I gave him a tight smile. “No, Tom. I was just thinking it’s cold here in the morning. I’m going to ask production to grab me some extra blankets. Do you want me to do the same for you?”
“Oh.” He immediately relaxed. “How thoughtful. Yes. It’s cold, right? Could you also ask Elon to have some extra cashmeres ordered?”
He called sweaters cashmeres because all his sweaters were made out of cashmere. No judgment, it’s just something he did. Elon was his administrative assistant, and she had three personal assistants. I didn’t know any of their names because each position was filled monthly with a new person. Elon was a bit of a handful.
I pulled out the drawer next to me, searching for a notepad and pencil. Finding one, I wrote down a reminder to ask for the blankets and text Elon about his cashmeres.
“Good. You’re making a list. I need more lemons, too.” Tom turned his attention back to Susie and lifted his chin so she could correct the inadvertent double shadow on his neck, leaving me to my list.
Tom was going to be a handful and my patience was already running thin. Susie knew I didn’t want Tom in my trailer, so he must’ve had help getting inside. He’d probably used an ignorant assistant director and had already been making himself at home when Susie arrived.
I’d have to speak with the production staff at some point. Stationing Dave and another of the security team outside would also help. Tom wasn’t to be allowed in my trailer. Ever.
On one hand, I couldn’t wait for the primary filming to be done.
On the other hand . . . Jethro.
Jethro promised he’d pick me up at 7:00 p.m. in the same spot where he’d dropped me off this morning. He kept his word.
However, he was driving a different vehicle, and he had someone else with him. Both of these facts gave me pause.
First of all, the truck was huge. I mean HUGE. It resembled one of those monster trucks, except it was painted a benign blue and the wheels were normal sized. Secondly, the man with him was dressed in grease-stained blue coveralls, a black and red checked flannel, and his beard was overgrown and wild. Actually, everything about him looked a bit wild.
But then my gaze moved back to Jethro and he grinned, big and wide, which meant I had to smile. I had no choice, because his grin was happy and open, epic even.
I waved.
He waved, still smiling like he couldn’t help it.
By Godzilla’s tibia, I felt like a teenager. I was all aflutter with happy anticipation.
I glanced at his companion, deciding—based on the look of him—the man was even less likely to know who I was than Jethro. Thus, gathering a breath for courage, I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and closed the remaining distance.
As I approached the gigantic truck, Jethro took a few steps forward, hitting the other man lightly on the shoulder to gain his attention. But his companion didn’t look up. As I drew closer I saw the man was staring at the screen of an iPad.
“Hey you,” Jethro said, his green and gold eyes warm and welcoming, though his voice was gravelly and tired, as though he’d been talking a great deal. “You left your thermos in my truck this morning. I wanted to let you know, just in case you’ve been missing it. It’s been cleaned and it’s inside The Beast.” He indicated with his thumb the blue truck behind him and reached for my bag, adding, “Let me carry this for you.”
“Thank you, Jethro.” I let him take the bag, feeling a renewed sense of wonder at how he insisted on caring for me in small ways. Carrying my luggage instead of rolling it and ruining the wheels, remembering my thermos and cleaning it out for me, grabbing my backpack.
After spending the day with Tom Low and the other actors and egos on set, Jethro felt like a breath of fresh air. He felt real, a real person. Thoughtful. Normal. Nice.
“This here is Cletus, my brother.”
My eyes moved to his companion again and I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you, Cletus.”
Cletus didn’t look up, but he accepted the handshake. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Jethro said you’ve been having car trouble.”
I lifted an eyebrow at Cletus’s odd behavior, as though he were pointedly not looking at me for some reason. Jethro caught my eyes and rolled his, communicating with the single gesture that his brother was a special snowflake and would have to be indulged.
I gave Jethro a reassuring smile as I addressed Cletus’s last statement. “Yes. Sadly, I have a terrible sense of direction. So your brother has been kind enough to help me find my way.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mind overly much,” Cletus mumbled under his breath. “So, you’re a writer?”