain I caused.
“Well, I better get home.” Jill adjusts the strap of the backpack on her shoulder. “Seth’s cooking, so I always need to be prepared for last-minute takeout.”
“Have a good evening,” I say, smiling back and standing, too.
“Think about that party. The team that plays together and all that.”
“I’ll think about it.” I dig into my purse. “Shit. I think I left my phone in Café Society.”
“Get over there before they lock the set down.” She waves. “See you tomorrow.”
I jog past a row of Harlem stoop apartments and the replica of the Lafayette Theatre. On my way to Café Society, which is my favorite set piece, second only to the Savoy, I see a few crew members working on a backdrop. I wave to them, and Chris, one of the guys I’ve become friendly with, approaches.
“Verity,” Chris says, wiping his hands on a cloth and shoving it into the back pocket of his dusty jeans. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I smile and resist glancing at my watch, impatient to grab my phone and get home.
