Hollyweird (6 page)

ALY

“Welcome to the circus,” Jameson said, sweeping a hand out to encompass the two neat rows of white trailers, with their silver-toothed stairs, parked before us. A tent-covered picnic area and sporadic sets of lawn chairs made it look like a crowded campsite, but too many people were bustling around for it to be a place of R&R.

“It's that crazy?” I asked, my wide-eyed gaze soaking up every detail of my surroundings. Despite being up late trying to get Des to temper her temper after Dakota's dismissal, I felt ridiculously alert and thrilled about this sudden turn of events. We were on the set of
Paranormal PI,
the actual place where they shot my favorite show! I could easily hyperventilate with excitement if I wasn't careful.

“No, I don't mean circus as in crazy,” Jameson said with a small chuckle. “Circus is the name for the area where the trailers and craft services are parked.”

“I knew that,” Des said smugly. “Total Hollywood slanguage.”

“Speaking of,” Jameson murmured, and I turned to see what or who had caught his attention.

“Jameson!” A perky and petite brunette with some kind of funky utility belt and headset bounded over to us like Tigger on Red Bull. “These the winners?” she asked, her eager gaze boinging back and forth between the three of us before landing on me. “What's your twenty?”

“Uh, uh,” I stammered, thinking she didn't look much older than me. “I'm not twenty, that is, I'm—”

“Five. 'K. Nat needs you in Buff and Puff in ten. You know this seg is going to hypo the series.”

My mouth gawped open. It sounded like she was speaking English, but I didn't understand a thing she'd said.

“That's Trix,” Jameson whispered from behind me. “She's a production assistant, which is why she's talking like that on her walkie.”

“OhthankyouGod,” I said in a rush, turning to face him. “I thought she was talking to me and I missed it all.” I whizzed my hand over my head.

“I didn't,” Des said. “She asked someone when they'd arrive. She then told them they had to be in makeup—buff and puff—in ten minutes and that today's episode—seg—is going to boost—hypo—the series.”

Again with my jaw dropping.

Des grinned. “I studied
Variety
before we left.”

“Yeah, I know.” Trix continued gabbing to the unseen actor. “The scribblers are nearly done with it so stay on sked. This is just going to add to your being a topliner. You can tour them once Nat is done with you. Copy that.”

I raised a questioning brow at my BFF.

“Not sure who Nat is, but I gather the writers are almost finished fixing something so he better stay on schedule, especially as this is going to keep raising his A-list status.”

I applauded to show my appreciation for her translation skills.

Des smoothed her
Got Blood?
T-shirt and shrugged. “You wouldn't go to Mexico without studying a little Spanish.”

That was so Des. Always a well-prepared Ghoul Scout herself. “Well, you're
muy impressivo
,” I told her.

“Sorry 'bout that,” Trix said, and it took me a sec to realize she was speaking to us. She shoved the mic arm on her headset down and gave us a gleaming smile. I could totally imagine the show's f/x department adding a little starry ping to her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth like they sometimes do in toothpaste commercials. “That was Dakota. He'll be here shortly. He's got a big day, but he wants to show you lucky winners around once he's done with Nat in makeup. In the meantime, maybe Jameson can get you a refreshment.”

“I'd be happy to,” Jameson said. “Thanks for the 411, Trix.”

I could swear I heard the tiniest tinge of laughter in his tone.

“Not a prob,” she chirped before she yanked the headset arm back toward her mouth, pivoted on her sneakers like a woman on a mission, and said, “MJ, I need a 10-100.”

I turned to Jameson, whose eyes wrinkled with suppressed amusement. “Dare I ask what a 10-100 is?”

“Potty break,” Des answered with a guffaw.

I put my hand on my heart. “Is she always so … ”

“Manic? Caffeinated? Peppy?” Jameson supplied with a cheeky grin.

“Um, yes,” I said, realizing I couldn't argue with any of those adjectives.

“She is,” he answered. “But she's also a real doll who loves her job.”

“Good for her, but she makes me want a nap.”

Jameson took us to craft services, where Des and I grabbed a couple of Cokes and some nummy taquitos. Sitting backwards on a nearby picnic bench, Des gnawed the crunchy shell of her snack like a distracted hamster with a wood stick.

“Des?” I said, settling next to her. She stared off in space and I waved a hand in front of her until she snapped back to reality. “You okay?”

“Hmm. Yeah, sure,” she said, then unconsciously shook her head, denying her words.

“Dakota said he was sorry.”

“No,” she countered, “he told his people—well, peep—who told us he was sorry.”

True enough. Jameson had escorted Missy to our room around two a.m., shortly after I'd gotten Des to sleep. Following a whispered, “Sis, my whole world is about to change,” Missy had soundlessly slipped into her bed, fully clothed, and passed out with happy little murmurings. A bleary-eyed Jameson explained to me he'd found her at the club, “networking” with Dakota's many associates. She hadn't been boozing, but Jameson said she'd been more brazen than Lady GaGa's fashion choices. “I'll say this—your sister can sell herself. And I mean that in the best possible way.” Then this morning we'd gotten a conciliatory call from Jameson, “on Dakota's behalf,” inviting us for a studio tour. Supposedly Dakota felt really bad for dumping us and wanted to make amends. I was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“You know, Dakota told Jameson he was just trying to divert Missy's attention when she caught us so we wouldn't get in too much trouble with her,” I told Des. “And it worked. Not only did he save us from her wrath, but he felt bad enough about ditching us that he wanted to make things up. And look!” I elbowed her in the side. “We're
here,
on the freakin' set of
Paranormal PI
.
That was not in the prize package.”

Her frown slowly tilted upside down. “I know. I'm just overtired for some reason and in this weird paradox of gidread.”

“I get that.”

And I did understand her mix of giddiness and dread. Dakota had kissed her. What would things be like for her now? How would he act around her? Plus, knowing Des, I'm sure she was worried something happened between Dakota and Missy, even though my sis swore on her head shots nothing did, because “I'm not sprawling on any casting couch.” I, for one, tend to believe her because (1) she looked this morning more like a woman who'd exhausted all her energy putting on a good face than a girl who'd gotten down with Dakota Danvers, and (2) when she swears on herself, that holds the kind of significance swearing on a Bible does for most other people.

“But, Des … ” I squeezed her hand. “Whatever happens between you and Dakota, promise you won't let anything spoil this. How many times have we fantasized about coming here? Never in a million, trillion years did I really think it would happen.” I unzipped my Betseyville tote and yanked out my digital camera. “I'm going to take pics of everything so we can live this over and over again when we get home. You in?”

“In!” Des said, getting caught up in my exuberance. Then she snatched the camera, leaned her head against mine, stuck her taquito in her mouth like a cigar, which I mirrored, and captured our first memory.

“Think we could filch a few souvenirs?” she asked, waggling her brows.

“No!”

“I know, you goody-goody.” She rolled her eyes at me and I felt glad to see her back to her usual self. “I'll keep my sticky fingers to myself.”

“Sticky fingers?” Jameson said. Smart boy that he is, he'd sensed I needed a moment with Des and hung back with some of the crew while hoovering half of craft services. But clearly he'd been keeping a close eye on us and, seeing the shift in Des's mood, felt it was safe to approach.

I stood, brushing crumbs off my denim shorts. “I don't suppose there's a souvenir shop on-set?”

“Not exactly, but I don't think you'll go home empty handed.”

Boy, was he right!

Our behind-the-scenes tour, which totally beat any of the DVD special features we'd watched from previous seasons, started off in the makeup trailer where Nat was adding a few scratches and contusions to Dakota's otherwise sigh-worthy face. While she did her cosmetic conjury, Dakota personally apologized for leaving us last night. He asked if we'd gotten in trouble with Missy, and when we said no, he grinned. “Then that part of my plan worked. And I was able to get Missy some auditions today—”

“That explains why she didn't invite herself along with us,” Des said under her breath.

“So hopefully this will lead to her big break,” Dakota continued, “and you can really forgive me. It's just when I see raw, fresh talent like that, I tend to forget myself. All that energy and excitement feeds me, you know?”

Who could stay mad in the face of such generous earnestness?

I certainly couldn't, especially not after the star-list, pinch-me-this-can't-possibly-be-real treatment we received. Nat gave us a couple old costume sketches she had pinned to her wall, and from there we toured the art department, looking at their designs for upcoming episodes and inspirational photos they'd gathered for ideas. Then we visited the visual f/x geniuses, who flabbergasted us with their computer skills. It completely blew our minds to learn just how much of the show they digitally engineered. Computer geeks rock! Next we met Tricia, the fan coordinator for the show. Her entire office was covered with art, postcards, and pics. It was her job to screen and sort all of Dakota's mail, from letters to panties to even—eep!—nude photos. She said her job is never boring. (I bet!) From there, a still-blushing Dakota introduced us to Jeremy, the stunt coordinator, who choreographed a quick fight scene between me and Des. We learned how to throw fake punches and take body hits. (I totally kicked Des's arse!) And finally, my fave part, we toured the sound stages and prop department where we took pics of ourselves—in the show's infamous muscle car, wearing monster masks, hiding behind tombstones in an ominous cemetery, and sitting in Dakota's director chair.

The first actual set we visited was a tavern called Buckeye, where Dakota's character and his paranormal private eye cohorts hung out. The oversized cabin was dark, mountain-man tacky, and oddly homey. Walking across the scuffed wooden floors and seeing the fine details, from matchbook covers with handwritten notes posted on the walls to the ripped vinyl bar seats, and breathing in the musty scent of the taxidermied mascot grizzly bear named Sasquatch, was both surreal and familiar. Kind of like our charming host, who regaled us with inside stories.

Through it all, in my fangirl excitement, I kept getting these random shivers of euphoria, little “holy shit” tremors. I wanted that feeling to last forever, so I clicked, clicked, clicked pictures until I gave myself a repetitive stress injury in my pointer finger. When Tanya Allee, director extraordinaire, gave us official
Crew
T-shirts, I thought for sure nothing could pry off the perma-grin plastered on my face. Throughout it all, Jameson watched me with this fond smile, as if he took joy from my silly, fannish delight. I should've been self conscious, but I was too caught up tattooing every detail on my brain cells so I wouldn't forget anything.

“Best. Day. Ever. Ever!” Des shouted as we headed back to the makeup trailer where we'd started.

“Number one,” I agreed, hugging my souvenirs to my chest.

“That was the most fun I've had doing a tour,” Dakota said with a grin. “Thank you for spending the day with me.”

Nat stuck her head out of the trailer. “Come on, Dakota,” she said, then flashed us an apologetic smile and a quick wave.

“I hate to cut and run,” Dakota said, “but I've got to be on set again and she needs to do a quick touch-up, so … ”

My mood sagged, like a balloon losing helium.

All good things must come to an end
.

I refused to look at Des because I didn't want either one of us to bust into tears. “Dakota, we can't thank
you
enough. This has seriously been—”

“Mega-memorable,” Des appropriately finished, with a watery smile.

Each of us hugged Dakota and watched him climb the trailer stairs. He flashed the peace sign and gave us a quick wink before he disappeared inside and our tour came to a sad stop.

Jameson put an arm around each of us and guided us toward his car. “How 'bout I take you out for dinner? Those taquitos couldn't have lasted.”

My stomach gave a loud growl at the suggestion. Laughing, I said, “My tummy is happy to take you up on that offer.”

“Oh crap!” Des said.

“Wha—”

“I left my Gucci sunglasses—”

“Knock-offs.”

“In the makeup trailer this morning.”

“Des … ” I said in warning. Clearly she'd left her glasses there accidentally-on-purpose in order to steal a private moment with Dakota. There hadn't been time for anything other than flirting during our tour.

“Be right back,” she shouted as she ran off.

“Want me to go after her?” Jameson asked, already taking a few steps away.

I thought about it. How much trouble could she get in when Nat was there?