“Raven.” Still squatting, I glance past her and see the crew setting up to shoot in the dining room. The cameras are off, and the director, for now at least, doesn’t seem to be anxious to get going.
I stuff my clothes back in the bag and stand up to give Raven the attention she seems to be waiting for. Except for her lipstick, which seems newly applied, her makeup is mussed, and her hair's a mess, and under the heavy scent of perfume, I catch the smell of sweat and sex. She’s just done a scene. And she still looks absolutely fuckable. I’m positive I don’t look the same after being on set with Kendi.
But whatever. “Were you shooting with Sinner’s today too?” I ask, trying to be polite.
Raven nods with a tight smile, her red lips bright against her creamy pale skin. “I saw your name on the call schedule and thought I’d stick around and say hi. It’s been—what? Three years since we’ve done any work together?”
I’m immediately suspicious of her motives because: (a) she’s the ex, and (b) what she said is not true. We’ve done a couple of movies together since then; we just haven’t been in the same scenes and have somehow managed to never bump into each other on set. Maybe she’s not the type to pay attention to details like that, but if that’s the case, why would she pay attention now?
Unless it’s because of Logan.
So I don’t exactly correct her. “Three years since Raven’s Real Playdates. Time really flies, doesn’t it?”
“Wow.” She looks me over, her gaze as hungry in condescension as Logan’s was hungry in lust earlier. “You’re so grown up.”
It’s been three years. Not thirty. But I nod and accept her statement like it’s a compliment. “Yep. Crazy how that happens.”
“Logan tells me you’re working on a series together.”
And there it is. There he is, making himself known, saying I’m the guy that will cause you girls to fail a Bechdel test.
Well, now I know I was right—that her interest in me today is because of him.
Also, I know that he’s talked to her. Recently. About me. And I have no idea what that means or how to feel about it, except unsettled.
I know I need time to process, so I’m careful to leave emotion out of my response. “Yeah, we are.”
“Hmm.” She draws the mmm out, and it’s seductive and sexy and I understand why she’s such a star. Because Raven isn’t just beautiful—she’s bewitching. And glamorous. And sophisticated.
And I’m the girl who carries her cotton underwear to the set in a bag from Ralph’s.
“What’s the show about, anyway?” She’s fishing, which means Logan hasn’t gone into details with her, and there are several possible reasons for this. The ones in the front of my mind are the ones that bother me to think about.
Regardless of his reasons, if Logan remained vague, I want to remain vague as well. “It’s still shaping, actually. Lots of improv. Probably won’t really know what it is until it’s done.”
Behind her, the director catches my eye. “Excuse me, Raven, if you don’t mind, I need to—”
She ignores my cue of dismissal. “If Tanner isn’t on set with you, you should be carrying an EpiPen. Logan will never think to bring it himself.”
I blink. “EpiPen?”
“For his allergy. You know how to use it, right?”
“I…” I didn’t know Logan had any allergies. I didn’t know he needed an EpiPen. I didn’t know that he wasn’t the type to address his own serious medical conditions.
I’m sure that Raven can read the ignorance all over my face, but I try to remain composed. “I’ll make sure he has one on set,” I say. “Now it was really good seeing you again, but I’m late.”
I brush past her but she stops me with her next words. “You don’t normally do het scenes, do you? Did you take this job because of Logan? If you’re hoping to make him jealous…”
My nails dig into the Ralph’s bag as I hug it to my chest. Deep breaths, deep breaths.
I turn back to her and tilt my chin up. “I took the job for me.”
But I don’t sound very convincing because even I’m not sure anymore why I took the job, and there’s a good chance it was for Logan, just like the reasons I don’t want to do the job now are for Logan.
Raven lets out a laugh, then immediately covers her mouth with her hand, as if she hadn’t really meant to laugh out loud. “Oh. You’re really adorable, Devi.” She looks me over again and this time her gaze is sympathetic, the kind of look that says, You’re so young; you’re so na?ve; you’ll learn when you’re older.
I desperately want to know what it is she knows that I don’t, and I don’t want to know all at the same time. Because being young doesn’t necessarily mean I’m ignorant. But also it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m not, and the worst part about my age and lack of life experience is that there’s no way to know which is true in this moment.