Page 54 of Lights, Camera, Love

Evie doesn’t move.

So still, so beautiful, she just stands there, staring at me.

Across metres of red carpet and oceans of nerves, I look back at her, my heart beginning to run a marathon.

Slowly, she walks towards me, seemingly oblivious to the horde of teenagers leaning over the rope, crying out her name, desperate for a scrap of her attention.

I know the feeling.

Sliding my premiere invite into the pocket of my oatmeal suit jacket, I step my polished brown shoes towards Evie and meet her halfway up the plush red carpet.

With parted lips, she flashes her gaze down and up my body, shock crowding her features. ‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ she breathes.

I slip my hands into my trouser pockets, swallowing a swarm of butterflies. ‘I didn’t think I could, but I finally talked my boss into letting me go at the last minute. I can be a stubborn pain in the ass, you know that.’

‘Oh, Kye,’ she says, and the next thing I know, her arms are clasped around my back, and I’m holding heaven in my arms. I turn my nose into her tightly braided hair, breathing her in.

‘My flight was late,’ I say, my voice muffled against her shoulder. ‘Did I miss the screening?’

She pulls back, returning her arms to her sides. ‘No, it hasn’t started yet, but it will soon.’

Instead of hurrying inside, though, I just gaze at her.

I’ve missed you so fucking much.

‘Coming in?’ she asks, tilting her head towards the theatre’s brightly lit entrance.

‘Yeah.’

Resisting a craving to link my fingers with hers, I fall into step beside her as we answer each other’s nervous-sounding questions with mumbled responses.

It’s all small talk: where I’m staying (a hotel nearby), how my flight up here was (bumpy), and if she’s still living in the inner west (her mum has moved out and Evie’s planning on finding a new place soon, too).

I don’t tell her how well things have been going at Angel Care; how I feel like I’ve finally found a role I care about and want to stay in.

I also leave out the fact that I’ve been in therapy for the past year, learning some new ways of coping with my traumatic memories that seem to be working well.

Nor is this the right moment to tell her that Jace and I have been exchanging letters for months now and have even spoken on the phone a few times.

He’s still distant, and I know it could take years to melt down the thick wall of ice that’s frozen between us, but the first layer has thawed, and I can’t ask for much more than that.

Stepping into the theatre foyer feels like being sucked into a noisy hurricane; all around me there are faces I’d rather forget.

‘Holy shit, it’s Kyle,’ barks the gruff voice of a certain screenwriter I know.

I turn to Jakob and force out a smile because I’m a judgemental prick who can’t bring myself to do it naturally.

‘ Kye ,’ I correct as I shake the meaty hand poking from his tatty suit jacket. My fingers come back sweaty. Ugh . ‘How’s that computer virus film coming along?’ I mutter politely.

Jakob’s brows slide up; he looks pleased I remembered. ‘I’m still working on it. Funding has been an issue; the studio wants some changes to the script.’

I bet they do.

‘Apparently,’ he continues with a sceptical frown, ‘it’s impossible for a single computer virus to bring down every computer system on Earth simultaneously.’

‘You don’t say.’

Evie’s eyes are bouncing between us, and every time they brush the side of my face, I lose all sense of time and space.

Jakob taps a sausage-shaped finger against his lips. ‘But I figure that an elite secret US military group could have been hiding some sort of secret master code that controls every online system—’

Judy, one of the line producers from Moving, takes hold of Jakob’s shoulder and asks us if she can borrow him for something that evidently can’t wait.

‘Of course,’ Evie says.

After they scurry away, I say, ‘Remind me to send Judy a “thank you” card. You can sign it if you want.’

She lets out a nervous laugh. ‘Come on; I’ll show you where they’re hiding the drinks.’

She leads me over to the bar, where I peruse the unappetising cocktails and decide on a beer.

‘Does Austin know you’re here?’ she asks, glancing at me.

‘No. Actually, I didn’t tell anyone I was coming because—well, I wasn’t sure if I would.’

A little line upsets her brow as she blinks away, and I tilt my face back into her eyeline.

‘Because I had to manage something at work—a politician was planning to visit Angel Care,’ I explain.

‘But the minister ended up rescheduling at the eleventh hour, so I jumped on a plane.’ I curl my lips up in a smile, and her eyes dip to my mouth.

A stream of molten liquid thrums beneath my skin.

I’m still in love with you.

‘Kye?’ utters a familiar voice.

I spin to meet Austin’s goggle-eyed stare.

‘Hey,’ I say, stepping forward to offer him a brief hug.

Austin turns a little rigid in my embrace. It’s not like we haven’t spoken at all since I moved away, but it’s been a couple of months.

‘Oh, wow—Kye.’ Rafael brushes past Austin to give me a one-armed hug. He must’ve snagged a ticket through Evie. He shifts closer to Austin and their fingertips rub together; a deliberate touch that’s so lightning-fast, most people would miss it.

Oh. Austin’s been keeping something from me.

A series of beeps suddenly cuts over the background music, and Austin downs the rest of his soft drink.

‘Looks like it’s showtime,’ Evie says, her eyes flickering to mine. ‘Do you know where you’re sitting?’

‘Somewhere in the nosebleed section, I’m sure,’ I reply, although I’m kidding—I haven’t checked my ticket yet.

‘We’re down the front, Eves, so we better get in there ahead of everyone else,’ Austin says to her. ‘I don’t want to get stopped by every Tom, Dick and Barry on the way to our seats.’

I shake my head, but it’s hard not to smile.

‘You going to the after-party?’ Austin asks me.

I hesitate. Usually I loathe after-parties, but I haven’t yet had a chance to catch up with him—or, more importantly, with Evie. ‘Yeah, I’ll be there.’

‘Sweet. See you there, bro.’

I turn to set down my beer on the bar, and a soft hand grazes my forearm. I twist to find Evie blinking at me. ‘I’ll see you at the party, then,’ she says, sounding as if she’s worried I might change my mind.

Baby, I’d chase you into hell right now if that’s where you’re going.

‘You will.’

Her smile alone was worth the trip here, I decide as I watch her hook her arm around Austin’s and disappear into the swarm of moving bodies.

Rafael then heads off to find his own seat and, after scooping up a complimentary bucket of popcorn, I make my way into the grand, 1920s-style theatre that in itself looks like a film set.

My ticket puts me in the second-back row, on the far-right side. Oh, I actually am in the nosebleed section. Thanks for the love, Village Pictures. I only launched the runaway publicity train that helped fill this theatre.

I shuffle down the row of red velvet seats, climbing over the glittery trains of gowns and polished dress shoes, only coming to a stop when I clap eyes on Finn—the pimply-faced runner from the Moving set.

The last empty seat, which must be mine, sits beside his.

He springs up to extend a scrawny hand out to me, spilling his paper cup of Coke all over himself in the process.

For crying out loud . I shake his sticky palm and offer him my only napkin. He swipes the square cloth all over his soaked chinos, then thrusts an elbow out as he starts on his inner thigh, sending my popcorn flying.

‘Oh, shiiiiit—sorry,’ he says, his face caught in a grimace.

I lean as far away from him as I can without leaving my seat. ‘Forget it.’

Just as we get settled, the stage lights flash on, and the film’s director, Olivia Floros, enters the stage to rousing applause.

She makes a quick speech, thanking everyone who worked on the production—including Buzz, which is met with an awkward silence—and then scampers off the stage. The theatre goes dark.

Moving begins with a banger of a song and a bright, energetic montage juxtaposing Jamie’s quiet farming life with Constance’s buzzing city dance studio.

Constance’s hip-hop moves blend into the choreography of Jamie’s own life as he rounds up sheep, waters his crops and tinkers with a tractor.

Throughout these opening titles, the music builds in intensity, promising a seriously epic soundtrack to come.

Ninety-seven minutes later, I’m standing on my feet and clapping with the rest of the jam-packed theatre, blinking at the screen in awe. How the fuck did Olivia Floros manage to make Jakob’s lines sound so natural? And to make the story so absorbing that I hardly moved in my seat?

Finn reaches over to offer me a fist-bump, his grin so goofy that I can’t help but stretch my arm around him for a moment. This kid needs some serious coordination lessons, but his youthful enthusiasm feels like a tonic to a jaded bastard like me.

The after-party is being held at a swanky restaurant over in the city’s harbourside precinct.

I’m sure the main cast have transport arranged for them, so there’s no point attempting to locate Evie or Austin among the exodus of guests spilling out of the theatre.

As the most junior person on set, though, Finn is chronically ignored.

Taking pity on him, I invite him to share my Uber.