Chances Are, page 9
“Yeah, yeah,” Garrett grumbled.
“At least wait until the project is over. If it’s about anything it’ll keep.”
“Yeah, but what about those falling bricks?”
Jason tossed his head back and laughed. “Duck.”
Dione was going over the text that she’d written, working and reworking the words, wanting to convey in sixty seconds a lifelong dream that she couldn’t bear to have taken away.
Her intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Brenda.”
“Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Burrell are here.”
“I’ll be right up.”
She was seized with an attack of nerves and she knew it had nothing to do with being camera shy. She headed upstairs.
“Hello.” She looked at Garrett as she stood in the doorway and a charge ricocheted between them. She averted her gaze in Jason’s direction and stepped into the room. “Good to see you again.”
“You, too. All ready for your television debut?”
“Pretty much. What’s the plan?”
“I thought we’d get some shots of the office, and the day-care space,” Garrett said, trying to stay focused on the job at hand and not Dione’s legs that were beautifully displayed beneath a mint green wool skirt that barely met her knees. Even in her “all business” attire and with her hair pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, she set his imagination into overdrive. Then Jason’s earlier warnings echoed in his head. Duck.
“Let’s get started then,” Dione said. “You can hang up your coats in the closet behind Brenda’s desk.”
Brenda got up and pushed open the wooden sliding door and pulled out two wire hangers, handing them to Garrett and Jason.
With that little chore aside they followed Dione downstairs.
“Is that all the equipment you have?” she asked realizing that all Jason carried was what looked to be no more than your basic camcorder with a directional microphone attached.
Jason chuckled. “Yep. But believe me, this little baby is powerful. Gives you the same quality as the big studio cameras without the hassle of size. It even has a built-in monitor so I can see exactly how the shot looks.”
“Modern technology,” she mumbled in amazement, opening the door to the day-care room.
They were immediately greeted by a wall of noise from crying infants, to rambunctious toddlers who darted around the room in what looked like a game of tag.
“I’d love to get a shot of this. As is,” Jason said. He balanced the handheld camera against his shoulder.
“Why don’t you just walk into the room, Dione,” Garrett instructed. “Look around as if you were giving a tour.”
She heard that intense, focused note in his voice again.
She took a breath and stepped into the room, following Garrett’s instructions. At first her heart was thumping so loudly she’d bet money they were picking up the beat on the microphone. Then she started getting into it, loosening up as she talked with Betsy who was bottle-feeding one of the babies.
The whole thing probably took about ten minutes and she was stunned to hear they’d probably only use about five seconds of footage.
“Why?” she asked a bit undone after what she thought was a stunning performance on her part.
Garrett smiled. “It has nothing to do with you,” he assured. “We want to get a variety of shots. You’ll be doing the v.o.’s—voice overs,” he clarified when she frowned. “Then we’ll come back to you at the end. Now let’s get some shots of you in the main office, then your office and maybe something in one of the apartments.”
She wasn’t accustomed to people coming into her space and telling her what to do. And she was pretty sure she didn’t like it. She cut Garrett a look, which he missed, while he talked to Jason about what he wanted.
She wanted to be annoyed at his “I’m in charge” attitude. She wanted to feel put upon and maybe a tiny part of her did. But actually she was intrigued by his in-control, challenging behavior. She could tell he was in his element. In the zone as the kids would say. Again she saw and felt his passion and for a moment they were on level ground.
What would only be a sixty-second public service announcement, had taken a full day to shoot and would take several days to edit. Just being a part of, and watching the process, was exciting, but Dione quickly understood the mammoth task of what putting together an hour-long tape and everything that went into getting it ready for viewing would take.
Dione was on pins and needles waiting for Garrett to call and say it was finished. She kept having this recurring vision that she was going to come across like the guy who does the Champion commercials. “When your bank says no, Champion says yes.” Then he gives the worst smile as if it pained him to tell people he would give them money.
If she came across like that, she would simply die. That’s all there was to it.
She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear then toyed with the gold hoop in her earlobe. She’d thought about Garrett a lot since she’d last seen him, the strange, almost sensual kind of closeness they’d developed as they worked together with him guiding and coaching her as she read her lines, turned toward the camera or moved around the building.
“Yes, just like that,” he would encourage in a heavy whisper. “A little more to the left. Yeah. Let me see that smile. That’s it.” It was like an erotic, verbal game of foreplay.
A hot flash streaked through her. She shook her head, scattering the thoughts, but the feeling which had, against her will, burrowed beneath the surface, refused to go away.
Faintly she heard the front door buzzer and the distinct rumble of a male voice—one which had begun to haunt her.
The first thought that flashed through her head was that the video was so bad, he needed to tell her in person.
Her intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Brenda.” Did she sound as nervous as she felt?
“Mr. Lawrence is here to see you.”
“Uh, you can send him down.” Quickly she looked around the small space, straightened her desk, smoothed her hair into place and returned several files to the cabinet. Returning to her seat, she adjusted her jacket and turned her full attention to the computer screen, and couldn’t make out a thing in front of her.
She felt him before she actually saw him, before she heard the short, sharp knock on her partially opened door. Still her body reacted with a start.
“Hell-o-o,” he singsonged, sticking his head through the door opening.
She looked up, appearing to be totally unaware of his presence.
“Oh, hi. I didn’t even hear you. Come in.” She put on her best smile, hoping it wouldn’t begin to fray around the edges when he dropped his bad news. Her eyes darted to the rectangular package in his hand, then casually back up to him. “Have a seat.” She extended her hand toward the paisley padded chair at the edge of the desk.
Although the furnishings had been purchased secondhand, Dione had no intention of them appearing to look that way. The old, scarred metal table she’d camouflaged with a large fabric-trimmed desk blotter, color-coordinated with her desktop accessories: pencil holder, Rolodex and appointment book, which she’d purchased at an African crafts shop, were all covered in mudcloth. Of course she couldn’t afford original art, but she knew a good frame purchased cheaply could do miracles for a so-so picture.
Captured beneath glass, gleaming wood and silver were ordinary landscapes and portraits of unimportant people all enhanced by some added creativity.
She had great taste, Garrett thought really paying attention to the room for the first time, as he sat down and absorbed the aura of tranquility that the room and Dione’s presence gave off.
“So what brings you all the way over here?” she asked, hoping she sounded casual. She folded her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking.
She’s always in control, never a hair or a movement out of place or wasted. How long had it taken to get that whole image down to a science?
“Actually, I thought I’d bring this by in person.” He put the package down on the desk.
To Dione it sounded like a nuclear explosion, and she felt the threads that were holding her smile in place begin to unravel. It sat there between them like a frog on a rock.
“Got a VCR? I’m anxious for you to see it.”
“Really? Why?”
“You don’t have to look at me like you think I stole the family inheritance,” he deadpanned.
A burst of laughter released the tension that had held her captive from the moment she’d heard his voice from upstairs.
“Now that’s more like it,” he grinned. “I thought you were going to put me in front of the firing squad.”
“Nothing quite that dramatic.” She angled her head in the direction of the tape and wrinkled her nose. “Is that it?”
He flashed that dimple and his eyes crinkled when he smiled, she noticed.
“Is that why you’re so tense?”
“I’m not tense.”
“Hmm.”
“I’m not,” she insisted.
He held up his hand. “Hey, I believe you. And if you’re even the slightest bit worried about the tape—well—you should be.”
“What!” She popped up from her seat as if she had springs. Her heart was thudding. This was it. She’d made a complete fool of herself, on videotape no less. And there he sat smug as he wanted to be, enjoying her humiliation.
She covered her face with her hands then began to pace. “I knew I shouldn’t have done it. I came out like that guy, what’s-his-name from the Champion commercial.” She spun toward him. “Didn’t I? You might as well tell me.”
When she stopped ranting long enough to focus on his face, she saw that he was grinning like a fool.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. I thought a little payback was in order. You asked after dinner the other night what secrets would I have that you’d want to know.”
She planted her hands on her hips, the challenging ninety degree stance kicking in. Then she gave him “the look.”
“Okay, okay. What I was saying was that you should be concerned because after this gets out on the air, casting directors will be beating down your door.”
Her eyes widened in confusion.
“You were great. You’re a natural.”
“Really?”
“Trust me. I have an entirely different approach when the talent is lousy. It’s usually a phone call.”
“You know you’re an evil man, Garrett Lawrence. To the bone.”
“I’ve been called worse. So—do you have a VCR?”
“There’s one upstairs in the visitor’s room.”
He handed her the tape, then stood. “Well, take a look at it and give me a call. I know you’ll be pleased.”
“You aren’t going to stay?”
“No. I have a ton of work to do.”
“Oh.” She was a bit let down but touched that he made the trip.
Was that disappointment he heard in her voice, or wishful thinking?
“But if you really want me to. I—”
“No. I understand. I probably won’t get to this until later anyway. I’ll just take it home and watch it tonight.”
He nodded. “I better get rolling. Call if you have any questions or comments.”
“I will.”
He started toward the door, then stopped and turned toward her. “We’ll be here first thing Monday morning to start gathering footage for the documentary. We’re going to try to get it done as quickly as possible. There are a bunch of questions that we’ll need to ask and releases to be signed. We’ll be doing some sit-down interviews with you and the staff and whatever girls have agreed to participate.”
“Fine.”
“See you Monday.”
“Have a good weekend.”
“You, too.”
He walked out and Dione suddenly felt as if all the energy had gone with him. She looked down at the tape in her hand.
She’d watch it at home in the privacy of her bedroom. That way if he said what he did to spare her feelings, at least she’d be humiliated without an audience.
Garrett left after saying good-bye to Brenda. But he wanted to turn back around and ask Dione to spend the day with him tomorrow. That would be out of line, and he knew it. But, he didn’t want to spend another empty weekend alone or with someone who made him wish he was alone.
He pushed open the door and stepped outside.
Chapter 11
Dione unlocked the door of her two-bedroom apartment. Each time she stepped across the threshold she felt truly blessed, remembering where she’d been and where she was now.
It wasn’t luxury but it was aesthetically comfortable with a view of Prospect Park directly across the street, and if she went up on the roof of the three-story brownstone, there was a beautiful view of Manhattan.
She slipped out of her cashmere coat, her one extravagance, and hung it in the hall closet that she’d sprinkled with bits of cedar. She loved that smell.
Flipping on the hall light she crossed the short parquet floor and stepped down into the wide living room.
Every item she and Niyah, when she was old enough, had selected for the apartment had been done with care. She smiled, recalling the weeklong debate they’d had when it was finally time to replace her ten-year-old living room furniture. Niyah had insisted that black leather was the way to go and Dione tried to explain that it would absorb all the light in the airy apartment and they’d roast in the summer with the sun streaming in through the bay window.
Finally they agreed that Niyah could have a black leather chair for her bedroom, and Dione settled on a cool beige fabric with pencil thin streaks of brown and gold running through it.
She looked toward the mantel where a framed photo of Niyah’s high school graduation graced the marble facade.
Pride filled her as it always did whenever thoughts of her daughter filtered through. Niyah was everything any parent could ever want. She was smart, pretty, had a strong sense of values and a genuine goodness about her that attracted people to her. She had her pick of boyfriends, but Niyah’s focus had always been on school, getting her education as quickly as possible so that she could make her mark on the world.
“I want to be like you, Ma,” she’d said as they lay cuddled together in Dione’s queen-size bed, the night before Niyah left to go off to Howard University.
At once the words filled her with pride and just as quickly made her heart race with anxiety. For her daughter, she wanted so much more for her than she’d ever had. She’d never wished for the struggle, the pain—even though Terri always insisted that what Dione had endured had shaped the woman she’d become.
Dione just wanted Niyah to reach her potential and blossom into her womanhood without the trials that had plagued her early years.
She knew that she’d sometimes overindulged Niyah, wanting to give her everything. Betsy had daily insisted, “You gonna spoil that poor baby rotten. She won’t be good for nothin’.” And in the next breath Betsy would be cooing, playing with and indulging Niyah’s every whim. And Niyah had turned out to be an endearing child, an inquisitive adolescent and a giving young woman. Dione knew it was because Niyah understood that above all else, she was truly loved.
Sighing, she stroked the glass that covered her daughter’s face, knowing that she couldn’t bear to have Niyah believe anything otherwise.
Still clutching the package with the videotape, Dione walked into her bedroom, kicked off her shoes and opened the padded envelope.
“Well, here goes nothing.” She opened the smoked glass of the television cabinet and turned on the television, then the VCR and stuck in the tape.
Perching on the edge of her bed, she pointed the remote at the VCR and pressed play.
After several seconds, her voice, clear and strong could be heard over the scenes from Chances Are. She briefly spoke of the house’s five-year history, and the goals of her program. “But without your help, the dreams of these young women and their children will never be a reality. Chances Are is about choice—making a choice for a better tomorrow. Choose to be a part of a better future.”
The screen went blank, Dione released a breath and actually smiled. Pressing rewind she watched it again and again. It was good. Actually it was great. Just like Garrett said it was.
Excitement and relief flooded her, running through her veins like warm water. She wanted to call him and tell him how happy she was. She jumped up from the bed and fished through her purse, hoping that she had his business card. Even though it was after hours, he had left his pager number.
Two meticulous searches later, she conceded that she didn’t have it. It was at work right on Brenda’s Rolodex. She’d have to wait until Monday. It would have to be soon enough.
But she couldn’t get over the momentary sensation of disappointment. And it was more than not being able to tell him how pleased she was. She actually wanted to hear his voice.
“Oh, well.”
She popped the tape out and stuck it in the box, then back in the envelope and set it on top of the cabinet. She had to talk with somebody and the most likely candidate was Terri.
She dialed her number and crossed her toes hoping she was home.
Terri picked up on the third ring, sounding hurried.
“Hey, girl, what’s up?” Terri greeted.
“What are you doing? You sound like you were running around the block.”
“Actually, I was halfway down the stairs, heard the phone and couldn’t decide which direction to go, then finally ran back upstairs to catch the phone in the bedroom.”
Dione chuckled. “That’s some story. But I didn’t call to discuss your directional problems. I got the tape.”
“And—”
“It’s great! It’s really good.”
“You’re not just saying that because you’re the star, are you?”
“No! For real, it’s good.”
“So when can I see it?”
“Are we still on for tomorrow?”
“Of course. If I don’t get my bike riding in once a week I’m a physical wreck. It’s my only exercise.”
