Page 37 of Take It Till You Make It
He’s about to answer when Grimilda stumps into the area, carrying four identical t-shirts that she hangs on the mobile wardrobe. Apparently, the scene I’m shooting this afternoon involves mud.
Crispin turns his attention to her instead with the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen him give, curving his lips. “Grim, it’s great to see you.”
She grunts in reply.
“Charming as ever, I see.” His eyes track her into my dressing room and back out again. “Still running a tight ship, as well.”
“Always.”
I snicker at her grumpy reply. She doesn’t even look at Crispin as she shuffles around him, shooing him like he’s a pesky fly.
“I see the love is thick between you two,” I say.
Grimilda rolls her eyes at me before she tromps out of my makeshift dressing area completely.
With arched brows, I look to Crispin for an explanation.
He watches her disappear around a corner before explaining. “I’ve worked with her several times over the years. Productions often ask for her by name because she’s so organized.” He finally turns back to me, mischief sparking in his eyes. “I always have to mess with her. Sometimes I would just rearrange the wardrobe.” He points to where my four identical shirts hang. “But one time I replaced all my movie clothes with personal items of clothing from home.”
I cringe, imagining her reaction.
“Another time, I squirted grape jam on every piece of costuming she staged for the day. And another time, I dressed up in the clothing for one of the girl characters from the movie.”
By now, my mouth hangs open, but I’m not sure if I’m impressed or horrified. “Do you have a death wish?”
“Something like that. I really love to rile her up. Something about that Hungarian accent.”
I squint. I had to interview her to learn she’s from Hungary. Did Crispin ask her or recognize the accent? I’m surprised at how well he gets to know the people we work with. I’m beginning to understand how far off my first impressions of him were. But I’m not sure whose fault that is. “Your devilish streak surprises me.”
He simply shrugs, looking pleased with himself.
Finally, I steer the conversation back to his unexpected question. “Why were you hoping I’d have the afternoon free?”
“There’s this little museum that I swear nobody even knows about, that’s packed full of juicy Hollywood couples’ drama through the ages. I thought you and Sally would enjoy visiting. Sally seems to really be into that kind of stuff.” He shrugs.
“Oh, uh…” I stammer as I try to figure out the rush of emotions that unexpectedly fries my brain. But most importantly, why I’m feeling disappointment to hear his invitation includes Sally. Did I really think he was here to ask me out? Alone? That’s ridiculous. “You two should go!”
“Well, I mean, no. It wouldn’t be fun without you.”
I eye him suspiciously. Since when does he consider me fun? Didn’t he say I walked around with a black cloud over my head?
“Maybe we could go this weekend? Any plans Saturday?”
I blink. What is happening right now? Am I becoming friends with Crispin Moore? “Um, honestly, I never have plans, so whenever works best for you two.”
“Great. I’ll get with Sally and see if Saturday works for her, too.”
I nod at the last minute, erasing my confused look and replacing it with a smile. It literally feels like I’m in a dream that could quickly spiral into a nightmare as I watch Crispin’s head expand into a laughing fun house clown bobbing to and fro.
“Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you later.” Crispin takes a couple steps backward and waves awkwardly. “Have a good shoot.”
“Thanks.”
He backs into my mobile wardrobe, almost toppling it. His arms and legs fly in all directions at once, and his tall frame teeters precariously. Scrambling to keep himself and the wardrobe upright, he clutches the metal frame but almost knocks all the clothes off. They sway dramatically. I imagine the hangers scrabbling at the slick metal rod by their fingertips. My mouth hangs open in shock as I watch him compose himself again.
“Whoops. Grim wouldn’t have liked that.” His laugh is forced, and his cheeks are blazing.
I shake my head. “No, she wouldn’t.”
