by Kay Harris
“Hmmm” was Henry’s only response.
I felt Tom elbow me in the ribs, and I blinked, trying to focus. It didn’t work, and I remained silent.
“She’s usually not so quiet,” Tom said. I managed to turn my head so I could see his furrowed brow as he stared down at me. “She’s…” He shrugged, then looked back up at Henry. “She’s great, though.”
I thought about talking. I really did. But I just couldn’t do it. What on earth could I say to the man who had stolen my teenage heart with just a picture? As I turned back toward Henry, I used my forefinger to push my glasses up on my nose. And we stood there in awkward silence. Fortunately, it was broken by the ding of the elevator followed by the opening of the doors.
“Nice to meet you both.” Henry tipped his head in a brief nod before slipping into the elevator.
“What the hell was that all about?” Tom asked, turning me by the shoulders.
I looked down the hall to see Gerry headed our way and pulled Tom into the stairwell so we wouldn’t be overheard. A fit and active sixty-eight-year-old, he easily kept up with me as I climbed the four flights of stairs in the hotel from the conference room we’d met in to my own room on the sixth floor.
I pulled Tom into my room, shut the door behind us, and collapsed on the bed. “Holy shit!”
“What the hell is going on, Chels?” Tom asked, moving to stand in front of me.
I sat up and looked at him. He was the only person in the world outside my family who I let call me “Chels.” Other than Tom, it was reserved exclusively for my brothers and father. But Tom and I had grown extremely close in the last four years since I started working for Trek. We’d toiled away on a lot of the same assignments for the network. And we both lived in San Francisco. Tom and his husband, Tim, were good friends with my sister-in-law’s parents, and their son, Brian, worked for my brother, Jack. Our lives intertwined, and when I traveled with Tom it felt like having a family member around.
“This is really embarrassing,” I said, running my hand through my hair. “But that was my first crush.”
Tom smiled. “That’s pretty adorable.”
“Not adorable. Pathetic,” I protested. “And embarrassing as hell. I was a complete disaster!”
Tom’s deep throaty chuckle shook his ample belly. “Everyone has a childhood crush, sweetie. I tell you what. If I’d come face to face with Burt Reynolds, you would have been picking my jaw up off the floor.”
“How am I going to work with him?”
“You’ve known about this for two weeks now. One, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. And, two, you should have been more prepared.”
“I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. I was fifteen, and I had a crush on a freaking picture of the dude in a magazine. But when I saw him in person…all grown up…Jesus.”
Tom slapped his hand on my shoulder. “He’s a looker, all right. I think we better go get a beer.”
I looked into his kind green eyes and nodded. “Good idea.”
****
In addition to being beautiful, Tyressa James also happened to be arrogant, rude, and completely vapid. And apparently, Henry already knew this. He stood beside her on the lawn in front of the hotel, his eyes focused on some point in the distance as she talked at him. Despite being busy setting up the shot, I still heard everything she said.
“I think this is going to be soooo fun, Hank!” In March in LA and under sixty degrees outside, she wore a tiny skirt and cropped top. It showed off all her ample assets.
“Tyressa, you are not going to call me Hank for the next several months.” Henry turned and pierced her with his gaze. “I’ve been telling you since we were kids—my name is Henry. Hank is my uncle.”
“But Henry. That’s such a stuffy name. Our audience will relate better to a Hank.” She put a hand on her curvy hip, which thrust out her ample, barely covered bosom. Through the lens of my camera, I watched Henry sigh heavily and turn away from her. “It’s edgier. Or least less dorky,” she continued. “And I think you should consider being called that on camera.”
“No,” he said tersely.
Tyressa looked around her for a minute. Then she dropped that subject altogether and brought up a new one. “I’m glad I have you, Henry. I mean, I’m the only woman on this entire set. At least I have you as a friendly face.”
I was used to being discounted on the set. Most of my male coworkers either thought of me as just one of the guys or didn’t take notice of my existence at all. In fact, the only people who ever seemed to take note of my gender were the men I slept with.
Henry looked right into the camera I was focusing. “No, you aren’t.”
I froze, keeping my face behind the equipment as Tyressa followed his gaze right to me. “Oh, right, the camera girl. She doesn’t really count.”
Henry crossed his arms over his chest and turned toward her. “And why wouldn’t she count?” I wasn’t sure if I imagined it, but he sounded pissed off.
“I don’t know. She’s…she’s a cameraman. I mean…and she’s kinda…” She looked me up and down blatantly, which was made all the more awkward by the fact that I stood no more than a dozen feet away. She took in my jeans and hoodie ensemble, which in my opinion was way more appropriate for the early spring day than her little summer fun outfit. “Boyish,” she finished.
That was it. This was just getting weird. I stood and looked at them both, my hands on my hips. “I’m right here, you know.”
Henry looked at me and grinned but didn’t say anything. For some reason, I felt like I could read him. I sensed challenge in that smile.
“Sorry,” Tyressa said petulantly.
“I’m boyish, am I?” I asked.
I heard Tom make a noise, and I knew a chuckle had escaped his throat as he listened in on this conversation. He was always highly amused when I got my attitude on.
Tyressa shrugged. “A little bit, yeah. You a lesbian?”
“Maybe,” I said casually.
“Yeah, I figured,” she said, looking down at her hands as she played with her fingernails.
At that point I just wanted to play with her. So I did. “What was the giveaway?” I stepped out from behind the camera. I watched Henry closely. One eyebrow was raised, and his lip curled up on one side. I suspected he knew my game.
Tyressa looked me up and down again. “Sandals with socks, jeans, baggy sweatshirt.”
“But the jeans fit her so well,” Henry said in a low, husky voice.
I shivered.
“Hmm, I guess,” Tyresssa said. “But then there’s the hair. You clearly couldn’t care less about it.”
That was unequivocally not true. I had fought a twenty-five-year battle with my hair, and it finally looked halfway decent these days. The frizz had turned to light, bouncy curls that hung around my shoulders and framed my face. The natural strawberry blonde color had taken on a darker hue in the last few years that made it look more like raspberry jam than pumpkin pie. I was pretty damn happy with it.
But I tossed it away from my face as if dismissing it. “So true.”
“And are you even wearing makeup?” she asked.
I was actually. I wore mascara because otherwise I looked like I had no eyelashes, and I’d also put on my favorite pink lip gloss that morning. “Who could be bothered with such things,” I said airily.
“See,” she said, waving her hand dismissively at me.
Before I could launch into a diatribe I knew I should not unleash on this stereotyping asshole because she was the talent and I was the lowly camera girl, Henry did it for me. “So that’s what a lesbian looks like, eh? Because my Uncle Al’s sister-in-law would blow your little theory out of the water.”
Tyressa rolled her eyes. “Here we go. I forgot you and your whole family are all crazy PC all the time.”
“You know what? I’m not going to waste my time talking to you, Tyressa,” he said angrily. “Can we get on with this?” He turned to me. “Where’s Rodney
?”
I shrugged and headed back behind my camera. “I’m ready.”
“Me too,” Tom called.
“Rodney!” Tyressa shrieked.
Rodney climbed out of the van parked behind us, running a hand over his ample belly. “Hey, you set to go, Chelsea?”
“Yep,” I said, suppressing the snarky response I wanted to give. What part of me hunched behind my camera didn’t say ready?
“Okay. This is super simple. We just do the show intro here. You guys have seen the script and memorized it?”
“It was only two lines,” Tyressa said snottily.
Henry just nodded.
“Good. Let’s go.”
Six takes later, we’d bagged the intro, which consisted of Henry saying, “It’s time to explore new places, meet new people, and experience new things,” followed by Tyressa saying, “This week on Next Gen Adventure!”
Despite the fact that Henry clearly disliked being on camera, being near Tyressa, listening to Rodney bark, and possibly even talking at all, he pulled off his line flawlessly on all six takes.
“That was great. Did you take lessons from your aunt?” Rodney asked Henry, slapping his back as they walked past me and Tom.
“No” was Henry’s only response before ducking into the van that would take our crew to the airport.
Tom and I packed up the equipment and slipped inside. I ended up sitting directly in front of Henry, who, instead of going back in the limo with Tyressa, had taken the very back seat in the van. Tom sat on the bench seat beside me, Rodney was in the front passenger seat, and Gerry drove.
The van headed into LA traffic, and I stared out the window, hyperaware of Henry just a few feet away. We were on the freeway, an Eagles tune playing on the radio in the background, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. My entire body stiffened.
“So, camera girl, you appear to be full of spitfire,” Henry said in a rich, caramel voice.
He’d leaned close to me. I could feel it. And my hair moved just the tiniest bit when his breath caressed it. Jesus, this childish crush thing sure felt real.
“I can’t stand haters, that’s all,” I said.
His hand slid off my shoulder, and he leaned back in his seat. “Me, neither.”
****
Seven months, three weeks ago—New Orleans, Louisiana
“Come on, Henry, look alive!” Rodney encouraged.
“I don’t know what you want me to say about this place,” Henry said.
“It’s supposed to be the hottest night club in the city. Surely, you can find something to say,” Rodney coaxed.
They were standing in front of the club, a line of people waiting at the door behind them. They’d spent the last ten minutes squabbling about what Henry was going to say about the club while Tom and I set up the equipment.
“You weren’t in there long enough. Maybe go back in, have another drink. We’ll get some more B-roll and do this segment afterward,” Rodney suggested.
I knew that would be a lost cause. Our B-roll consisted of Henry drinking a local beer and shooing away everyone who approached him. The best shots I got were of the crowd around him and did not feature Henry at all. It would be no different if we went back in. Henry clearly did not do nightclubs.
“I’ll think of something to say,” Henry grumbled. “Just roll.”
Rodney looked skeptical, but he stepped out of the shot nonetheless.
I watched Henry through the camera. He looked great in a pair of jeans and a black cotton button-up shirt. It was what he’d chosen to wear after rejecting the outfit Tyressa’s stylist, Kimberly, had picked out for him. I hadn’t gotten to see it for myself since Henry arrived at the vehicle after dinner wearing exactly what he had on now. But he’d complained about it in the back of the van. Apparently, it had involved pants so tight there would never be any grandkids for his mom and a silky rainbow-colored shirt.
“All right. Roll it, will you, Chelsea? I’ll just figure it out as we go,” Henry said to me.
I turned to Rodney, expecting him to protest. But he just waved his hand in defeat. So I rolled the camera.
“While Tyressa is on a historic tour of the great city of New Orleans, I’m exploring the bars and pubs of the French Quarter,” he began. “The two sides of this city are illustrated beautifully…” With enthusiasm and a light in his beautiful, dark eyes, Henry went on to expound upon how the city’s nightlife provided entertainment to visitors.
I was so deeply impressed by how he was able to talk so eloquently about something he obviously wasn’t interested in, I didn’t realize it when Henry finally finished speaking.
“Was that long enough?” he asked. “I really don’t think I can go on any longer with this bullshit.”
I shook myself out of the trance he’d put me in and looked up from the camera.
“Perfect,” Rodney said, walking toward Henry with a smile on his face. “You’re going to make my life easy, man.”
“Hmmm” was Henry’s only response.
“Okay, let’s call it a night. Tomorrow we need to get more B-roll of you walking around the city, eating at a restaurant, shit like that. Plus, I just heard from Tyressa’s crew, and they had a hell of time getting good footage today. So they need the extra time, too. We’ll fly to Cancun on Thursday.”
“Great,” Henry said without enthusiasm. “So I have the night to myself?”
“Absolutely. You want me to get you a cab?” Rodney asked him.
Henry looked around him for a moment, then turned to me. “Are you guys taking the van back to the hotel?”
I nodded.
“Me and Chelsea have to take the equipment back and secure it. You want a ride?” Tom asked. I’d never felt so grateful in all my life. I looked at him like he’d just bought me a puppy.
Henry nodded.
“You coming?” Tom asked Rodney.
Rodney looked absolutely baffled for a moment. Then he seemed to shake it off. “Naw. Me and Ger will get a cab. Take off. Have a good night.” He waved his hand in our direction dismissively.
Henry helped us pack up the equipment and then climbed into the van. I expected him to sit in the way back as he had during each ride so far. Instead, he opened the passenger side door for me, then climbed in right behind me. Tom, who was already in the driver’s seat, made a double take but then shrugged and put the van in gear.
We rode in silence for a while. And I knew Tom was challenging me to speak to Henry. He gave me a quick sidelong glance several times. Henry stared out the window.
Finally, I took the challenge. “You really have a way with words, Henry,” I told him, shoving my glasses up on my nose, even though it was completely unnecessary.
“Thanks. I suppose it’s helpful in my line of work. So I’ll take that as encouragement that I don’t have to quit my real job.”
I shifted in my seat so I could see him better. “What is your real job?”
“I’m a writer. Freelance. And not very good at it, either.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“I’m here, right? If I could make a living as a writer, I wouldn’t be here.”
I scrunched up my brow. “Okay, don’t get pissed. But from one rich kid to another, you can’t be desperate.”
Henry met my gaze, and for a split second I thought I’d pissed him off. But he gave me a small, crooked smile. “Well, Chelsea, as a rich kid with a day job, you must know I’m trying to make my own way.”
I smiled. “Yeah. I get that.”
“I tell you what,” Tom said. “I’ll let you both off the hook. You can just hand your trust funds over to me. Then I could retire right this minute.”
“Tom’s been trying to retire for years now,” I explained. “The old man needs to get on with it, too, or he won’t be able to walk well enough to spend his days golfing when he finally does.”
“Whatever, kid. I’m still in good shape. It’s Tim who can’t keep up. We agreed to retire at the same time.
And he’s turned into a real whiny bastard lately. So I told him after this show I’d do it.”
“Really?” I was shocked. We hadn’t actually talked about this, and deep down I’d selfishly hoped I would have Tom as my coworker until I was ready to leave Trek. “Oh, crap. I am going to miss you. Damn! Maybe this will be my last gig with Trek, too. I don’t think I could put up with this shit without you.”
“Tim’s your partner?” Henry asked Tom.
“Yep. Thirty-two years.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a dentist.” Pride was easily discernible in Tom’s voice
“See,” I said, turning in my seat. “He whines about not having the money to retire, but Tim is a dentist. I mean, dentists do all right. We all know that. The real problem is Tom is afraid they’ll get bored. No work, the kid is moved out of the house.”
“Empty nest,” Henry said knowingly. “My parents are going through that now my sister has graduated from college. She moved out for real and got her own place around the same time I moved to San Francisco. So now they’re freaking out.”
“When I left the house, my dad started painting,” I told him, grinning. “He’s terrible at it. My mom looked at his last attempt and told him to stick with being CEO.”
My family owned a major real estate company in San Francisco. And, yeah, we were loaded. Everyone knew it, too, which is why Henry had heard of me when we first met. My brother Hayden was getting ready to take over as CEO, and my dad, who was supposed to have retired a couple years ago, was having trouble letting go. The hobby had been Hayden’s idea because my dad was driving him crazy. So since the painting was a major fail, Hayden attempted to talk my dad into golf. My dad hated golf. I thought the whole thing was hilarious.
“My dad just recorded a new album,” Henry said, laughing. “And my mom is volunteering at Channel Islands. They’re cracking me up.”
There was something so casual about this conversation in the van, it was easy to forget who I was talking to. It was easy to imagine he’d just said, “My dad has joined the local Elks club,” rather than making a rock album that was no doubt going to go platinum within days of being released. In the darkened van, speeding along the highway, it was easy to imagine Henry as just another coworker out on a gig with us.
