Rugged(50)

“What are you looking at? Are my pants on backwards?” I ask, quickly checking myself out. Not like I’ve ever done that before. Once. When I was very tired.

“It’s nothing,” Suze drawls. That means ‘something’ in Suze-ese.

We tromp through the trees to reach the picnic place, an unexpected patch of bright grass about a mile from the shooting site. I’m carrying the basket, which is so heavy I’m starting to sink under the weight of it. When we spread out the blanket, I’m ready to eat. Suze brought us a selection of hard salami and fresh prosciutto, crusty French bread, cheese, dried apricots, apples. My stomach rumbles in appreciation.

“So,” she says, daintily spreading some kind of savory jam on a baguette, “tell me all about Flint McKay.” She takes a bite, giving me the ‘and don’t you dare lie’ look.

“He’s great,” I say, keeping it oh so casual as I miss my mouth trying to take a bite of sandwich. That’s okay, I wanted to get some salami in my eye. “Just so nice and…great.”

“And hot. And clearly into you.” Suze says that last sentence in a singsong type of way.

“No he’s not. Really. That’s all behind us now.” This is sounding like middle school. He likes yoooou. No he does nooooot. Who’s your celebrity soul mate?

“Right.” Suze rolls her eyes. “Why don’t we just skip to the part where you’ve crumbled under my Sherlock Holmes-level detective skills and just tell me the truth? I know something’s up. You’ve been avoiding my questions for weeks.” I hesitate. She sighs, crossing her arms, “Come on. I haven’t gotten an update since the night of the BBB.”

“The what?”

“The behind-the-bar-blow job.”

“Suze!” My cheeks burn, and I glance around to see if anyone’s in earshot, but it looks like we’re alone in this meadow of shame. There’s no getting out of this. “We, er, might’ve hooked up again when Flint was in LA. We were both pretty drunk,” I mutter. Suze doesn’t squeal or clap her hands, which is part of what I love about her. She just nods, setting her apple aside and leaning forward.

“When you say hook up, you mean…?”

“Yeah. All the way. I mean, it was just after our big meeting with Davis and I thought the pitch bombed so we went to a bar to commiserate. We were never going to see each other again, so…” I let the implied ellipsis suggest all types of shenanigans.

“Was he good?” Suze asks.

“Is incendiary a strong enough word?” I shake my head. “But it’s over now.”

Suze raises a brow. “There’s still something going on there, Laurel. When you guys were just joking around, I could see his entire face light up. Listen,” Suze says, uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring me a glass. God, how I love her. “You’re not going to be working on this show forever. Maybe, when everything’s shot and over…”

“We can, what? Live in a romantic bungalow made for two in the boughs of a weeping willow tree? He can ditch his family and his business and trade it all in for the soul-suck that is Los Angeles? Or, no, are you saying I can make it as a producer out here in the Berkshires?” My heart sinks just saying the words out loud. There’s no way this could ever work. “And I don’t want to complicate things on set with a fling. I don’t want to pull a Sanderson.” Suze goes quiet at that. She knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“I understand,” she says, looking troubled. “Hon, I’m so sorry. That’s rough.”

I sigh as I watch the wind scatter some leaves over our blanket. “I don’t know what to do. Being around him is so hard. But there’s no way around it.”

Suze leans back on her elbows and looks up at the sky, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Well. You can always become a nun,” she says.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

This is what friends are for. I think.



After lunch, we walk back to set and I bid Suze a goodbye. She gets in her car and heads off to catch a train for Vermont. Meanwhile, the crew’s just wrapping filming. I walk up to Flint and Jerri as they’re finishing up a conversation, Flint nodding vigorously. He turns as I come over, taking off his hard hat.

“That was a hell of a day,” he says, wiping his face. “But I think we’re going to start on the roof tomorrow. I walked it again, and I think it’s secure. It’ll make for a scintillating evening of television.”

“Can your heart stand the shocking conclusion of Flint McKay on top of a one story roof,” I say in my TV announcer voice. It’s a really good voice, too. Flint grins.

“Well, let’s worry about the terror of all that another day.” He swings into his leather jacket. “What do you say we head to the Firefly? I could use a beer.”

It’d be great, just me and Flint at the bar, sharing a drink and laughing. We’ve shown that we can handle the platonic hang-out, the friendly handshake goodnight. But the talk I had with Suze during lunch gives me pause. I need to stay on track.

“Better idea,” I say. “Let’s swing by David and Callie’s for a quick chat. I need to ask about filming a family dinner.” We head down the hill, my stomach sinking with the words. An opportunity to spend one on one time with the man I can’t stop thinking about, and I turn it down. Huzzah. Flint looks a little wary at my Winstonian suggestion.