Behind the Scenes

Chapter Two

I should clarify: I had no idea who Joseph King was when he was cast as Greg in Everything Left Unsaid. I feel like that's important information to have right off the bat so I don't come across as your run-of-the-mill fangirl.

When Catherine Rowntree, indie film director extraordinaire, first shared the cast list, I was skeptical. I'd never heard of any of them, and when I Google searched Joe's name, all he'd had were bit parts in period pieces and a handful of supporting roles on London's west end.

It was clear right from the start that Cath's approach was different. Not that I had anything to compare it to. At 27 years old and with just one book under my belt, I was no Nicholas Sparks.

But at the time that Cath was trying to commission the film rights to my book, she herself was barely 23 years old and had just made a splash on the film festival circuit with a short film about two adolescent girls exploring their sexuality together. Apparently, Cath called my publishers twice a day every day until they agreed to give her the rights, after which she flew out to Toronto to hand deliver me two large pizzas in greasy cardboard boxes that we ate together on my living room floor.

By the end of the month she'd cast the project, and filming commenced six months later. I was on set from day one, crowded into a corner of a shoebox apartment in Brooklyn with my laptop behind the cameras and the lights. I pretended to be working on my next novel as I watched my story transmogrify from a flurry of images in my head to the real deal over the edge of my laptop screen. Cath was like the fairy godmother from Disney's Cinderella, bippity-boppity-booing my dreams into reality.

I first met Joe at the table read, but I was too overwhelmed with everything going on to retain much from that day. I do remember him, though: tall and slim, in light-wash jeans that were maybe a little too baggy, a green button-down worn open over a white t-shirt, and curly chestnut hair framing a face that was mostly covered by a white medical mask (thanks, COVID-19).

As soon as he walked in, he crossed the room and shook Cath's hand. I'd followed her lead and stood up as he approached, wiping my sweaty palms on the butt of my jeans when neither of them were looking.

"It's great to see you again," Joe said to Cath in a prominent British accent. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks." Cath gestured toward me. "This is Olivia Munson, the author. Olivia, this is Joseph King, our Greg."

I leaned across the white plastic table that divided the space between us and offered my hand. Joe turned his eyes toward me and I was instantly struck by their smooth, milky brown colour, like melted chocolate or liquid caramel. He took my right hand in his and I was surprised and relieved that his was clammy, too.

"I'm Livi," I said with a smile. I'd taken my face mask off when I'd first sat down in order to sip my water. "It's great to meet you."

Joe used his free hand to lower his mask to his chin, revealing a long, triangular nose and full lips underneath a soft layer of stubble. My stomach did a little flip when he lent me a friendly smile.

"No, please, the pleasure is all mine."

His accent made "all" sound like "awl" and it took a concerted effort not to swoon. He covered the back of my hand with his other palm and between both of his, my hand disappeared entirely.

"I loved your book," he said. I blushed and grinned, and let my hand slip from his.

He's getting paid to say that, said a small voice in the back of my head, but I couldn't deny the warmth he radiated when he spoke.

My hand felt bare once he'd released me. The silence bloomed between us like a bubble as I wracked my brain trying to recall his IMDB page. I settled on something safe.

"You just finished a project recently, right? Something for Netflix?"

Joe smiled sheepishly and nodded.

"Yeah. Brothers in Arms," he said, referencing one of Netflix's most popular originals. "But I can't talk about it--yet. Hopefully people will like it once it's out. Have you been working on anything?"

I shrugged.

"More like throwing ideas at the wall to see what sticks."

At that moment, Cath cleared her throat to introduce us to the two other cast members, Dominic, playing Greg's little boy, and Maya, playing Greg's late wife Annie. Joe watched me as Maya told me everything she loved about my book and Annie's character. I stole glances at him whenever Maya would look to Cath to reaffirm what she was saying.

He studied me openly and without shame, only averting his gaze when he noticed how flustered I was getting. I was nervous enough as it was, being on a film set and entirely out of my comfort zone. His gaze and the little upward turn to the corner of his mouth completely threw me off.

Eventually, Maya and Cath started talking more about the actual movie and I turned back to Joe.

I pretended to look around me for something else he might've been staring at.

"What?" I demanded. Joe chuckled and ran a hand through his unruly curls.

"I just noticed that you never reacted when I complimented you on your book. You just avoided acknowledging it all together." He nodded at Maya, no longer paying attention to us. "And you did the same thing when Maya told you she liked it. It's like you totally zoned out or something."

I shuffled my feet and felt my cheeks start to flush.

"I didn't zone out," I said defensively.

Joe put his hands out placatingly.

"No, no, please, I'm not making fun of you," he said with a a playful smile, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "Well, maybe I am a little bit."

His eyes turned mischievous.

"But only because I can relate. Writers, actors--we're not that different. We put ourselves out there saying, 'Hey, watch what I can do,' and we do our little dance, but then we leave the room and they turn to their colleagues and say, 'What the fuck was that?' Then someone comes along who actually does like it and we can hardly believe them even if it's true."

I gaped at him.

"Oh my god," I said. "Did you just read my mind?"

"I did, in fact. It's one of my many talents."

"You should charge more."

"I'll talk to my agent."

Cath clapped her hands together, making me jump.

"If everyone could take their seats, we'd like to begin," she said. Joe wiggled his eyebrows at me.

"Showtime," he said, and brought his mask back up to his face, covering his smile. The twinkle in his eyes gave it away.

I leaned across the table and, in a voice only loud enough for him to hear, said, "Dance, monkey, dance."

Joe lifted his hands into the air and did a little wiggle. We both giggled, and he turned to find the spot with his name marked on it.

I took my chair to the edge of the room and watched from the periphery as my story unfolded through the voices around me better than I ever could've told it.