Free Devoted 2 : Where the Ivy Grows by S. Quinn, J Lerman Page B

are no cameras on tripods, or men skulking around setting up lights. Just one photographer – a really happy looking guy with a brown beard and Led Zeppelin T-shirt.
    Marc strides towards the photographer, shakes his hand and slaps him on the shoulder. ‘Danny. How have you been?’
    ‘Marc, good to see you.’ The photographer clasps Marc’s hand. ‘Keeping busy. How about you?’
    ‘Ask me again at the end of the week.’
    The photographer turns to me. ‘You must be Sophia. I’m Danny. Good to meet you.’
    I smile. ‘Nice to meet you too.’
    ‘Well.’ Danny drops Marc’s hand. ‘You two want a tea? Coffee? Doughnut?’
    He gestures to a counter of polystyrene cups, instant coffee, plastic water bottles and spilt sugar. There’s a box of doughnuts covered in pink frosting. ‘Marc, I’ve got twenty Marlboros if you fancy one later.’
    Marc shakes his head.
    ‘Have you given up?’
    ‘I’ve barely smoked since I met Sophia.’
    I smile. ‘Is that true?’
    Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘I’ve replaced one drug with a much better one.’
    ‘So I’m a drug ?’ I grin.
    ‘Yes. A very addictive, beautiful one.’
    Danny clears his throat. ‘So. Sophia. Drink?’
    ‘Just water for me, thanks,’ I say.
    ‘No worries.’ Danny grabs a plastic cup and sloshes water into it. ‘How about you, Marc? You remember the coffee from last time, right? Tastes like gravy browning, but stick in enough sugar and it goes down okay.’
    Marc slides his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I’ve already texted the deli downstairs to bring us up some fresh ones. Latte with hazelnut syrup for you, hot chocolate for Sophia.’
    Danny glances at me and gives a little wink. ‘I haven’t worked with him in months, and still he remembers how I take my coffee. Behind closed doors, he’s not half as bad as they say.’

28

‘Oh, I still have my moments behind closed doors.’ Marc’s eyes flick in my direction, and I give him a frown and a ‘not here’ glance. Oh Marc, Marc. How can you melt my insides with a few well chosen words and one look?
    ‘Don’t we all,’ says Danny amiably, seemingly oblivious to the simmering Marc just created inside me. ‘Are you two all costumed up?’
    ‘Costumed up?’ I ask.
    ‘Is that what you want to wear?’ He points his camera at my dress.
    I look down. ‘That’s what I planned.’
    ‘Great. You look great. Right, I had a few props in mind.’
    ‘Props?’ Marc raises an eyebrow.
    ‘See what you think.’ Danny disappears behind the giant screen, and we hear clunks and bangs as he rummages through the prop boxes.
    There’s a knock at the door, and a delivery boy leans his head into the studio. ‘Drinks for studio two?’ He has a tray of paper cups in his hand and wears a Daryl’s Deli baseball cap.
    When he sees Marc, his mouth drops open, but he recovers himself, str aightens his cap and holds out the cardboard tray.
    ‘Great timing. Thanks.’ Marc takes the tray.
    ‘Can I have your autograph?’ the delivery boy stammers. He must be all of seventeen and has bright red spots on his cheeks.
    ‘Of course.’ Marc sets down the tray on the white paper floor and pulls a parker pen from his pocket.
    The boy holds out a napkin. ‘Will this do?’
    ‘Oh, I think we can do better than that,’ says Marc. He kneels on the floor and signs the white paper covering, then carefully tears off a corner and hands it to the boy.
    The boy looks so overjoyed, I think he might faint. ‘Thank you, Mr Blackwell, thank you, thank you.’
    ‘You’re welcome,’ says Marc. ‘Here. Have this, too.’ He hands him the pen.
    ‘Really?’ The boy’s voice grows high pitched. He does a funny sort of bow and backs out of the room. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
    ‘Don’t mention it,’ says Marc, his eyes softening.
    The boy grins and closes the door, and I picture him leaping into the air outside.
    I smile at Marc.
    ‘What?’ he asks.
    ‘I just never thought of you