Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 151085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
“You guys had amazing chemistry,” Evan interjects.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Canon says. “But I want to see the tape.”
“It was so weird interacting with him as an adult,” I admit, giggling a little. “I remember watching him on TV when he was like twelve years old.”
“So do I!” Arietta laughs, widening her eyes. “They used to pour goop all over him every episode of that show.”
“And he had that thing where he always rang the doorbell that made the goose-honk sound,” I add.
“I didn’t watch this show,” Canon says. “But it sounds pathetic.”
“First of all,” Arietta teases breezily. “You’re older than we are.”
“How much older?” I ask before I can stop myself, and then regret it when his dark, assessing gaze lands on me.
“You’re what?” he asks. “Thirty?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Same as me,” Arietta squeals, giving me a high five across the table.
“I’m thirty-seven,” Canon offers.
“Same as me.” Evan imitates Arietta’s squeal and goes for a high five, which Canon deflects with an eye roll. We all laugh and Canon allows a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“You were probably in college or something by the time that show was popular,” Arietta continues. “So that’s first of all. And B of all, your mother wouldn’t have let you watch it anyways.”
“Now that’s true,” Evan says. “I’ve heard you say Mama Holt was strict about that stuff.”
“You didn’t watch television growing up?” I ask him.
“Some on the weekends.” Canon signals for a waiter before looking back to me. “She wasn’t a big fan of TV.”
“And I thought our television was a relative until I was like five years old.” I laugh. “I don’t remember a babysitter, but I remember our TV.”
“Movies were different,” Canon says. “She’d take me out of school so we could see a new movie together. She took me to see Forest Gump the day it released. That movie still gets me.”
The Magic Hour, Canon’s highly personal documentary about his mother’s journey with MS, was the first work of his I ever saw. It’s surreal that I’m sitting here with him now.
“That’s when you knew you wanted to be a director?” Arietta asks.
“It was a hundred movies that probably showed me that.” Canon tips his chin in thanks when the server sets a drink down in front of him. “The Godfather, Glory, Taxi Driver, Do the Right Thing. The list is endless, but I definitely knew very early on.”
“Did your mother ever want you to be a photographer like her?” I ask.
He doesn’t seem surprised that I already know this much about his background, his family, and I’m struck anew by fame and how it cracks open the book of your life for people to read before they’ve even met you or know anything about the person behind the stories they’ve heard.
“Never.” Canon shakes his head, affection softening the line of his mouth. “She wanted me to be whatever I decided—to be true to that.”
“What we doing?”
I turn at the deep voice, delighted to see Monk standing by our table. Without thinking, I stand and give him a tight hug. He rocks me a little and kisses my cheek.
“Hey, superstar,” he says, taking the empty seat by Canon. “How you liking LA?”
“It’s great,” I reply, sitting back down. “I’m glad I got to see you before I leave tomorrow.”
“You know I wouldn’t miss seeing the next big thing before she blows all the way up.” Monk grins. “I haven’t gotten the chance to personally congratulate you on landing Dessi. It’s a big deal.”
“I have you to thank,” I tell him. “If you hadn’t put me on Canon’s radar, none of this would have happened for me.”
“I knew at that gig when I heard you sing there was something special about you,” Monk says, his usual easygoing expression serious. “I know talent when I see it, and I love when I meet someone before they really take off.” He tosses a glance at Canon, the cocksure grin returning to his lips. “Take Canon for instance.”
“I knew this was coming,” Canon groans, swiping one big hand over his face. “He tells this story every chance he gets.”
“What story?” Arietta leans forward, her face animated. “I haven’t heard this.”
“I have.” Evan stands. “I’m going to the little boys’ room. Be right back.”
“So I was on the set of this music video,” Monk says.
“Half his stories start this way,” Canon interrupts. “In case you’re wondering.”
I laugh, enjoying the dynamic of their friendship.
“It was a video for a song I co-wrote.” Monk grimaces. “Not my proudest moment.”
“Tell it all,” Canon says. “If you’re gonna tell it.”
“It was ‘Grind Up On Me, Girl,’” Monk admits, his smile chagrined.
“Ew,” Arietta murmurs. “You wrote that?”
“Co-wrote, thank you very much.” Monk tips his head toward Canon. “And guess who directed the video?”
“No way!” I screech before I remember not to be rude. “You did that?”