a natural sensuality in the swing of her hips and arms. A confidence in her stride. I don’t usually allow myself to look at her much in case I look too long and my dick ever gets hard. There’s no coming back from that.
But I look now.
“Hmmm,” Verity huffs, tipping her head toward the window and giving me a knowing glance. “Speaking of making things personal.”
I shoot Verity one of my best glares.
“That doesn’t work on me, boss,” she says. “You got this reputation for being all mean and broody and artistic. I know your secret.”
“Oh, you do?” I cock a brow at her, genuinely curious. “And what’s that?”
“I saw The Magic Hour. You’re a mama’s boy, and they’re all bark, no bite.”
“Oh, I bite. Let this shit with Monk affect my movie, you’ll feel it.”
“Fair enough.” Verity glances back to Neevah who has almost reached the car. “Make sure you heed your own advice.”
14
Neevah
It’s an odd experience, sifting through the detritus of Dessi Blue’s life. Dog-eared books and diaries, faded dresses from bygone eras, letters so old, parchmented like they might crumble in my hands. Her daughter, Katherine, has given us complete access to everything left in the house after Dessi died. She said she hasn’t gotten around to looking through half this stuff because her parents were pack rats and held onto every little thing documenting their colorful lives. She hasn’t made time to pick through their past or to dispose of it.
It’s like stumbling into a pharaoh’s tomb, the walls lined with riches and treasures. It’s mundane and magnificent. Worthless. Priceless. So many things I need to know about the woman I’m to portray. I’m eager, but also feel like a peeping tom, glimpsing another woman’s nakedness through the window of her past.
“Finding what you need?”
Canon stands in the doorway, his wide shoulders filling the frame. His eyes curious in the sharply hewn face. I drag my gaze away from him and to the stack of letters tied with string I’m holding.
“Yeah,” I say. “More than what I need. It’s kind of overwhelming and I’m not sure where to start.”
He walks in, his usual confident stride slower. He’s always guarded, but his expression seems almost wary when he sits beside me on the bed in what Katherine affectionately calls the “back room.” A box of old photos rests on the floor, and he bends to retrieve a few. A tarnished silver frame displays a happy, smiling couple on their wedding day. The style of Dessi’s dress and her rolled upsweep hairdo indicate early twentieth century, maybe late 30s, early 40s. It’s a black and white photo, but it’s clear that she’s fairer than her groom. They make a beautiful study in contrasts, him darker and her smaller, slim and elegant next to his imposing height. Shunning the camera, they stare into each other’s faces, noses nearly touching, love radiating from their expressions.
“Cal Hampton,” Canon says, nodding to the photo. “They got married in London while they were touring Europe. He was a great trumpet player.”
“They look so happy. According to the family Bible, they were married forty-five years until he died of lung cancer in 1985.”
“All that smoking caught up to a lot of them later in life.” He hands me the photo. “They do seem happy, but there was a lot of heartbreak in those years. Mostly from living in a country that wanted them to sing for their supper, but use the service entrance to come and go. That’s why so many of them left for Europe. Who can blame them?”
“I remember watching Halle Berry’s Dorothy Dandridge movie. That scene when Dorothy dips her toe in the pool at the hotel where she’s performing in Vegas.”
“And they drain the pool.” Canon’s full mouth hitches into a cynical bend. “You know how many people had no idea who Dorothy was before that movie?”
He bumps my shoulder, and the rare ease of a gesture like that from him makes me smile.
“We’re gonna do that for Dessi Blue,” he says.
“Thank you again for choosing me, for casting me.”
“We searched six months before casting you, Neevah. I knew as soon as I saw you onstage you were right for this part.”
“And the studio was okay with an unknown carrying a film like this?” It’s occurred to me more than once, but I haven’t asked him or Mallory. I was too afraid they might think about the huge risk they’re taking and change their minds.
“The studio is thrilled.” He bends