Page 12 of Love Scenes

“Christ,” he cries out, awakened from whatever spell had him staring out the window. “I know you don’t believe it, but what happened yesterday hasn’t happened in years. And while I’m not being held against my will, you damn well might be.”

There are millions of dollars on the line. Plus the professional reputation of almost everyone in my entire family. Oh, and my personal relationship to every one of them too.

“Well, you’re basically refusing my help,” I counter.

“As Isaid, you don’t even want to give it. So no, quite honestly, I’m not too keen on taking it.”

For as much as he claims he’s changed, he still seems as impossible as ever.

“Here I am anyways.” I emphasize it with a half bow from my seat.

“Yeah. About that. I read somewhere that you left your show,” he dares to mention. Salt to the wound.

“Mm.Thanks for bringing it up.”

He looks up at me through his eyelashes, taking a small sip of his tea. “It’s a shame. You’re the only good thing about it,” he says with his lips pressed to the mug.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Do not sit here and act like you watchThe Seeker.”

He breaks into a little shit-eating grin, full of mischief. “Tess Doyle. Works in the lab. She’s in love with Colfax but she keeps her distance. She knows he has it in for Detective Rodrigo, and in the end, Tess loves her work more. She had a blue streak in her hair for the first two seasons, but they got rid of it by season three. Gave you the little short brunette clip you’ve got now.”

“Okay. Thank you to Google for giving you that information.”

“There was an episode last season about a killer clown, and you had this brilliant moment where you’re looking at the crimescene photo and you say, ‘Reminds me of my aunt.’ Not a single person acknowledges it, and you don’t explain.” He pauses to chuckle. “God. I laughed for ages at that.”

This is past unexpected and into downright bizarre. What do I need to do to make sense of the Joseph Donovan sitting across from me? He’s right in that he’s not the boisterous, belligerent asshole from our time in Ireland. This version of him is mercurial and impossible to parse, shifting in a matter of minutes from fussy to nonresponsive to cheekySeekerfan.

“Let’s set some ground rules.” I have to pivot into something easier to understand. “You are not to be late. Ever. There is no being rude to a single person on this set, even if your costume itches or the lights are in your eyes. You will respect everyone like they are important and worthy of your time. You will know your lines. You will say them like they matter. We do not leave this trailer until you are ready to give a great performance. Got it?”

Everything I’ve asked for is everything he did wrong on the set ofA Little Luck.And yet I was considered the high-maintenance one for asking for better working conditions, developing a whispered reputation that I’ve never been able to escape, no matter how forgiving I am of behavior that shouldn’t be forgiven.

After a long stretch of silence, Joseph whispers, “Got it.” We’re about to start the work when he adds, “Can I expect the same from you?”

The audacity of the question makes my jaw drop. From his expression, arms folded and brows raised, it’s clear he’s serious.

“Yes,” I say through squinted eyes, my subtext screaming,Obviously.My heart pounds against my chest.

He nods, satisfied as ever.

I grab my script and turn to the Elise-Calvin reunion scene. “Let’s start. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Our first few attempts at reading together, he trips over most of his lines. All this talk of having changed and here he is, messing up for an audience of one. It’s not productive to be aggressive when I need him to be better than this, but I can’t help but put down my script and ask, “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you I didn’t want any help,” he says, petulant.

“Oh my god. Are you literally trying to prove to me that you don’t need this? My sister Sarai wouldn’t even do that, and she’s eleven.”

“I’m not. I just... Look, I don’t do well when I’m uncomfortable.”

“We’re actors. Our entire job is getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. This is no different than the dozens of other jobs you’ve done, where—according to you—you haven’t been like this. What makes this so unique?”

He bites his lip, looking everywhere but at me. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to say sorry.” I ease myself into my softest tone, remembering that it really will be my ass on the line if he screws up again today. “You can’t fix it by apologizing anyways. You fix it by being better.”

He says nothing.

“Seriously, you have to let go of whatever is making you act like this, and start again. That’s the beauty of making movies, isn’t it? There is always another take.”