Hollywood Hills 1 (2 page)

It was Friday morning. And
I was daydreaming.

I stood on a fire escape, looking down on the alley of my Hell’s Kitchen apartment building. The moon’s beams gleamed off the asphalt, caressing a man with a five o’clock shadow and the grace of a jungle cat.

I knew it was wrong, of course. I knew that neither of our families would ever approve of the two of us being together. But the illicit nature of our love only made it more exciting.
More breathtaking
. Maybe—just maybe—the force our love would override every objection thrown our way. Of course it would, because love was the most powerful force in the universe.

He climbed the stairs to where I waited for him, and together we sang about how wonderful life was now that we had found each other. So what if his gang and my brother’s gang didn’t get along? So what if it was clear to anyone with half a brain that our romance was doomed? When I stared into those ocean blue eyes, nothing else mattered.

He came close to me, his face inches from mine. He smiled at me, and the dimple I had swooned over when we met appeared again. Yes, he would always be my Tony, and I would always be his Maria… I leaned in for our first kiss…

“Josie!” A jarring sensation brought me out of my fantasy, my shoulder colliding with someone as I rounded a corner. Strong hands caught me and kept me from tumbling to the floor. “Are you all right?”

My brain was still foggy; reality and the daydream blurring together. “Tony?” I asked, blinking stupidly. His face was still close to mine. It would be so easy to stretch up for a-

“Archer!” I said, head snapping back with the return of reality. “Oh no, I’m so sorry!” I blushed a deep shade of crimson
. I’d almost kissed him!

The beginnings of a dimple showed on his cheek. “It’s not often I have beautiful women throw themselves at me so energetically. Are you okay?”

I nodded, glancing down. His arms were still around my waist. “I’m such a clutz!” I exclaimed, heart thumping.

“If I let go, are you going fall over, or maybe run into me again?”

I shook my head, stepping back quickly. “No. I swear I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Now a grin did slip briefly across his features. “That’s a shame.”

I fled, walking as fast as dignity allowed down the hall to my office. When I got inside I closed the door and leaned against it with my eyes closed.
Freaking hell
I was such an idiot. Too busy with my little
West Side Story
fantasy to even look where I was going. Who just ran into their boss and then tried to kiss him? It had felt good in his arms though. Oddly romantic—the way he caught me before I fell, and held on to me long after he needed to. I could almost feel his hands on my skin; so strong, but gentle. It had felt right to have them there.

Stop it Josie!
He wasn’t my Tony, and I wasn’t his Maria.

It wasn’t the first time I’d had daydreams this week. Though it was the first time he’d—literally—caught me. Yesterday we’d been Heathcliff and Cathy. Last night, in my dreams, he’d carried me up a set of stairs like Rhett did to Scarlett.

But he wouldn’t be so charming when he knew what I was really here for. I had to keep reminding myself of that. I couldn’t let myself get distracted—no matter how gorgeous, fabulously wealthy, kind or wonderful he might actually be.
I had a job to do
.

I sat down at my desk, miserable now that I remembered the real purpose of my employment with the studio. Funny how easily I forgot that aspect of our relationship—it was almost as if I didn’t want to do it anymore.

I heard a knock at the door and I raised my head from where it sat in my hands. “It’s open!” I mumbled.

It was a delivery man, a bouquet of white roses in one arm. “Are you Josie?” I nodded, confused, looking from the expensive crystal vase her held, to the roses in it, and then back again.

“I… ah, think you’ve got the wrong Josie.” I didn’t know anyone that would want to send me flowers.

“Josie Bel-lee-floor?”

“It’s
Bellefleur
. Pronounced
Bell-Fler.
But yes that’s me,” I said confused.

He handed me the roses, got me to sign for them and then wished me good-day. The moment he was gone I clawed through the blooms, searching for a card.

Here’s to the end of your first week, which I hope is the beginning of many weeks to come.

–Archer

A mile-wide smile plastered my features. I read the card again, then I buried my face in the sweet-smelling flowers. No matter how many times I told myself I shouldn’t, suddenly I knew he’d be in my dreams tonight, too.

I arrived to work on Monday tired and exhausted. Every time I’d looked to those roses, a huge smile had split my features. Every evening when I’d visited my mother, a frown had replaced it. I didn’t like what I was going to have to do to Archer, and it had troubled me all weekend.

“You feeling okay today?” Archer asked when he saw me. He had a sweet, earnest look on his face which said he really cared about the answer. I forced a smile. “Just… stayed up too late watching movies with Mom last night.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie
. I
had
been at Mom’s.

Archer grinned. “Your mom’s a big movie fan?”

Despite myself, I smiled. “You have no idea.” I rolled my eyes. “Then again, so am I.”

“What’s your favorite?” Archer asked curiously.

I frowned. “That’s a hard one. I’m a huge fan of the old musicals. Judy Garland, Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Cyd Charisse. The singing and dancing, you know. All fantastic and beautiful and always with a happy ending. Maybe
Singin’ in the Rain?
But there’s just so many—I don’t think I could choose.”

“Singin’ in the Rain
is
a classic.”

“You like it?” I asked.

“Of course.” Archer did an impromptu—and very bad—tap dance, ending with a flourish. “Gene Kelly’s 13
th
musical, following
An
American in Paris
, but arguably his best.”

I broke into a smile. “The old movies are my favorite in general. When Turner Classic Movies runs the Oscar winners throughout February? Forget it—the DVR has to be cleared out in advance so I can record each one. Mom and I sit around and watch them together; she’ll call me, or I’ll call her when there’s a good one coming up. She raised me on them.”

“I guess you grew up with stars in your eyes, then,” he teased. “How many times have you dreamed of dancing off into the sunset like Fred and Ginger.”

I winced. “More than I’d like to admit. Once a week, at least.”

He chuckled, “I promise I won’t tell, on the condition that you never, ever tell anyone you saw me try to tap dance.”

I laughed.

Archer looked at his watch. “Listen, I have meetings offsite for the rest of the day. Why don’t you take it easy for a bit? Grab an early lunch, extend it late, then go and catch a movie or something?” He winked as he walked off.

I sighed
. I’d known Archer for exactly one week, and already it felt as though we’d been friends for years. I’d expected him to be some self-centered tyrant, a crusty genius who stomped his feet when he didn’t get his way. I’d expected to be afraid of him, or at least to resent his attitude.

Instead I’d found…
something else
. Someone I could chat to about movies. Someone who caught me when I fell, and then made me feel at ease and just that little bit special. Someone who sensed my moods—and could change them with nothing more than a friendly, open smile.

My rate-of-clutz went up by 200% whenever I looked in those bright blue eyes, but it never seemed to matter to him. He’d shake his head and a little dimple would appear in his cheek as he tried not to smile. It made him look more adorable, which in turn left me blushing even harder—a hopeless situation all around.

It had been a hard weekend alright
. And things were just going to get harder.

* * *

I didn’t have the guts to do it that day. Not when Archer had been so nice. But by Thursday, I had no more time left. Archer was working on a new documentary. It kept him excited, and busy… and was also hastening my plans.

I waited until the end of the day, when most of the offices were empty. I locked the door as soon as I was in the Edit Suite.

Archer was proud of this new documentary. I could sense it, in the way that he talked, and his hands moved when describing it. It was still in the early stages of production—resource gathering, that sort of thing—and a shroud of secrecy covered the project. All research materials were kept under tight lock and key.

Unfortunately, as his assistant I had an all access pass.

I walked across thick carpet to shelf upon shelf of tape sitting in neatly ordered rows. Archer had shown me the room on his tour the first day. It had taken me until now to work up the nerve to come back.

The tapes were broken down by project, subject and then finally by date. I hit pay dirt quickly—one of the cases was labeled
J-9/23
. Bingo.

I slid the tape from the row and looked it over. I hadn’t been told what the tape held, only that the conversation it contained was important. I gripped it tightly, only realizing then that I’d been hoping it wouldn’t be on the shelf.

It had all seemed so simple, when I’d agreed all those weeks ago
. I closed my eyes, thinking back to the conversation.

“The dialogue you’re looking for took place on September 23
rd
,” the cigar smoking figure had said. I could still remember blue smoke wafting across the room, and the smell—which had made me feel sick, and want a cigarette, all at the same time.

“You’ll find a copy in the editing room.
Don’t
take it. He’s bound to notice it missing. Just do what needs to be done, then put it back.”

I had nodded, feeling nauseous from more than the smoke, now.

“The master copy he keeps on his person at all times, from what I’m told. You’ll have to get your hands on that in some other way.” He’d winked, waving a plain manila file at me. “From what I can tell in this folder, I’m sure you’ll have no problems thinking of something.” I’d actually rushed from the room and been sick, then. He’d laughed as I ran out.

Now I was holding one of the tapes, and bile was rising in my throat once more. Archer had been so kind to me! He’d sent me flowers, and I got shivers every time we touched,
and I think I was falling for him…

I shook my head. This wasn’t a black and white movie. Things didn’t always end in song and a dance.

I slid the tape into the editing suite.
I should just do it
. Do it and get it over with. Instead I picked up a pair of headphones and plugged them into the jack.

Static at first, then the sound of voices. I recognized one of them—he’d be waving that cigar as he shouted.
How had Archer managed to get his hands on this?

“Do you know how much this is costing the company?” the voice blasted through my headphones. “The EPA is all over our ass about Pennsylvania!”

“Yes sir,” a frightened voice said. “The oil rig has stopped production until we can meet environmental guidelines.”

“
Stopped production?
” he roared. “Who gave you permission to do that?”

“Well… that is, we assumed, until we could stop pollution of local water sources…” the frightened voice stammered.

I heard something hit a wall.
It sounded like a monitor
. “We should have just stuck to our fucking Nigeria operations—we’ve had no problems dumping waste there for years.”

A chair creaked.
That would be cigar man leaning forward
. “Listen here. I don’t care who you have to bribe. I don’t care who you have to kill! Production starts again immediately, you hear me?”

“But… but…” It was frightened voice again. “But if we’re caught—the lawsuit would be billions of dollars-”

“That’s why we pay the high court judge,” Cigar Man snarled.

My eyes widened, my mouth forming a perfect O as I realized what I was listening to. No wonder they’d been so insistent that I find these tapes.

I hesitated, putting the thumb of one hand to my mouth to chew the nail. It would crush Archer if I did this. It would crush me.
Why had I even listened?
I patted my pockets, before remembering I didn’t smoke.

The tape continued, discussing bribes, environmental issues and internal politics, but I was only half listening. This documentary was important. It would make a difference in the world—help a lot of people who didn’t have any options left. People that had been left behind in the wake of monster corporations that only cared about money.

My heart tightened.
But I didn’t have any options left either.
Tears slid down my cheeks as I hit
rewind
and then
record
. I let the short tape run from beginning to end. Once finished, I rewound and played it back.

It was blank except for one whispered phrase at the end. “I’m sorry.”