I'll breathe what is yours; you'll breathe what is mine
*****
As I walk amongst the wrecks of what used to be some kind of a spaceship, I think to myself how amazing it is to be here.
The twisted pieces of metal, scattered all over the ground, make a pretty rhythmic sound as I kick them aside, making my way to the other end of the street.
I'm looking for my father and I was told at the gate that I could find him somewhere near the burned down liquor store and the demolished Italian restaurant. Strangely enough, I didn't find that at all surprising.
"There she is!" I hear him shout my name as he runs over to me, leaving behind the group of people he was having a conversation with. "I was starting to fear you had been taken hostage by the enemy!" He crushes me into a bear hug and he doesn't let me go until I give him a slap on his back, as a distress signal.
"I thought you were the enemy." I say once I am able to catch my breath.
"That's very true. Oh! I've missed you so much... Come here!" He cradles my face between his hands and lays a soft kiss on my forehead. His eyes are filling up with tears.
My dad has always been a little too demonstrative when it comes to showing how much he loves me, especially being the first born and the only girl amongst his offspring. But ever since I moved to London, he gets particularly emotional when he gets to see me in person, and to be fair with him it has been a while since the last time he did.
"I've missed you too, dad. This is unbelievable!" I say as I take a look around the most incredible set I have ever been on.
Even though both of my parents are related - in one way or another - to the Hollywood industry, and I practically grew up in a movie set or a studio, I am one hundred percent sure that I have never been in a set as magnificent as this one.
My dad was always the kind of actor who preferred dramatic roles or a low profile, and oftentimes budget productions, so it took a lot of insistence from me and my brothers to convince him to take this part.
I think that Nate and I made the most aggressive attempts; Nate being eight years old and driven by the incredible amount of cool credit he would get with his classmates by having a super-villain dad. And me, well... being a twenty something year old woman who happens to be very appreciative of the male miracle that is pretty much the whole Avengers cast.
Long story short: I insisted - of course, I made a much more profound argument than my personal motivation -, he hesitated. My brother insisted a bit more - he was much more honest about his reasons -, and he finally agreed.
Being a part of a Marvel production was definitely a challenge for him, so at first he was a little bit overwhelmed by the whole undertaking; all the action stunts, the green screen and the CGI technologies were a little different from what he was used to, but eventually he picked up on all that stuff and he would call me from whatever part of the world they were filming and pretty much scream in my ear how awesome everything was.
When he called me to let me know they were going to shoot some scenes in London, I cleared my schedule for an entire week so I could spend some quality time with him... and maybe his co-stars.
"I know... It's amazing. Come on! Let me take you to lunch. We have a lot to catch up on" He grabs my hand and he leads me back to the entrance of the Pinewood Studios, where there's a small coffee place/restaurant. I complain in silence about the fact that I have to walk all the way back to where I came from. I hate walking, or any kind of exercise for that matter.
Once we get there, we walk in and the first thing I notice is how small this place is, but in a rather warm and cozy way.
I spot a free table by the window and we take a seat. The waitress doesn't take long to come to us with a menu and a notepad. She greets us with a smile as she leaves a basket full of freshly baked bread right in front of me. I pick up a slice and I take a deep breath so the scent of the crumb fills my nostrils.
"Let me know when you're ready, Mr. Spader." She says. I chuckle as I watch my father cringe at her words.
She must be around sixty years old and behind her exhausted eyes and dull skin, I can tell that she is a very pretty woman. Her whole aspect gives me the impression that she's quite the motherly and caring type.
The golden name tag pinned to her chest reads Dorothy and I think to myself how appropriate her name sounds. She smiles at us constantly and I don't find it annoying or invasive at all, which has to be some kind of a miracle considering how neurotic I can be around overly sympathetic people I don't know.
"How many times do I have to ask you to call me James, Dorothy? We're almost finishing this movie and you still call me by my last name." My father reprimands her with his eyes as cold as stone but a wide and honest smile.
"Come by tomorrow... I might get it right by then." she answers with a chuckle as her cheeks turn a little pink.
"I don't understand your obsession with being called by your name. You can't expect everyone to call you James." I tell my father when Dorothy walks away "Here, in England, it's hard to break the habit of calling people Mister or Misses, especially when they're old." I laugh while taking a glance at my menu
"Oh! Is that so? Look who's soaked in all the British customs." he says with a snort. "And the old part, totally uncalled for."
My father pretty much hates England and everything it represents ever since I decided to settle down here, almost two years ago.
He is genuinely convinced, as smart as the man actually is, that I have been fallen into some sort of voodoo spell that made me forsake my whole family and friends back in L.A. and come to this devilish city that feeds of innocent daddy's little girls. But then again, if you consider that falling head over heels with this city the minute I set foot in it is a voodoo spell, then it might as well be one.
"Anyway... How've you been? How's Harry doing?" He makes a signal to Dorothy and she's by our side by the next second. My dad places the order and she walks away to get it prepared.
"Actually, and please do not freak out about this, Harry and I broke up..." I can see him freaking out about it, but I keep talking. "He left the apartment three weeks ago. I have a roommate now. She's cool, I guess... Kind of weird, like... weird, but in a good, non-psychotic way... could be a sociopath, though." I mumble, just hoping he would stop being the person he is and let the whole break up thing go.
He removes his glasses and leaves them on the table. Oh, no! I think to myself. That is his I-am-going-to-kill-whoever-made-my -baby-suffer look. He is not going to let it go.
"What happened? What did he do?" he asks while rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"It doesn't matter, dad." I answer. I look over to the window and I stay like that, staring at the other side, without really seeing anything.
I can see a tall figure walking towards the entrance but I don't really pay attention to it. Moments later, I can feel someone is moving the chair behind me and taking a seat. I know it's a man because I can smell his perfume and I find it quite alluring. I'm seconds away from turning around when my father speaks again, taking me back to our conversation.
"He cheated on you, didn't he?" he enquires. I sigh heavily, mainly because I'm annoyed by his intrusion - not to mention the fact that he nailed it - but also as an attempt to expel that scent out of my thoughts.
"I said it doesn't matter. We are not together anymore. I am okay with that and that's all you need to know, all right?" I reply slowly and trying to articulate every single word. I make sure that my smile comes across friendly and sympathetic with his concern, but my tone is final.
He doesn't seem happy with my determination but he respects it. After a shrug and a subtle nod with his head, he seems ready to move the conversation along, at least for now. I know the man and he's not going to shut up about it forever. He's just waiting.
"All right! If you are okay, I won't say another word about him."
"I promise you, everything's fine" I lie blatantly. "Thanks, daddy."
Suddenly, something must have lightened up in his brain because this weird grin, almost bordering on creepy, appears on his face. I can instantly see the road he is about to go down.
"So, you're coming back to America, then" He basically stomps on the gas pedal and speeds down said road and I notice that he's not asking a question. He is making a statement.
I stare at him like you would stare at someone who you are trying to explain something to, but no matter how many times you explain it, there's no getting through that person's head.
"Well, Harry wasn't the reason I came to London... so he's most certainly not going to be the reason why I leave it." I say as I lean on the back of my chair. "No, I'm staying here."
That perfume strikes me again, pulling me away from my father and his nonsense. Why? Maybe I find it familiar but I just can't place it? I don't think so. I am really good with perfumes and I'm pretty sure I haven't smelled this one before. I think to myself that it must be expensive, or at least it smells like it is which is what really matters when it comes to fragrances.
I lean even more, as much as I can, I close my eyes and breath in, careful not to draw any attention to what I'm doing because I know it's borderline creepy -Jean-Baptiste Grenouille kind of creepy -.
Do I smell chocolate? That can't be right.
The touch of my father's hand pulls me away from my olfactory investigation. I open my eyes and I see his fingers caressing the back of my hand. It takes me a few seconds to come back to the conversation. I have no idea what he said but I know it must have been some sort of plea for me to go back home.
"Daddy, I know you mean well, but I'm actually really happy here. I have truly good friends and a job that I happen to love." I start to make my case. "Besides, you know that I have never really felt at home in Los Angeles." I think to myself that it is about time he realizes that this is the best thing for me. Why can't he see that? It's so frustrating.
"I know. It's just that I hate having you so far away." He squeezes my hand before letting it go and straightens back up on his chair. A tired smile crosses his features. Now I feel guilty for getting mad at him. My head is spinning and I don't know if it's because of the emotional rollercoaster that my dad always swings me in or the perfume that's still coming from behind me.
I definitely smell chocolate... and, vanilla? What do I smell? A goddamn dessert? I want to turn around so badly.
"What are you doing after?" My father asks me.
"I am spending time with my old man! What did you expect? I have you here for a week and I'm going to squeeze you like a grapefruit!" The brightest, most adorable smile spreads across his face. "So! Let's start. Tell me about this whole thing." I say with an excited voice. "What exactly are you guys doing right now? I thought you were done with the shooting."
"We are." he replies. "This is just a reshooting. You know, there's always something the director or the producers wants to change or add to the film before making the final cut."
I nod in silence and he stops to drive a piece of bread into his mouth.
"... And Joss Whedon is the most perfectionist person I have ever worked with. Including myself." My father goes on.
He laughs at my reaction of pure shock. No one, ever, in the history of the universe, could be as perfectionist as my father is, without being an absolute compulsive freak.
"I know... It's almost scary. But I can honestly say that this was the most amazing experience and I have learnt a lot. Thank you, honey. I would have never done this without your very strong push." he winks at me. "Even if your real motive was to meet my very attractive cast mates..."
I give him a glare of false indignation and I actually blush a little.
"I am appalled by your accusation! I was only thinking about your career and how important this project can be for it!" I give a soft punch to the table. The silverware tinkles because of it and my water shakes inside the glass. "Having said that... Why haven't I met any of them yet? Are you hiding them from me? Where's Jeremy and Mark and Chris... the blond one, Thor? I want to meet him... Is he as dreamy as he seems to be on screen? Is he that huge?!" I ask with a very much not too faked enthusiasm. I can tell my father is both ashamed and amused by my behavior.
"Oh, Chris Hemsworth? He is a dream come true." Dorothy sighs. She's standing by our side carrying our food.
"I bet he is... so tall and muscular... Oh, Thor! So sexy." I grunt.
"His name is Chris, not Thor, and he is a happily married man, with three beautiful children." he says with a small grin but with a scolding tone from my behavior.
"We know that and we weep about it, but that doesn't take away our legitimate right to dream and feast our eyes with his marvelous genes." I respond as I share an accomplice smile to my fellow Thor lover, Dorothy.
"Amen to that!" She adds.
"Oh, god! Why don't you high five on it, too." Snorts my father as he takes the first bite of his food. Dorothy and I burst into a soundly laughter and she waves her hands as she moves along to the table behind me.
"Hello dear! So good to see you again! What can I do for you?" I can hear her say. Judging by her words and her cheerful tone, not only does she know him but she's also delighted to see him. Maybe he is a regular customer. Again, I find myself struggling with the itching need to turn around and take a peek.
"First of all, you can stop praising on my idiotic brother. You know very well how much that unsettles me." The guy answers with a deep, low voice. I have to place my hand under my chin to keep my jaw from literally dropping on my plate.
I fail to listen to Dorothy's answer because I am pretty much in shock, but I know she's definitely laughing at his comment.
My eyes widen as the notion that the guy with the scent has been eavesdropping my conversation begins to settle into my brain. Considering his words and the accent dancing all over them, I know exactly who he is and right now, that itch has turned into a full nasty rash spreading all over my skin. I have to turn around. I have to check him... it... out.
All I can see is the back of his neck and maybe a little hint of his nose as he tilts his head slightly to the right. He has brown hair, perfectly trimmed at the sides and in the back but rather long and curly on top. He shifts a little more, and his entire profile is now visible and all my suspicions are confirmed.
I gasp and turn right back around.
"Is everything okay?" My father asks. I nod nervously and I silently chew my meal. "What?"
"Nothing, dad." I manage to say after I swallow. I am so embarrassed by the whole situation.
There's this incredibly good looking - and even better smelling - guy right behind me who has just heard me say the most inappropriate thing about a fellow actor and possibly best friend.
"Let's just finish our lunch so you can show me around."
A/N:
Well! I hope you loked this chapter enough to stick around! Please, don't forget to vote, and if you have a comment or suggestion, feel free to speak up! I love reading your thoughts on my work!
Also, this chapter is dedicated to Humble_beginnings because I honestly don't know how to thank her enough for taking the time to edit my story.
Your help means a lot to me and I hope to learn a lot from it!
SONG: Wolves without teeth by Of monsters and men.