Rewind (A Perfect Forever Novella) (2 page)

I quickly scan the list. Jeez, there are a dozen bullet points here. Who has time for that much meeting? Too much discussion with every gathering of the creative team. No wonder this company released too few projects and went bankrupt.

I stop tapping the pen. “I would prefer just to view the latest cut and go straight into the postmortem.”

A flash of irritation shows in Justin’s eyes, but he doesn’t argue and the lights are quickly turned off and the latest version of our documentary begins to play. I lean forward in my chair, elbows on the table, chin in my hands, carefully dissecting it frame by frame almost as if I can slow it down to edit speed and view it piece by piece. It still doesn’t feel right. Not even after the latest cut. It’s close, but not quite there. Damn, this should be finished by now. We need finished projects to start pulling in dollars.

The documentary ends and the room is silent. It’s not right. I try to digest what I’m feeling into words that won’t offend. I run my fingers over the top of my head and fill them with a tight scrunching of black curls.

“I don’t like the title,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “And it’s not right. How we’ve cut this. It just feels out of sequence, almost like we’re manipulating the images and injecting opinion rather than just showing the story.” I close my notepad. “It needs to go back to editing and we really need to think of a new title. Ghosts of Stockton Boulevard just doesn’t do it for me.”

Silence. I hate it when everyone holds back speaking their mind. Or worse, when they do it without including me. We’re a team, an equal voting team. Someone just say I’m wrong and get it over with. I shift my eyes to fix on Justin.

“I think it’s an excellent piece of finished work, as is,” he says. “What don’t you like about the title?”

“We’re making a film about sex trafficking in urban California and we’re calling these women ghosts. It’s demeaning, like they are somehow invisible and valueless. I don’t want them to be ghosts. I want them to be seen.”

He pauses to consider my comment. He leans forward into the desk, toward me.

“Then we’ll come up with something new,” Justin agrees. “And the latest cut?”

“Let’s go back to editing this afternoon. I’ll have an outline of changes I want to make by then.”

The meeting quickly ends after that. I’m relieved that it didn’t turn into a three hour argument session. Maybe I’m getting better at leading the team. That was almost too easy.

I stare up at Allie, my assistant, as she begins to clean up the room.

“Am I wrong? Just tell me if I’m wrong, Allie. I trust you the most here.”

Allie smiles, pauses in her task, and looks flattered over my confession. “You’re not wrong, Kaley. You’ve got a vision. Follow your gut. At the end of the day it’s your name and reputation that walks out the door with every documentary.”

“Follow my gut, huh? My gut says that it’s not right.”

“Then it’s not right and we go back to editing.”

I nod. It was what I was going to do anyway, but it’s nice to have a little support. I lean back into my chair, shaking my head. “You’ve known Justin a long time. Why does he dislike me so much? I’m just trying to produce quality work and keep the company out of bankruptcy.”

“Ah, maybe because you’re drop-dead gorgeous. Justin thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and you’re not interested. That could have something do with his attitude.”

I blush. “Is that all you ever think of? The relationship thing?”

Allie laughs. “Pretty much. Once you’re married that only leaves meddling in other women’s love lives.”

I gather my things from the table. “Well, stop meddling in mine. I’m spoken for.”

Allie’s face snaps up. “Really? Glad to hear it. When did you start seeing someone?”

My insides go cold as all the heat in my body rises to my cheeks. Shit, what had made me say that? I’m not dating anyone.

“Just recently.”

“Maybe all the twelve hour days you’ve been putting yourself through will stop. You work too hard. You’ve got to remember to take a little down time or you’ll burn out quickly.”

I rush from the conference room since I’ve never been comfortable with lying and disappear into my office. I dump my things on my desk and flip on my computer. 

As I wait for the programs to load, I start listening to the messages in my phone.  Without thinking, I click open the link to my Fembot blog. I start to scribble names and numbers on my desk calendar, calls that I need to return before lunch. Bank. Dad. The distributor I hope to wow with the documentary pitch.  Zoe I’ll call during lunch. Best friend chatter over tofu is exactly what I need today. Maybe she can make sense of what’s up with me.

I start to rummage through the mail that Veronica left on my desk. Ding. I freeze. I stare at the computer. The chat box for my blog is obediently waiting to be opened. I click it full screen.

Love-struck Trainer:
Are you free for lunch?

Oh no, what’s up with that? Is he playing with me, pursuing me, or some kind of weird stalker? Does he somehow know who I am? OK, stop being paranoid, Kaley. It’s not possible for him to know who you are. No one knows this blog is mine. I was certain that I was very careful that there was nothing to link this blog to me.

I hold my fingers above the keys, searching for something safe to respond.

Response:
I’m sorry. I don’t date anonymous virtual fans and I have a boyfriend.

I sit back and wait.

Love-struck Trainer:
When do you find time to blog?

Response:
While he sleeps.

Love-struck Trainer:
He doesn’t sound very fun. Sure you don’t want to go out with me?

I start to laugh. He’s quick. I’ll give him that. And because he disappeared on me Saturday, it’s my turn to return the favor. I exit the chat and log off.

I grab my purse and head to the door. For some reason, I feel an added spring to my step.

“I’ll be back in an hour, Veronica,” I call out before I push through the double doors.

I’m almost to my car and something stops me. A feeling, a sudden intensity to the air, and an increased liveliness in my flesh. It feels like I’m being watched or maybe just looked at. I scan the parking lot. I shield my eyes with my hand, and look across the sun drenched road.

Nothing. I take the keys from my purse and click to  unlock the door. A sudden prick. I look up over the roof of my car and my heart drops to my knees.

Bobby.

TWO

OK, what do I do now? I’m staring at Bobby. He’s staring at me. I’m smiling. He’s  smiling. Do I run across the road before he disappears again or do I wait to see if he comes to me?

God, he looks good. Wherever he’s been, whatever he’s been doing it’s definitely agreeing with him. Crap, I hope it’s not a deliriously happy relationship that has him looking so hot.

I decide to wait, play it cool, and just drink in the details of him. He’s still one-hundred percent my Bobby: tall, roguishly relaxed; lean, nicely muscled surfer-like frame; long chestnut waves; penetrating green eyes; casual California dress with a hint of European style;  and a not quite fully formed smile on delicious lips. But I see on him the subtle changes of our two years apart, as well: an air of greater confidence and command; a look of purpose about him; and he definitely looks happy.

The last time I saw him he was not happy—well, not happy with me. But today there is just enough smile in those eyes to hold me completely captivated.

Crap, he’s not going to do it. He’s not going to come to me.
Fine.
I slam shut my door and click it locked. I move toward the street and I hope I don’t look like I’m hurrying, but that’s how it feels, like my leg speed is increasing with each step.

I wait for a break in the traffic and then I trot across the center of the asphalt. Then I’m standing close to him as if I’ve never been any place else. Suddenly, everything inside me feels in perfect order. I struggle for something light and not too betraying to say.

“Bobby Rowan. What are you doing in this part of town?”

Those wonderfully muscled shoulders do a lazy shrug. “I wanted to see this.” His molded chin does a little lift toward my building. “You did everything you set out to do, didn’t you? So how does it feel to be officially an independent filmmaker?”

Lonely, Bobby. It feels lonely.

I scrunch up my nose. “Not very glamorous, is it? But I’ve got a great creative team and we’re really starting to make things happen. So what have you been up to?”

“I started a project of my own a couple of years ago. It’s really starting to turn into something.”

“Really?”

I blush. I didn’t want to sound so surprised, but that is so unlike Bobby. When we were together he had no plan or direction. It was one of our issues. So, why the change? Oh shoot, he does have a girlfriend.

“What kind of business? I’d really like to hear about it,” I say quickly.

“It’s more something you have to see to get, Kaley. But I should warn you, it’s definitely less glamorous than this.”

Bobby’s dry humor, part self-deprecating and part delightfully him. I instantly feel buoyant inside and begin to laugh.

“We always were a glamorous couple,” I tease.

The smile rises fully to his lips and takes my breath away. “No, we were a lot of things, Kaley, but not that.”

I feel my body slapped with a chill. Shit, I didn’t expect that one and it certainly wasn’t something I wanted to hear.

“Well, I’ve got to run and get some lunch. I have a meeting in a couple hours,” I announce, and instantly regret it. Why did I put an abrupt end to this encounter with such decisive words?

I stare up at Bobby, trying to read his face.

“Eating alone?” he asks.

“Sort of,” I reply cautiously. “I plan to call Zoe while I eat.”

“You still have Zoe?”

The way he says that reminds me that Zoe was Bobby’s friend before mine, that our break-up made that relationship a mess, and that I inherited Zoe more because Bobby stepped back than actually winning the preferred-friend-war post couple split.

“I still have Zoe.” I wait for a response. Nothing, just a slight smile, and I hate that I still feel so badly about this. “You should call her, you know. She really misses you. It’s perfectly cool with both of us.”

“Thanks for the permission,” he says and there’s an edge to his voice. “I might just do that.” He pauses and the silence feels heavy and I feel like I’m struggling to come up for air. “Did it ever occur to you that my not contacting Zoe has nothing to do with you?”

My face heats with a burn. What was the purpose of that comment? To point out my vanity or how trivial I am to him?

“I just wanted you to know she misses you. You do what you want.”

“What I want to do is join you for lunch. Is that OK?”

The question rockets through my veins like an adrenal rush.

“We can both standup Zoe today for a change,” he teases and I smile before I can stop it.

“I was just going down the street for some Mexican food.”

Bobby shrugs. “That sounds fine to me.”

Not trusting my voice, I nod and start to head in the direction of Hector’s.

“How are your folks?” he asks.

I stare up at him. Polite, make-do conversation. That something new for Bobby. He was never one for light pleasantries.

“They’re good,” I reply, making a right turn at the corner. “Mom asks about you all the time. You should stop in and see her. How are your folks?”

“The same as ever. Linda asks after you. You should take your own advice and stop in and see her.”

Again, that cutting edge out of nowhere. I nod. “I’ll do that soon.” I stop at the restaurant doors. “Is this OK with you?”

Bobby laughs. “Fine with me. I’m surprised it’s fine for you.  I don’t remember you being a dive restaurant kind of girl.”

“A lot about me has changed, Bobby. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

Those penetrating green eyes lock on me. Crap, what had made me say that?  I’m stumbling over my tongue every other sentence
.

He pulls open the door. “I could say the same to you.”

“Excuse me? You’ve lost me.”

“A lot has changed about me. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

Some sort of internal alarm sounds and I freeze just inside the entrance. Oh no, is Bobby going to tell me he’s married? Is that why he wanted to have lunch today? So I would hear it first from him…?

All through lunch I keep doing it. I can’t stop myself. I keep looking for a ring. He’s not wearing one. It’s not like he made it disappear and it will miserably re-appear when I’m least prepared for it. And it’s not like he slipped it off when he saw me. Bobby is not that kind of guy.

I push my enchilada around the plate with my fork. “This is nice, Bobby. I’m glad we’re d
oing this. I hope it means you’re ready to start being friends again.”

“Friends. That would be nice, Kaley.” He wipes his lips with his napkin and eases back into his chair. He studies me. “I wasn’t sure you were fine with this. You’ve hardly said a word since we started eating.”

I shrug. “I guess I just don’t have much to say.”

“That would be a first.”

I glare, but I laugh. “Be nice.”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, his gaze sharpens on my face. “I am being nice, Kaley. I came to you. I got tired of waiting.”

What? Did I just hear what I think I heard?

Before I can respond, he says, “How’s your afternoon looking? Do you have time to take off and come see something with me?”

My afternoon? There is something. I’m sure of that, but I suddenly can’t remember a single thing.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I want to show you where I’ve been living. What I’ve been doing. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

Interesting? Why would I find it interesting?

“So, do you think you can cut out for a few hours?” he asks, watching me expectantly.

I focus my gaze on the table, wondering if I should go, wondering why I debate this, and what the heck I have on my calendar that I can’t remember. God this is weird, familiar and distant at once, and I haven’t a clue what I should do here.