“Quiet on the set!” the director bellowed.
Shelby took out a stack of scripts from her bag. She laid them across the table and numbered them one through nine.
“Okay,” she cheered. “Pick a number!”
“Three.”
She picked up the designated script and flipped open the jacket. “The genre is historical romance. A redneck’s only son—”
“Next!” I sighed. “Number seven.”
“Okay…This one is a romantic comedy. A man loses his memory and the woman he was married to—”
“Next! Number five.”
She rolled her eyes. “Another romantic comedy. A woman gets left at the altar and as she’s returning her dress she runs into her old college sweetheart…No next this time?”
“Continue.”
“He’s currently engaged to the woman he left her for in college, but he’s only getting married to merge the two families’ companies together. He falls in love with the jilted bride and has to make a decision between the two.”
How perfect.
“Let me guess, he chooses the jilted bride?”
She flipped to the last page of the script. “Nope. It looks like there’s a twist somewhere because he ends up marrying the fiancé and she’s kissing some other guy.”
“What other guy?”
“Read the script,” she tossed it to me. “We can go over the rest of these in a few minutes. Can I use your bathroom?”
“Go ahead,” I flipped through the script.
Thanks to Melody, the last thing I wanted to do was be in a movie about a jilted bride. Then again, I wasn’t sure if I should even consider her feelings. She still wasn’t answering my phone calls and texts. I even tried calling her from Joan’s phone but she didn’t pick up those calls either.
I picked up Shelby’s bag and dumped it on the table. Tons of junk came out: Mints, feminine products, a flat iron, books, a bottle of tartar sauce, lip glosses, medicines, and combs.
“What are you doing, Matt?” she crossed her arms.
“I was looking for your phone.”
“You know, you could’ve just asked me for it, like a normal person. I’m waiting.”
“Can I please use your phone?”
“Yes you can, you six year old.”
She handed me her phone and I headed to my bedroom. I dialed Melody’s number and stopped.
Why am I so nervous?
I hit send and held the phone to my ear. It rang once. It rang twice.
“Hello?” she softly answered. “Hello? Hello?”
“Hello Melody, please don’t hang up.”
She didn’t say a word. I checked the phone’s screen to make sure we were still connected.
“How are you?”
“Hi Matt,” she whispered. “I’m okay and you?”
“I’m not okay at all. I miss you.”
She sighed. “I miss you too.”
“Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“What would be the point?”
“To talk. To straighten things out so we can be together again.”
“Are you still getting married next week?”
“Not if you say you don’t want me to.”
“I think you know how I feel about that situation.”
“Can I come over? Can we talk in person?”
I need to see you…
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Matt.”
“Why not?”
“Because you hurt me.”
“And I’m very sorry. I never meant to do that. I’ve been apologizing to you every day. Can you at least let me do that in person?”
Please…
She didn’t respond immediately. She was silent for at least a minute.
“Fine. Where do you want to meet?” she asked.
“What about some place public?”
“Someplace the paparazzi will see you?”
Good point.
“Is your apartment completely out of the question?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. How about my school? There are private studios in the basement.”
“That’s fine. What time?”
“Six? Can I pick you up?”
“Matt…”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t talk to you right now. I can’t do this,” she hung up.
I knew there was no use in calling her back.
I was so close. My heart had almost gone back to beating halfway normal again.
The Lighthouse at Chelsea Piers was unrecognizable on my wedding day. The wedding hall was decked in thousands and thousands of orange sonata lilies and red roses. The oil burning lamps that once hung high were replaced with small crystallized light boxes. The hardwood floors were covered with red carpet, and luxurious drapes concealed the floor to ceiling windows.
The paparazzi had followed me from my apartment to the venue, and they were busy shouting their inappropriate questions and snapping shots of my every move. I turned my IPod up and waited for security to lead me into my dressing room.
“Sir,” the security guard held the door open. “We’ve received a request from Mrs. Sarah Sterling to see you. Is she allowed to come in?”
“Sure.”
He whistled and pointed to something out into the hallway. Seconds later, my mother squeezed past him and he shut the door.
“Mattie!” she gave me a hug. “Are you ready?”
“Might as well be.”