Filmed: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (City Series Book 3) (3 page)

Finally, as my last class let out, I hurried over to the student center. I was scheduled to meet with the manager at four-thirty, and since my class let out at four-twenty, I had to hustle. I followed the familiar path through back hallways, skipped down the familiar staircase, and came up to the box office ticket window of the new student-run theater.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview,” I said to the bored-looking girl sitting behind the glass. She looked me over and nodded.

“That would be with Miss Havisham.”

I paused at the name. “Seriously?” I asked.

The girl grinned. “Yep. And don’t mention it to her, she gets weird about it.”

I nodded. “Thanks,” I said.

“She’s in the back office, right around this corner. Good luck.”

I gave her a little wave, grateful, and followed her directions. There was a black door with “Staff Office” in silver letters. I knocked on it twice, and a voice inside told me to enter.

I pushed the door open and was hit full-on in the face with a thick cloud of perfume. The room was small, dominated by a single desk in the center, but the walls were plastered with old movie posters. There was a coat rack in the corner with feather boas, top hats, and other costume parts thrown carelessly all over it. The woman sitting behind the desk was probably in her late fifties. She wore heavy makeup, and was pretty, despite the somewhat clownish appearance she had. Her hair was cut short and brown, and her smile was kind.

“Well hello there, what can I do for you?”

“I’m Linda, I have an interview.”

She stood, smile growing larger. “Linda, great to meet you.”

We shook hands, and she gestured for me to sit down in front of her. I took a seat, feeling strangely at ease. We started the interview with the usual questions: previous experience, why I was a good fit, my weaknesses, etc. Miss Havisham was incredibly easy to talk with, and her boisterous personality, mixed with the old-school Hollywood décor of her office, made her seem like a 1930s film star. We hit it off immediately, and ended the interview chatting aimlessly about Charlton Heston. Finally, she checked her watch, and looked surprised.

“Well dear, it’s already past five.”

“Really? That went fast.”

“It truly did. Look, I’m not supposed to do this, but I’m going to offer you the job. Salary and all that jazz was on the posting. If you’re fine with it, I’d love to have you around.”

I couldn’t believe it. “I would love that, thank you so much.”

“Fantastic!” she exclaimed, and stood up. She gestured dramatically toward the door. “Let’s go meet the rest of the staff and get you acquainted!”

I stood, and she moved around the desk, then I followed her out into the main room. It had been one of the strangest job interviews I had ever gone on, and I had never heard of someone not only landing the job on the spot, but also getting to meet the other staff. She introduced me to the girl in the box office. Her name was Chelsea, a junior, and she gave me a warm smile. I liked her right away. I followed Miss Havisham toward the concession stand, where she introduced me to Chuck and Mikey, both seniors, and probably the goofiest-seeming guys I had ever seen. They were obviously good friends, and grinned at me stupidly the whole time.

“Now this young man is the heart and soul of our little rag-tag group,” she said as we moved back toward the theaters. “He does tickets mostly, though he’s doing your future job right now. Where has he gotten himself?”

We walked into the largest of the three theaters, and Miss Havisham waved at a guy sweeping up the floor between the rows of seats in the front.

“Noah, come here darling,” she called out.

Noah? Was she kidding me? There was no way it was him. And then it struck me: his dad had paid for the theater. How could I have been so stupid? My heart began to hammer in my chest.

As he got closer, my jaw almost dropped from my face. Of course it was Noah Carterson, grinning his huge, cocky grin, and looking me up and down. How could I have been so dim as to think he wouldn’t be working there?

“Noah Carterson, Linda Lewis.”

His eyes locked on mine, and he reached his hand out. “Linda, great to meet you.”

I turned bright red, and shook his hand. His fingers were soft but his grip was firm, and it sent chills along my arms. His eyes were practically laughing, and part of me wanted to run away. Instead, I met his gaze.

“Do you two know each other?” Miss Havisham said, noting the tension.

Noah grinned at her. I fully realized how charming he was in that moment, gracefully moving to dispel the awkwardness and to make Miss Havisham feel like a part of the moment.

“Not really, Miss H. We had a small run in the other day.”

“Good, since you two will be working closely together.”

Working closely together? I couldn’t imagine anything I wanted to do less.

“Looking forward to seeing more of you,” Noah said. I caught the double meaning of his comment and blushed. I had no clue what it was about him, but every comment seemed to put me off.

“Same to you,” I said.

“Back to work you lazy miscreant!” Miss Havisham announced dramatically, and Noah laughed as he moved back to the row he had been working on. As we turned to go, I caught him staring at me, and he gave me a small nod.

“So dear, can you start on Monday?” Miss Havisham asked as we emerged back into the lobby.

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Great! Stop by sometime tomorrow to fill out the paperwork. I look forward to seeing you!”

“Same to you. Thanks so much.”

She shook my hand again then moved back into her office. I walked back toward the stairs, up into the student center, and headed back toward my apartment in a daze. I couldn’t see the people milling around campus, the bright colors of their clothing and of the turning leaves, the beautiful late August sunset, because I’d be seeing a lot more of Noah in the future. We’d be working very closely together, according to flamboyant Miss Havisham.

It was, without a doubt, the weirdest job interview I had ever been on. It felt like it had happened in a dream, complete with the nightmare turn at the end.

T
hat night, after climbing the stairs to my apartment, head still reeling from finding out about Noah, I immediately called my mom. We’d always been pretty close, especially when I was younger, and I talked to her about everything. Well, almost everything. I hadn’t told her about Noah’s nickname for me, or even about his existence yet, since I had no clue what I even thought about him yet. But since I was going to be working with him, and his dad was a famous producer, I figured I might as well mention the name and see if she knew who he was.

“Hey, Lindy,” Mom said when she answered.

“Hi, Mom, how are you?”

“Oh I’m fine, just dealing with the start of the new semester. How’s school? Professor Johnson giving you any trouble?”

Sometimes it was a little odd that Mom knew everyone in the film department. She taught at the University of Pennsylvania, which was across the city in west Philly, but pretty much everyone knew each other in her field.

“He’s fine, just pretty weird.”

“Yeah, well, he’ll get even weirder. Trust me.”

I laughed. I couldn’t imagine how that was possible, but I believed her.

“How are your classes?” I asked.

“They’re fine, you know how it goes. Same students ever year, just different faces.”  My mom had the theory that the same twelve students took her class every year, but they got lots of plastic surgery between semesters. She was always complaining how she couldn’t tell them apart.

“They’re probably aliens,” I said.

“Oh, that’s a good idea. Shape shifting aliens.”

“Start on the script.”

“Already halfway through.” We laughed together. We always had a really good relationship, and I thought my mom was the funniest person I knew.

“So anyway, I got a job,” I said carefully.

“Great! What are you doing?”

“It’s in the new movie theater.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic sweetie. I heard it’s pretty nice.”

“Yeah, it is. My boss is this crazy lady named Miss Havisham.”

“It can’t be Lacey Havisham, can it? Dramatic, lots of perfume, feather boas, acts like a silent film star?”

That cracked me up. I remembered the feather boas hanging on her coat rack and the thick perfume she wore.

“That’s exactly her!”

She whistled. “Good luck with that one. She’s a character.”

“How do you know who she is?”

“Lacey and I go way back. She’s been in probably hundreds of movies starting back when she was young, but she never really broke out. Anyway, a few years ago she retired from the screen, and I had heard she moved into the city to produce plays.”

“Now I guess she manages the theater.”

“You make sure to tell her I said hello.”

“I will. Actually, I have a question for you.”

“What’s up?”

I thought for a second, wondering how I should play it. I could be honest and tell her exactly what I was thinking and feeling, which wouldn’t have been the first time I talked with her about boys, but something about Noah held me back.

“Do you know the name Carterson?”

“Well, I’m guessing you’re talking about the Carterson who financed the theater you’re working at.”

“Yeah, exactly. I work with his son.”

There was a short silence on the other end, which confused me. My mom usually had nothing but amazing things to say about everyone in the business, but the fact that she paused before saying anything spoke volumes.

“That’s interesting,” she said, sounding reserved.

What the heck was going on?

“Yeah, apparently I’ll be working closely with him.”

“Very good, that’ll be fun.”

I had no idea why she wasn’t taking the bait, asking a million questions about him, maybe even giving me the dirt on his family. My mom wasn’t the type to be reserved in her opinion, and yet there she was, acting like it was no big deal.

“Do you know his dad?” I asked, deciding to press a bit more.

“Only a little bit.” She paused, then said, “Hey, I have to go, I’m really sorry.”

“Okay, sure. Talk to you later?”

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Bye sweetie.”

“Bye, Mom.” She hung up.

I looked down at my phone, shocked. My mom rarely dodged a question so obviously, let alone got off the phone in less than ten minutes. I really couldn’t believe it. What could possibly have happened that made my mom act so weird? She clearly knew who the Cartersons were, and I guessed she had some experience with them in the past. And yet she wanted to avoid all mention of him. It was completely unlike her.

Confused, I put my phone away, and went back to studying. No matter how many paragraphs of my assigned reading I went through, Noah Carterson and my mom’s reaction kept scrolling through my mind like the opening of Star Wars.

––––––––

T
he next day, I floated through my classes, my head still spinning about my mom and Noah’s family. I had no clue what made her act so weird, and I really wanted to know. I didn’t have my film history class that day, but I hoped I would see Noah at the theater.

Around four-thirty, I headed over toward the student center, my stomach full of butterflies. It was totally irrational to be excited to fill out a W-2, but I knew that there was a chance I’d see Noah. Maybe together we could get to the bottom of why my mom was so weird about him. That, or he’d be a total asshole again, and make me want to smack him. Maybe my mom felt the same way about his dad; maybe Mr. Carterson was a huge asshole, too. I practically skipped down the stairs and rounded the corner.

Chelsea was sitting behind the box office again, and I suddenly felt like she lived there. I had never seen her anywhere else but behind that glass; it was uncanny.

“Hi, Chelsea, is Miss Havisham around?” I asked.

“Sure, she’s in there. Just knock.”

I nodded in thanks, and then knocked on Miss Havisham’s door. After a moment, I heard a shrill “Come in!” and pushed the door open.

“Well hello Linda!” she cried, practically brimming with energy. She was wearing thick-rimmed glasses and sitting in front of an open ledger.

“Hi, Miss Havisham. I’m here to fill out that paperwork you mentioned.”

“Of course dear! Take a seat.” She gestured to a chair in front of her desk while she rummaged through a filing cabinet.

“Here we are, new hire forms. Take your time dear,” she said, placing a few pages in front of me. I dug a pen out of my bag and started to skim through the forms They were mostly the usual things, a waiver for the university, tax information, standard papers. It didn’t take long to sign my name over and over, and I was finished in about five minutes. When I was done, I looked up at Miss Havisham, who was staring at her ledger again with a serious look on her face. It was completely at odds with the crazy mess of her office.

“Excuse me, Miss Havisham?”

She looked up. “Yes?”

“I’m all finished.” I handed the papers across the desk. She took them and tucked them under the corner of her keyboard.

“Great! Thanks so much.”

I paused for a second. “I have a question, actually.”

“What’s up?” She took her glasses off. It was a nice gesture; I got the sense that she cared about what I was going to say, and wasn’t brushing me off.

“Do you know my mom? Her name is Marilyn Lewis, she works at UPenn, in the film studies department.”

Miss Havisham looked surprised. “Marilyn Lewis, of the Times?”

My mom sometimes wrote film reviews in the New York Times, though not nearly as often as she used to. Back in the day, she was considered a huge critic, though that tapered off a bit as she adjusted to academia.

“Yep, that’s her.”

She laughed loudly. “I know old Marilyn! Your mom was quite the critic back in the day.”

“So I hear. She says hello, by the way.”

“Oh that’s incredible, tell her I say it back. I can’t believe Marilyn is your mother!”

“Yep, it’s a pretty small world.”

Miss Havisham leaned back in her chair and looked thoughtful. “I guess it was fate that brought you to me. Marilyn was always supportive of my career, such that it was.”