Page 72 of Score
At those words, I turn toward the blond lady of medium height who’s approaching. She clicks to alarm a Mercedes wagon and stops beside me.
“You’re probably right.” I return the warm smile that lights her green eyes. “I was on my way in. I’m Verity.”
“Oh, I know.” She extends her hand for a firm handshake. “Jill Brigston, the cinematographer. I’ve been working with Canon a long time, and you’re probably the writer he’s been most excited about.”
“Really?” I fall in step with her to Canon’s front door.
“All I’ve heard is Verity this and Verity that.” She slides her hands into the back pockets of her perfectly broken-in jeans. “Well, when it wasn’t Neevah this, or Neevah that.”
“That part,” I agree with a laugh. “I’m truly honored to be on this team.”
“He’s the real deal.” She rings the doorbell and smiles. “But I’m sure you know that by now.”
The door swings open, and Graham, Canon’s assistant, welcomes us.
“Hi, Jill!” she greets the cinematographer, and then shifts hazel eyes to me. “And good to see you again, Verity.”
Graham leads us through the foyer with soaring ceilings and a chandelier that looks more like a satellite than a light fixture.
There are maybe ten people scattered across the living and dining rooms, which split the open floor plan. A few chat on a massive leather sectional, while others congregate at the long dining room table, solid and weathered like it’s made from repurposed driftwood.
“Hungry?” Graham keeps walking past the living room and heads for the table. “I need to point out that there’s shrimp in that pasta salad in case you’re allergic, but there’s chicken and veggie options, too.”
The prospect of seeing Monk again stole my appetite, so I haven’t eaten much, but the hunger comes roaring back at the first whiff of grilled chicken.
“Thanks.” I grab one of the small white square plates. “I’m actually starving.”
“Where’s our fearless leader?” Jill asks, spooning some of the pasta salad onto her plate.
“You rang?” Evan says, walking up beside Jill and giving her a hug.
“Theotherfearless leader.” Jill laughs and squeezes him back with her free arm. “But hello, Bancroft.”
“He’s downstairs in the theater with Monk.” He turns to me. “Verity, good to see you again. Canon was looking for you earlier.”
I tense, but make a conscious decision to relax and not give a fuck.
“Cool.” I set my plate down.
“No, go on and eat,” Evan insists. “I don’t think it’s urgent. He was just telling someone about all the cool historical context you added to the script.”
For another ten minutes or so, I nibble from my plate and meet more of the team. Evan introduces me to the production director, the set designer, the art director, and others.
“Let’s head down to the theater,” Evan suggests to the group. “Canon has some film he wants us to watch before he talks about the movie.”
My breath stutters and I breathe in and out a few times to settle my nerves. When I saw Monk in Harlem, I wasn’t prepared. Didn’t expect to be close to him at all. Knowing is worse. I take the last few steps down and brace myself for my first sight of him in years.
He looks much the same. Age seems to only be improving him. Always handsome, his face is harder with sharper lines. When I’ve seen him in interviews and in public appearances, his smile has come easily, more relaxed than when we were in college. The Monk I knew was intense with undercurrents you could get caught in, drown in. The ease with which he navigates fame feels deliberate to me; a piece of glass he’s placed between his most authentic self and the rest of the world. I probably detect it more than most because I knew him before the hit albums, the Grammy and Emmy Awards, all the acclaim.
My perusal stutters at his chest.Finley College, Est. 1901is emblazonedon the sweatshirt he wears with dark jeans. I know he wore this on purpose, probably intended to disconcert me. I hate that it’s working; that even though I was determined to ignore our past and treat him like everyone else I’m meeting for the first time, the sweatshirt immediately transports me back to the quad, to the yard, to the arboretum, where we shared our first kiss. To his apartment, where I gave him pieces of my soul that I thought I’d never want back.
Damn him.
Monk hasn’t spotted me yet, and I take a moment to lock my inscrutable expression in place before I have to face him. I would love to slink down unnoticed in one of the overstuffed seats in Canon’s home theater, but no such luck.
“Verity!” Canon calls. “Over here.”
Over hereis with him, a woman I don’t recognize, and Monk.
