“I love to write. I’ve always loved writing much more than performing, giving voice to the imaginary people in my head. And movies. I love film. But I wrote this particular script because so much about our culture is inadvertently hilarious. I enjoy poking fun at sensitive topics, because you can achieve a lot more with humor and entertainment, reach more hearts and minds, than with the most thoughtful and well-researched letter to the editor. And because most of the words used to describe only women—not all, just most—are really rather negative or condescending. Like the term ‘working-mom.’ No one says ‘working-dad.’ Why do we do that? Don’t mothers have it hard enough?”
“Buxom isn’t negative.” Referring to my earlier word list, Jethro’s eyes darted to my chest then back up. He didn’t apologize, but he did smile.
So of course I had to tease him. “Did you just look at my chest when you said ‘buxom?’”
“Yes.” He nodded once, his eyes warm and playful.
“And why did you do that?”
“Because the word describes what you have going on in that area. Just like, the word clever describes what you have going on here,” he motioned to my brain, “and the word beautiful describes what you have going on everywhere.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest and I couldn’t help my grin. “Oh, you’re good.”
“Yes. But sometimes . . .” his eyes dropped again, this time conducting a slow perusal from the heels of my shoes to the locket around my neck, heating every inch of my body with his gaze until it collided with mine, “sometimes I’m very, very bad.”
We were in his truck driving to his house after dinner, enjoying each other’s company, when Marta called.
Her name flashing on the screen hit me like a bucket of ice water being thrown on the evening. I stared at my phone and debated what to do.
“What’s wrong?”
I glanced at Jethro. He was obviously concerned about my sudden mood shift.
“Uh, it’s just my sister.” I rejected the call. “I’ll call her later.”
“Which one?”
“Marta.”
“Your manager.”
“Yes. That’s the one.” I swallowed stiffly, wondering if the time had come for me to tell him about the argument she and I’d had when I was in L.A. We’d been texting each other and emailing since the fight last month, our discussions limited to business topics only. This was the first time she’d called. Before I could decide what to do, she called again.
“You should get it.” Jethro lifted his chin toward the phone. “It might be important.”
“It’s never important,” I grumbled, but I answered the call anyway. “Hello?”
“Sienna,” Marta said by way of greeting, which would have been fine except she’d said my name like she was trying to talk reason into me, like Now, now, Sienna. Calm down.
So I mimicked her tone. “Marta.” Now, now, Marta. Calm down.
Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting that, because it took her several seconds to speak again. Before she did, she cleared her throat, and I heard her chair squeak. She was at work. Even with the time difference it was still late for her to still be at the office.
“I’m calling about the Smash-Girl script and the London premiere.”
I grimaced, having forgotten all about the London premiere. Again. When was that again? August?
“Where are you with the script? Barnaby called again this morning asking for a status.”
My grimace intensified, because I hadn’t thought much about the script since they’d un-casted me from the role.
“Sienna?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“Anything more I can share with Barnaby?”
“Not yet.”
She sighed, sounding disappointed and irritated, but she said, “Fine.”
“I’m still thinking things through,” I hedged.
That wasn’t like me and Marta knew it. I’d allowed it to lapse, which wasn’t professional behavior at all. I needed to work on it or officially step aside. I could blame it on writer’s block, but Marta knew me better than that.
“And London? Do you want me to reach out to Tom’s people?”
“Tom’s people?”
Jethro shifted in his seat, drawing my eyes to him. He wasn’t looking at me, as his attention was on the dark road, but I could see he didn’t like the mention of my co-star.
“You have to go with someone, he was your most recent—”
“No,” I interrupted her. “Tom isn’t my most recent anything.” Then, on a whim, I said, “I’ll bring Jethro.”