I stay on the terrace until I hear the door in the apartment beep, then go inside and meet her in the shower.
"Have a nice run?"
"Yes," she says as she takes her clothes off and then gets in. It's just a regular single stream of water, so I take it she doesn't want company and go get dressed. Today is the cyborg bike shoot. It's an amazing custom chopper that's been in the inventory the longest since it was Spencer's first custom bike, and I know he's really counting on this photo to sell the thing soon. So Rook and I will have to be on today.
Trouble is, she's not on at all. She's so off, it's getting dark in there quick. She said almost nothing on the way home yesterday, and it wasn't because of the cameras, because Ford took them out of the truck before we left.
When we went to bed last night I wasn't expecting sex, not after her fucked-up weekend. But I wasn't expecting the cold shoulder either. I had to tug her up next to me. She settled after that, but up until last night, I've never had to encourage it. I don't even want to think about what that might mean.
I wait patiently in the living room as she exits the shower and dresses in some shorts and a tank top. She doesn't even bother with shoes, just grabs my hand when she gets to the door and we walk downstairs together. "You OK?" I ask as we cross the empty studio.
"Yeah, I think so."
I squeeze her hand. "It's a long day. You're a cyborg today."
She smiles but says nothing.
Spencer is messing with the tunes when we walk in and all the crews are busy checking sound and lighting and all that other bullshit they do for the TV show filming. I take a seat on the couch I had a crew member move in over the weekend. I figured if Ford and I had to sit around and watch, we might as well be comfortable. He's not around when we come in, probably still down the street at his corporate apartment.
"What do ya want to listen to today, Rook?" Spencer calls out to her as she goes into the half-hearted attempt at a dressing room and changes into the little robe.
"I don't care. Whatever you want, Spence."
Spencer looks at me after she turns away from him. I shrug.
"Well, that's not an answer, Blackbird. I need an answer. Choose a band."
She turns back, clearly confused at his insistence. "Um." She stops to think. "Lady Gaga?"
I hold down a snort.
"What?" she asks me, annoyed. "I like her."
I throw up my hands in an
I surrender
gesture, then kick my feet up on the coffee table as Ford walks in.
"Did you just say Lady Gaga, Rook? I love her."
I turn and sneer at him. What a dick.
"But I have a better idea."
"What?" Rook asks, a little defeated by my reaction to her choice in music. I'm the dick and now I feel like shit.
"I'll read to you."
Rook immediately smiles and I'm like,
What the fuck
?
Read to her
gets a smile, but me wanting to take a shower gets a big fat nothing
?
"It's a joke, Ronin. Relax," Spence says. "Rook was making fun of his reading list last week."
"Yeah," she says. "You were gone that day. With Clare."
Ouch.
She takes her attention back to Ford. "Is it a billionaire book?" She smirks at him.
Smirks.
And everyone laughs but me. Not in on the joke again.
"No," Ford says through his smile. "It's
Gatsby
. You interested? You never read it, you said."
She sighs and shrugs. "I'd rather you read that one about Rowdy the hot spelunker, but whatever."
Ford is either an evil genius for reminding Rook that I left her last week, or a clueless dumb fuck.
I think we've already established which of those he is.
"OK," he says, taking a seat next to me. "Oh." He looks over my way this time. "I've catered lunch. Rook looks thin, she's not eating enough."
I look over at Spencer and he's shaking his head at me. "Don't do it, Ronin. He's baiting you."
I look over at Rook and she's waiting to see how I'll handle this little remark. What can I say? "Awesome, looking forward to Ford footing the bill for lunch."
Maybe I should go running with them in the morning, because clearly they had quite the conversation while I was back at the studio. And yeah, he's right. She looks a little thinner, but he's implying I'm not keeping track of her. He's implying I'm too busy with Clare to notice.
And he'd be right. Because I haven't weighed her in weeks.
Ford starts reading, Spencer grabs his paints and brushes, and Rook disrobes.
Our day begins.
Ford is adept at narrating books. He really missed his calling in voiceovers. He brings the book to life as Rook listens, cocking her head at all the right moments, internally questioning all the carefully planned foreshadowing, and even stopping him on two occasions to ask a question.
Fucking Ford.
He finishes the book long before Spencer is done painting up Rook's cyborg body and this is the perfect time for everyone to take a break. Spencer offers to walk Rook over to the bathrooms down the hall so I take my attention to Ford as he messes with that stupid e-reader.
"What?" he asks, without looking up at me.
"What are you doing, Ford? You trying to steal her right out from under me, or what? I mean, come on—Mardee was a long time ago…"
He looks up at her name. "Don't," he says, shaking his head. "Don't you fucking dare accuse me of that shit. I'm worried about Rook—"
"You're forgetting something, Ford. You're incapable of being worried about anyone, so save your bullshit for the person who doesn't understand you're an emotionless freak."
"I've invested a lot of time and money, not to mention my reputation with this show, in
her
. Maybe you don't care about this project, but Spencer and I do. So I'm not going stand by and watch her fall apart because you were too busy with that pathetic drug-addicted princess of yours to give a fuck."
I stand up and Ford follows.
"You want to fight, Ronin?" He stares me in the face. "I'm the guy you
need
, remember? I'm the only guy who matters in all this. So sit your ass down and shut the fuck up."
My head is throbbing, that's how pissed off I am. The blood is rushing to my head and I feel like I'm gonna explode if I don't just put my fist through his teeth. I poke him in the chest, a provocation, but Ford has a lot more self-discipline than I ever did. He can't be baited. "You better make it happen then, because I'll tell you what, if I have to put up with you pulling this stealthy girlfriend-stealing bullshit all summer, then you better come through."
He smiles. "If she
can
be stolen, then she was never yours to begin with. And do not insult my skills or question my ability to
come through
. I always come through."
Rook and Spencer come back in, chatting about the bike. I guess they went upstairs to see it real fast. Or maybe Spencer knew Ford and I were gonna get into it and he took her far enough away so she didn't have to see it.
"What now, Rook?" Spence asks. "Story or music?"
"What else you have on that thing, Ford?" She wanders over and sits down next to me. I put my hand on her shoulder and rub her back a little. She shudders and then leans into my chest.
"Watch the paint, Rook!" Spencer calls.
She sits up and looks back at me apologetically. "You're bored, huh?"
"Not at all, Gidget. Not at all." I smile at her. She's totally naked, but she's covered in so much paint right now, it's easy to forget. "Pick—story or music."
"Story," she says, glancing back at Ford. "Rowdy the Spelunker and that virgin chick."
"Ashley," Ford chimes in.
Rook laughs. "You've been reading it!"
He shakes his head and she giggles at him. Giggles.
"How about
The Secret Garden?"
he asks in a low voice.
Now she loses it, her laugh is so big even I have to smile. I look over at Ford and he knows he just won. He knows it.
"You'll read
The Secret Garden
to me?" She squints her eyes at him in disbelief.
"Yes, go, let Spencer finish so we can be done."
And Ford does read that stupid girly childhood book to her. Every motherfucking flowery word of it. And this time Rook's face is more than interested and questioning.
She's enchanted.
Chapter Thirty - ROOK
Spencer has painted me up as a cyborg.
It's one hundred percent awesome. As in, I might die from feeling so cool right now. He's such a master with that paintbrush, he knows just where to put the colors to make his art look 3D. He paints tubes and stuff all down my midsection, then fills in behind that with shades of black and blue, so it looks like I'm hollow. Like my midsection is nothing but these tubes and wires. He does the same thing to my arms, making them look like pistons and mechanical parts in some place, devoid of skin. Then purely human in others.
When he takes me up to see the bike after our bathroom break it's a cyborg too, only the opposite of me. I'm mostly girl with machine parts, but the bike is mostly bike with girl parts. In fact, this bike is a girl. Well, a girl of the cyborg persuasion. She's bent over at the hips and her arms reach down, acting as the front fork that holds the tire. Her head acts as the headlight, and her back is the tank, but it looks a lot like my stomach at the moment. Parts of it are painted in just the right way to make it look like it's got a huge hole in it, with tubes and piston visible.
I actually clap at this one and make a remark to Spencer that it's very
Terminator 2
.
He loves that and has to stifle a proud grin with his fist.
Today I'm really happy to be a part of this project. Spencer is amazing. The Shrike bikes are stunning. And his artwork is incredible. I hope Antoine gives me some of these photos, because this is something I'd like to remember forever.
Maybe the bikinis were pretty boring and exploitative, but this is definitely more like movie FX.
And then there's Ford.
This morning at the stadium we talked a lot. Much more than usual. Not about me, not at all. But about him. I asked him about his schooling and he told me all about CU Boulder and their film department. He even went so far as to say he could get me in to talk to someone.
He even hinted at an internship next summer.
How incredible would that be?
I jerk back to reality as Spencer asks me to tilt my head up so he can paint my face. Ford is still reading.
And I tell you what, this whole
let me read to you
thing is just about the most tender expression I've ever experienced with a man. I'm not sure why, maybe because of the book. It's such a sweet book, so opposite of Ford in every way, that the fact that he's willing to read those words out loud, just to make me happy, well—it does something to me.
It doesn't want to make me jump his bones, but it does add to the ever-growing, and ever-changing, view I have of Ford.
Ronin is not happy. But I don't care. I don't want Ford. I'm not in love with him, I'm not even fantasizing about kissing him or touching him or anything like that. I'm just not interested in him that way. I'm interested in Ronin that way. So I don't feel bad about these new feelings for Ford. Ronin will have to get over it because Ford and I might become friends.
"OK, Blackbird. You're ready for your close-up."
I smile at the movie reference. I look over at Ronin and he's asleep.
"Should we let him get his beauty rest?" Ford asks. "I can walk you upstairs and fill in for Ronin in the shoot. You haven't posed with me yet."
"Um, that's a big negative, Ford. Ronin?" I shake him a little.
"I'm awake!" he says, sitting up.
"Right," I laugh. "We're ready to go upstairs." Ford heads out ahead of us and Ronin gets up and takes my hand, still not fully awake. "You're tired from all that driving, huh?"
He smiles. "It's catching up with me. But we're in the home stretch now, Gidge. We'll crash soon."
"I'm pretty tired too, that was the longest painting session yet. Do you have to get ready?"
"Just your basic futuristic road warrior shit, nothing like you, my cyborg sex kitten."
"I love this one. I feel like…"
"A cyborg sex kitten?"
"Yeah," I say, snickering. I really am a cyborg sex kitten because my girls are painted up with huge blue nipples and the clothing Spencer painted on is more like small strips of metallic blue fabric that criss-cross my body in all the wrong places. Which means, to the men, all the right places. None of the fun bits are covered by the fake fabric in the least. My legs are painted up to look like I'm wearing ripped blue leggings, and I have painted boots that come up just past my ankle. "I don't really
look
like her, but I
feel
like a cyborg Tank Girl."