Page 75 of The Spirit of Love
“Right,” Jude says, bringing me back into his swaying arms. “Chemistry.” His voice is a low rumble against my neck. “You were telling me about your last relationship.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” he says. My chest warms, and the feeling spreads to my cheeks until suddenly the dance floor feels very hot and very small. And I wonder, if I tipped my face toward Jude’s right now, what kind of chemistry would we have? I look up at him and—yes, his eyes give me the answer I was hoping for. He’s wondering about it, too. Does he feel the same pull I’m feeling? Does he suspect that if we kissed right now, we might never stop?
He takes one hand off my waist, but just when I think he’s going to touch my cheek, draw me toward him, he rubs his beard and clears his throat. Something cools between us, and I break a little inside.
“Does this guy know how you feel?” Jude asks. “If he doesn’t, you should tell him.”
“I…” I’d forgotten we were talking about Sam. I don’t want to talk about Sam right now. I want—
But Jude’s not even looking at me anymore. His eyes are across the party, on Tania.
Speaking of people who should tell other people how they feel. I should get out of his way and let him at this woman. We’re friends. I want happiness and beauty and sex for my friends. And Tania is very clearly putting forward all those options for Jude.
Then why does it twist my heart to imagine her getting one of Jude’s foot massages? Why is it so hard to say what I know I should say next?
“You’re right,” I force myself to say at last, hearing Tania’s sultry rasp in my head. “Maybe we should both go ahead and make that move.”
Chapter Nineteen
On the walk to Rich’soffice Thursday morning, my knees are shaking in the leather cargo power pants I decided to reprise for good luck. Jude’s stride is confident, and his eyes are bright and excited, but I’ve gotten to know him well enough this month to perceive that he’s as exhausted as I am. Jude and I both arrived on set disgustingly early, huddling in my trailer to give today’s script a final read. He’s as impeccably dressed as ever in an olive green suit and tie, but his beard’s a little scragglier than usual, and the crease between his eyebrows is a little more pronounced. We both need a good night’s sleep. Luckily, the whole show has tomorrow off. After today’s eleven-hour shoot,Zombie Hospitalgets a well-deserved long weekend.
For the past three days, the two of us have been finding every opportunity to steal away and tinker with the script. We’ve dissected every line of dialogue and talked camera angles and special effects. We discovered our shared obsession with the 1943 underground classic filmI Walked with a Zombiewhile dining on smoked salmon handrolls delivered late-night from Katsuya.
I’ve worked in many writers’ rooms, but nothing’s ever felt this good, this easy, or this fun. Collaborating with Jude is joyful, challenging, and wacky all at once. When we disagree, it’sbuilt on mutual admiration for each other’s strengths. And when we agree, I feel that elusive collaborative spark I’ve always dreamed of sharing with someone else on set.
Now all that’s left to do today is to take our plan to Rich, to see if what Jude and I built is strong enough to withstand a deluge of doubts fromZombie Hospital’s management, cast, and crew.
“Are we sure about this?” I ask Jude right before we pull open the door to Rich’s waiting room. “Areyousure?”
“Fen,” Jude says warmly, using the nickname for the first time but making it sound like he’s used it forever. When he puts a hand on my shoulder, it makes me want to close my eyes and lean all the way into him. “You were ready last month. You’re ready now. The only difference is that I’ve got your back.”
“You say that like it’s nothing, but it’s a big deal. I want you to know that I’m grateful.” I put my hands on his lapels, resisting the urge to pull him closer. Ever since the wedding last weekend, dancing with Jude, there’s something in me that wants to stay close to him.
“This is only the beginning of the cool shit you’re going to direct,” he says lowly in my ear.
“Thank you, Jude.”
“Least I can do,” he says, and pulls open the door. “Now, come on in. Let’s make steam come out of Rich’s hair plugs.”
“Fenster,” Rich says, not looking up from his phone when Jude and I walk in. “I’ve got five—eh, four—minutes for you before my eight o’clock. Hey, did you happen to see my Postmates guy out there? I’m dying for my chia pudding—”
“Rich,” Jude says.
“Oh, hey, man!” Rich jumps up, all smiles now that he’s not the only dick in the room. “Didn’t know you were joining, bruh.”
“Just came to drop off revised sides for today,” Jude says, “and to let you know I’m turning the camera over to Fenny for the climax sequence.”
Rich tilts his head to the side and squints like he’s misheard. “It’s theclimaxsequence.”
“It is.” Jude nods. “It’s Fenny’s climax. She wrote it. She conceived it. All her inspiration. She’ll shoot it best.”
Rich looks at Jude, then at me. “Did I miss the punch line? What’s the joke?”
“No joke, Rich,” I say. “This is my scene, built of my sweat and tears. I’ve been working with Buster on it for months. You know, I know—everyone here knows—I can do it. Ishoulddo it.”
“So…what?” Rich says, pointing at us. “Are you two fucking?”
