Off the Record by Kelly Rand

Author:Kelly Rand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: contemporary, Canada, journalist, film director/actor, artists, famous people, power imbalance, coming out, slow burn, age difference, over-40, politics, family issues
Publisher: NineStar Press
Published: 2022-12-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

NIC WAITED ON the front step outside his condo the next morning, looking at his phone as he waited for David. He’d gone back to the hotel he’d barely stayed at to check out. Nic put down his phone and rocked his weight from one foot to the other, looking out at the street. His hair was still damp and neatly combed from the shower, and he wore Converse sneakers, comfortable pants, and a jacket over an old Tegan and Sara T-shirt. Traveling clothes.

Finally, the little car zoomed up and stopped, and Nic wheeled his suitcase down the steps. He crammed it in the back, barely fitting it alongside David’s before he got in the passenger’s seat.

Nic buckled up and turned sideways. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s my pleasure.” David sat, looking at the steering wheel, then after one quick breath, leaned over the barrier and planted a firm kiss on Nic’s lips.

Nic smiled as he settled back. “C’est parti.”

“What does that mean, anyway?”

“It just means ‘we’ve already started,’ or ‘and we’re off.’ Allons-y works too.”

“Allons-y,” David repeated. “What’s the address of the Westin in Ottawa?”

Nic told him, and David entered it into the GPS. Two hours.

“That’s closer than I thought,” David said.

“I usually take the train.” Nic put his seat back two inches, stretched out his legs, and got settled as David began the drive. Montreal retreated in the side mirror. Nic’s apartment. The broad, leafy street with the trees readying to change colors. Mount Royal was large and green, the lights of the cross off in the daylight. Nic turned on the radio and flipped through David’s music selection and settled on a Lana Del Rey song, one of the few modern tunes he had on there that weren’t Matthew Good.

On the highway, they passed signs for Pierre Elliott Trudeau Airport.

“I use that to go to France,” Nic said. “I’m sort of a big deal in France. Elle played in cineplexes there for six weeks.” He rolled his head against the seat and looked at David. “Do you know what the fastest-growing film industry in the world is?”

David was relaxed now, elbow resting on the door, steering with a couple of fingertips. “India?”

“Nigeria.” Nic slipped out of his shoes and put his socked feet on the dashboard, just to try out how it felt. “But French films are the best.”

“All of your movies premiere at Cannes, right?”

“Is this an interview question?”

David sighed, and Nic wondered if he was playing up the anxiety too much. He would be easier to get along with in this conversation. He would make an effort. “Yeah. The first time I went there, I was eighteen. People hated me. I went to luncheons and dinners and sat by myself. No one would sit with me. I’d end up sitting with people who had film blogs.”

“Did any of them ever report what you said?”

“At the dinner? Oh, yeah. I said that I thought Denis Clement’s last film wasn’t great. We’d drank four bottles of wine at that point.

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