Never Tied Down (The Never Duet #2)(3)
It took just one day of being alone in the house for me to realize I couldn’t be there by myself. It was entirely too hard. So I packed a few suitcases, turned off the power to the house, and drove to Portland with absolutely no plan. Luckily, when I landed on Megan’s doorstep she’d welcomed me with open arms, and I’d been drifting ever since. It took a few weeks to find work again, but I picked myself up and pretended to dust myself off.
When I was on set, working, I was professional and efficient, and actually preferred to be there because with each job came new coworkers. Usually I could meet new people and pretend as though I hadn’t lived through the worst months of my life. It wasn’t like my brother’s death was big news, but once a few people from the business found out, it had spread and I’d received condolences from many people I’d worked with in the past. So, finding new people, who didn’t know me or hadn’t heard of my tragedies, was refreshing. It allowed me to pretend to be happy and unaffected for a day, to put my grief to the side and ignore it.
And although I loved my friends dearly, to be around them was to be constantly reminded I was fragile because that was how they treated me, as if I were made of glass.
So, much like this morning, I tried sometimes to keep my distance from them in order to spare everyone’s feelings. I would be eternally grateful to Ella and Megan for allowing me to stay with them when I needed a place to crash between jobs, but I definitely tried to give myself space. They didn’t need constant reminders I was crashing in their guest room, anyway.
After I’d showered and dressed, I was downstairs utilizing the fancy coffeemaker in the Masters’ kitchen when the front door opened and Porter appeared.
“Kalli, good morning,” he said, as he made his way through the open floor plan of his house. “I just forgot some blueprints I needed for a job in town this afternoon.” He paused as he came to a stop at the island in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes on me, fingers drumming on the countertop. I could tell by the look in his eyes he wanted to ask me how I was doing, to check up on me, but he resisted. “How much longer do you have at the shoot you’re working on?”
“Just a few days, then I’ll be out of your hair,” I said with a polite smile.
“You know that’s not why I’m asking,” he replied, his voice tinged with just a little regret, which in turn made me feel like an ass. Porter had never made me feel like I was unwanted or a burden, and treated me with respect and kindness while I stayed with him and Ella.
“I’m sorry, that was rude. I just can’t imagine you enjoy having me around all the time.”
He was silent for a moment, but then said, “Your being here makes Ella happy and that, in turn, makes me happy. Listen,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “it’s not like you’re couch surfing because you were irresponsible and lost your job. You’re here because you need to be surrounded by people who care about you. And we do. There’s no pressure for you to leave until you feel like you’re ready.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate that. But still, I’ll be gone soon.”
“And you’re welcome back at any point,” he said, without hesitation. He smiled the pitying smile I had gotten used to, then continued through the house, heading to his office to get the plans he’d forgotten, I assumed. I took the opportunity to head back upstairs to my room to get my purse and shoes, more than ready to leave the house for the day.
I’d been working nonstop for a few weeks, lucky enough to find jobs that lined up perfectly, leaving little time between them. I was trying to keep myself occupied, to distract myself. When I was idle, my mind wandered and my heart hurt.
That week I was working on an odd job, but it was beautiful, nonetheless. The Oregon Ballet Company was shooting their winter promo and I got to watch ballerinas dance around all day. Obviously, the ballet company had their own costumes made especially for their show, so I didn’t have to figure any of that out, but I was hired to make sure the continuity was good and that everything looked great. Jobs like these could get tricky because the actual costume designer for the company was there, looking over her precious costumes, and sometimes could cause drama.
It wasn’t unusual for a production company to hire a costume manager on top of a costume designer; there were things I took into consideration that she probably wouldn’t. Like how the production crew’s lights were harsher against the costumes than her house lighting, so we had the house add some blue to try to tamp that down. I also noticed, halfway through the shoot, the prima ballerina’s headpiece was switched with another dancer’s, which during the actual ballet wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but in a thirty-second commercial, someone would notice.
“How often do you think those guys have to defend themselves against ignorant *s?”
I turned to see Logan standing directly to my right, looking at the dancers on the stage as they performed the same minute-long routine for the millionth time.
“What do you mean?” Logan was a grip and local, like me. I saw him a few times a year if I was working in Portland. He was a nice guy. I figured he was a few years older than me, but he’d always been friendly.
“I mean, they’re male ballerinas. I would assume, every once in a while, some *s would give them a hard time.”
I shrugged. “They look pretty built, what with all the lifting of the women,” I said, gesturing as, sure enough, one of the men lifted a girl over his head. “Plus,” I said, turning to face Logan, “I don’t think the kind of ignorant *s who would torment male ballerinas actually come to the ballet.”