We pass the science hallway and make our way toward the auditorium. I follow Amber through the back doors, and find a group of people relaxing in chairs. It’s more people than I expected, though honestly they look the way I imagined.
As we enter, everyone turns around to look, and I freeze. Amber doesn’t. The teacher raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering where you were.”
“I had my eye on someone,” Amber says, grinning back at me. “This is Peter.”
I give a small wave, and the teacher steps forward to shake my hand. “I’m Mr. Davidson. I teach music and drama, but I haven’t had you yet?”
“Transfer student,” I say.
“Ah, well you’re just in time. Today is audition day! Let’s get started, gang.” He makes a grand, un-ironic gesture that would probably be embarrassing coming from anyone else, but it works for him.
People grab their stuff and start migrating to the front of the auditorium, and I glance over at Amber, wondering what in the hell I just got myself into.
3
Peter
Present
I walk into the studio, still shaking off the encounter at the coffee shop. Not exactly the way I was hoping to start my day. I sign in, and make my way through to the set. I love the sets, everyone there has a specific job that they’re doing and running around trying to do it in record time.
I should head over to wardrobe and make-up, but first I want to say hello to the director. Clay Markham is a Hollywood legend, and the fact that he was directing was what interested me in the project originally. Even before I read the script and saw how good it was.
A few of the crew nod to me as I pass. Another thing about sets, there aren’t—generally—any people who are star struck here. Occasionally I’ve worked with extras that had a bit of shine in their eyes, but on the whole, I’ve been lucky to work with people who have been very professional.
I take a minute to look at the set. If I hadn’t just walked in from a bright and sunny L.A. day, I would swear that we were three thousand miles away in New York City. The production department nailed the gritty atmosphere of a NYC Police Precinct, and it’s fantastic. Actors can and should be able to act in any environment, but to be placed in a setting like this makes it so much easier.
I’m blinded by the lights, and I step out of them and head back toward the cameras only to be stopped in my tracks. Clay Markham isn’t sitting in the director’s chair. Instead it’s a woman, long red hair pinned up into a bun, and she’s smiling at a PA, completely oblivious to the fact that the floor has just dropped from under my feet. Amber Dwyer. My Amber. The Amber I never thought I would see again, is sitting in the director’s chair. She hasn’t noticed me, but that’s okay. I can take this moment just to look at her.
She looks amazing. Still gorgeous, still perfect, even if I don’t know what she’s doing here.
“Peter!” A voice calls from behind her, and she looks up directly at me. She smiles at me, a small, professional smile, and waves before continuing her conversation with the PA. She doesn’t recognize me. I try to ignore the stab of pain that accompanies that realization as my agent Michael strides up to me, barely glancing up from his phone. “Glad to see you’re on time. You look great. You look ready.”
“When have I ever been late? Michael, that’s not Clay Markham.”
“No, it’s not.” He’s still staring at his phone, and he shrugs. “Different project came his way, something he wanted more. So he brought in a replacement. Apparently he’s worked with her before, thinks she’s great. Name is Amber Dwyer.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumble under my breath, but he doesn’t hear me, charging on.
“What’s the deal with this coffee shop girl? The last thing we need is bad press right now.”
“It shouldn’t be a big deal,” I tell him, briefly recounting the incident. “I didn’t make a move to touch her, and the management of the coffee shop intervened before I felt like I needed to. She’s been banned from the premises.”
He nods. “Perfect. I’ll tell Wendy, I’m sure she can put a decent spin on it.”
“I didn’t see any photographers.”
Michael sighs, ever disappointed with my lack of Hollywood knowledge. I’ll get there, but I honestly haven’t been doing this that long. “There don’t need to be photographers anymore. I’m sure her friends took plenty of pictures. But Wendy will get out in front of it. Now, let’s introduce you to the new director so we can get you to wardrobe.”
I can’t remember the last time I was nervous, but there are butterflies in my stomach as Michael brings me over to Amber’s chair. “Amber Dwyer,” Michael says. “This is Peter Holleman.”
She reaches out a hand to shake mine, and I take it firmly. I think she’s about to say something, but I beat her to it. “I’ve heard of you,” I say with a smile. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”
I can feel Michael look at me out of the corner of my eye. He’s surprised and confused by my comment, but I’m watching Amber. I watch her eyes flicker over my features, and I see the exact second that it clicks. “Oh my god, Peter,” she says.
“Hi.”
She stands and we both go for a hug at the same time. It’s a little awkward, we bump arms, and the embrace is way too short, but it’s there. It seems like a miracle. I was just thinking about her, and here she is, like I conjured her out of my memory and into being.
Michael clears his throat. “It seems like I’m missing something.”
Amber laughs, stepping away and keeping a more than professional distance between us. “Peter and I went to high school together,” she says, looking at me “It’s been…”
“Ten years,” I say out loud. Adding in my head, six months, and thirteen days. I know the moment I last saw her. I memorized it, because until now, I thought it was the last moment that I’d ever have.
“That’s a long time,” she says, with a smile that doesn’t seem to hate me. There’s a chance that she’s not still mad about everything that happened. That would be good, because we’re stuck together now whether we want to be or not. And I want to be. Though I wouldn’t blame her if she were still angry.
“It is,” Michael interjects. “But—”
“But,” Amber says, “unfortunately, the schedule we’re on doesn’t have time for catching up built in. But I would love to at some point.”
I’ve seen the way she’s holding herself before. It’s been ten years, but I feel like I still know her. I memorized all her tells. She’s holding back right now. “Absolutely,” I say. “And if you have any thoughts on my character, I’d love to hear them.”
“When you get back from wardrobe, we’ll talk about it.”
“Sounds good.” I know I’m probably reading into the fact that she wants to talk to me, that I’m imagining the way she’s looking at me like she wants to discuss the past without somebody like Michael overhearing. “Nice to see you again.”