This Is What Happy Looks Like(40)
Author: Jennifer E. Smith

“Not much of a sandwich,” the woman muttered, moving around the table and back to the counter.

A few people tried to let Graham cut ahead of them in line, but he politely declined. He glanced out the window, where he could see the O’Neills’ shop on the other side of the green, then looked back over at the table, where Olivia was fanning herself with one manicured hand.

Harry had been unrelenting in his efforts to convince Graham that dating Olivia would be the second best thing he could do for his career. The first, of course, would be to pick his next project from the long lineup of scripts that were fanned out across the coffee table in his hotel room, each synopsis worse than the one before it, movies about aliens and robots and vampires. There was a musical version of an old sitcom, one where Graham would play his own identical twin, and a buddy comedy about two high school freshmen who pretend to be in college for a night.

“I know, I know,” Harry would say each time he dropped off another script. “But we need to figure out what’s next.”

Graham realized that too, but he wanted to choose carefully.

For the past couple of weeks, he’d thrown himself into the shoot, approaching each scene with new energy, hitting all his marks, nailing each and every one of his lines. At night, he fell asleep on the uneven hotel bed with a marked-up copy of the script on his chest, and in the mornings, he ran lines in his head while he showered and brushed his teeth.

There wasn’t much else for him to do. Without Ellie, the town had started to feel small, and he was getting tired of eating every lunch in his trailer and every dinner in his hotel room. Harry was wearing on him, and Mick only wanted to talk about work. Occasionally, he played cards with some of the other cast members, but most of them were older, so he usually ended up passing the time on his own. And there were few things lonelier than a blinking TV screen and a half-eaten plate of room-service food on an unmade hotel bed.

Last night, when he turned on the TV, he’d been surprised to discover that To Kill a Mockingbird was on. He hadn’t seen it since he was little, curled on the couch with his parents, all three of them sharing a bowl of popcorn, and he was captivated now as he watched, entranced by the classic feel of it. All of his peers could have their dance movies and raunchy comedies and action flicks. Graham realized that what he wanted was to do something like this. Something that mattered.

On their way back to the set this morning, Olivia had fallen into step beside him. Graham knew that she already had her next two pictures lined up: a Disney movie about a modern-day princess and a comedy about two college roommates. And while he might be skeptical about her choices, he envied her in some ways. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she knew exactly where she was going. It was more than he could say for himself.

“What are you doing for the Fourth?” she asked, adjusting her sunglasses as they walked toward the cluster of cameras, each of them perched on a dolly, ready to chase them down the street later this morning.

There’d been a mutiny among the cast and crew when Mick had suggested working through the holiday. There were only three days of shooting left—even less for Graham, who was slated to be finished after the second morning—and the director had wanted to push straight through and get back to the studio in L.A. But after a month of working nearly every single day, everyone was in desperate need of a break, and so he’d finally relented. They’d have the holiday off before returning to finish up, and everyone now seemed to be making plans. Graham had overheard some of the crew talking about going drinking out on a rented boat, while others would be joining in the town’s celebration.

“I’m thinking of flying down to Manhattan for the day,” Olivia said without waiting for his response. “I’m starting to forget what civilization feels like.”

“That’ll be fun,” he offered, and she gave him a sideways glance.

“Want to come?”

He raised his eyebrows. “To New York?”

“To Manhattan,” she said, as if they were two different things entirely. “You have to admit it would be nice to get out of here.”

To his surprise, the idea was not entirely unappealing, especially after so many days alone, and he wondered if she really meant it. He searched her face, trying to decide whether this was a real invite and whether she was genuinely hopeful that he might come. Was it possible that she actually liked him, that it wasn’t all about the publicity?

But before he could respond, Olivia smiled. “It’s not L.A., of course, but I’m sure we wouldn’t be completely under the radar,” she said, slowing as they approached her trailer. “You don’t have plans yet, do you?”

Graham thought again of the Fourth of July weekend he’d imagined: a parade and fireworks, sparklers and symphonies, a small-town celebration, and the chance to spend some time with his parents. He’d never responded to his mom’s e-mail, and there’d been no more word from them until she called last week to say hello. For ten minutes, they’d talked about the weather in California and what she was reading for her book club. When she asked about the movie, Graham steered the subject away as he always did when his parents brought it up, acutely aware that they were only being polite. But when she mentioned their neighbor’s Fourth of July barbeque, Graham went silent altogether.

“Honey?” his mom said, her voice thin across the line.

“Sounds like fun,” he’d said shortly, and she sighed.

“I’m sorry we’re not coming,” she said after a moment. “You know how your father is about traveling, and—”

“It’s fine, Mom.”

“What are you going to do?”

“It turns out I’ve got to work anyway,” he lied, knowing he’d probably be doing the same thing he did every other day here: taking long walks around town, looking out for the fishing boats coming into the harbor, watching movies and sketching pictures and checking in with the guy who was taking care of Wilbur, which he’d done so many times that he’d started getting only the very most sarcastic updates in return (“Pig at large” or “The pig has left the building”).

When he’d first arrived here, he’d been so excited to get out of L.A., and he couldn’t imagine four weeks would possibly be enough time. But now he realized that the promise of the place had been wholly and inextricably tied to Ellie, and with her absent from the equation, he was suddenly ready to go home.