Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
( CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: BREAK THE ICE ) July, 1993
❝ it ain't over till I say it's over. ❞
◯
"Do it again," Janet commanded her tired boyfriend, lazily lounging on the leather love seat at the foot of the king-sized bed. Devon groaned his response, hands flipping through the pages of the Breakthroughscript, unsure if he could bear doing another run-through with his perfectionistic girlfriend.
He needed to be on the next flight to New York in order to attend the casting sessions for Breakthrough, which was taking place in Manhattan. While he spent the entire morning stuffing his comfy hoodies, colour-coded hats and durags into his spacious suitcase, he knew that he was tethering the fine line between tardy and extremelylate.
In all fairness, Devon didn't have to attend the casting sessions. Hell, he was already the lead, why should he give a fuck about the other roles? Well, the answer was simple. Devon had a vision, and he knew the perfect dancers to fulfil these roles. Unique, talented dancers all around New York. In Queens, Brooklyn, Harlem, the Bronx, everycorner of the city, Devon would find them, and he would give them the chance of a lifetime.
Right now, however, he was crunching the time clock. He never understood why he always managed to be late most of the time, it's not like he was even remotely booked out these past few months. So, when Devon vigorously raced around the mansion, retrieving clothes, necessities and utensils, he hoped Janet would help him, but she was more concerned with rehearsing the lines of the script with him, giving him ruthless feedback on his line delivery.
Later today, the pop sensation had a one on one interview with Rolling Stone Magazine, which is why she couldn't accompany him to the airport. It was the same magazine that featured her famed topless photograph, with Devon's very hands covering her breasts. Lord knows that he's about to receive a very angry phone call from his mother once that picture gets released.
"Baby, I don't think that's necessary, the last read-through was fine," Devon suddenly said, flicking through the pages of the script with annoyance. But Janet wasn't having any of it, her large, brown eyes widened, shifting on the edge of the bed with great offence.
"That's right, it was just fine, it's supposed to be outstanding, memorable! Now do it again," Janet vigorously said, her manicured hands scrunching around her copy of the script with endless passion, "This time, with feeling."
"Fine," Devon muttered, tensing his squared jaw as he fought in a scowl. Anger was blooming in his chest, and unfortunately, Janet's coaching style only made him more irritated. Her experience as a seasoned actress made her extremely nit-picky. At first, Devon thought it was nice that she insisted to help him with his lines, but now? Hell, he wished he never asked.
