The Numbers Game (15 page)

            Speaking
of hell, it wasn’t very pleasant being around Lola anymore. His subordinate
made Markie’s temperature rise at least a hundred degrees whenever she came
into close proximity. After delegating her to assist Rick from hereon, Markie
figured installing a set of blinds to the office’s windows wasn’t a bad idea.
Sure it went against the company’s open-door policy, but privacy is privacy. He
got Lola onto organizing it right away.

            “So who’s
gonna be at this shindig?” asked Rick, who was waiting obediently by the
passenger door. He was using his own car less and less every day.

            “Does it
really matter?” Markie replied, as he pressed his automatic key and opened the
door. “As long as we can unwind and drink up then things are in check.”

            “What
happened to the no shenanigans rule?”

            Rick
smirked. Markie was not sure why. Two months before Rick had ridiculed the term
shenanigans. He had thought Markie’s theory on managing directors having to be
a bit sedate was both old-fashioned and childish. People either respected you
or they didn’t, Rick explained. The fact that they were human, that they liked
to drink and have fun, was more of a plus rather than strike against their
reputation. Of course back then Markie had thought otherwise. Flirting and
picking up chicks did not register as decent, highly regarded behavior in his
or anybody else’s language.

            So they
had been forced to come to a simple compromise: no more than five beverages at
any event and no soliciting on the premises. Nothing to say they couldn’t take
their private party elsewhere though.  If one wanted more to drink, then they
were free to head out to the nearest bar. These two rules, with a touch of
discretion had worked well for Rick, and it hadn’t been an issue for Markie while
with Serena. Drinking and womanizing weren’t his style. Now apparently they were.

            “The same
rules should still apply,” Markie replied. “Though I can’t see why we can’t
bend them a little. Five double shots of Venom surely equals five drinks, doesn’t
it?”

            “Yeah,
yeah,” Rick nodded. Unmistakably he loved these rare glimpses of Markie’s
reckless side. “We won’t solicit in the building either; we’ll just take the
girls outside” Because a party launching an alcoholic beverage would definitely
be a good breeding ground for prospects.

That night
Rick and Markie pulled up outside Hotel Lux at eight o’clock and after flashing
the invite (a mini-yellow glass bottle with Venom slashed across it), Markie
allowed the valet to do his job.

            “Okay,”
Rick grinned, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s see whether this party is all
it’s hyped up to be. Let’s see if we can finally get Markie laid again.”

            “Right,”
Markie replied, a bit annoyed he had to adjust his package for the tenth time
today. One mention of sex and his damn thing wanted to come out and play.

            It got
worse as they walked into the grand hotel. Ballroom Sky, where the event was
being held, was a smallish room, maybe five hundred square feet wide, with a
skylight, which seemed miles away. Staring back at them through the casement
glass were about a million stars, all which looked as shocked as Markie and
Rick were. This was because the room had been decorated as the inside of a
bottle, or the inside of a Venom bottle to be more specific.

            Bizarre as
it sounded, there it was: a glass dome which eventually narrowed out to a
narrow top grazing against the skylight. Machines parked in the corner were
pumping out bubbles at the rhythm of the heartbeat while women wrapped in
yellow cellophane and little else were weaving their way around man-made
waterfalls whilst holding trays of Venom. Here and there a man dressed as a
lemon paraded around trying to look enticing.

            “Which
agency won the contract again?” asked Rick, shaking his head.

            “Henderson
and Co.,” Markie replied glumly.

            Even
though they missed by a slim bit, both he and Rick knew The Zoo could’ve done
one hell of a superior campaign. Jesus, there was no way anyone could have done
worse.

            “Look at
it this way, at least the client gave us the opportunity to have a laugh.”

            “At their expense…”

            “Exactly.”

            Really
Markie and Rick should have been grateful. It wasn’t every day another agency’s
client handed you tickets to their launch…albeit reluctantly. But Lola had gone
straight to the client and begged, cried, done almost everything bar show her
tits to score the tickets for the boys.

            “It’s for
research purposes, remember” Markie reminded Rick.          “So let’s go do
some research and see how much we can score tonight.”

            “I’m with
you, boy,” Rick teased. He then followed Markie through the delectable crowd.

Back on the set of
“Never, Ever Again” Serena was starting to feel the effects of staying in a
confined space for long periods of time. Thirteen hours a day wouldn’t be so
bad if there was a shopping centre or massage parlor nearby but alas, none were
available. The closest Serena got to any form of therapy was her daily dose of
conversation with Champagne and Violet.

            Ordinarily
Serena wouldn’t have given these girls the time of day. They were spelt
trouble, with a capital T. They were rude, crude and had gotten their trailer
nicknamed the Trampervan, despite only good behavior coming from Serena.  At
first Serena had screamed for mercy, it was bloody unfair she got lumped into
the easy stereotype by association. But such was the movie industry; birds of a
feather flock together, like attracts like etcetera.

            Luckily
listening to Violet and Champagne’s Jackie Collins-type adventures was a
gratifying experience for Serena. And a very grounding one too. What better way
to get your mind off relationship troubles than to listen to similar tales of
shagging and getting ignored the next day… Or hearing about the prick who said
he’d call but didn’t, preferring instead to distribute videos of their
rendezvous to the crew. It made Serena feel normal, even if it was among the
abnormal.

            “So which
bastard’s ego shall we destroy today?” Champagne asked.

            “How about
Barry’s?” Violet replied, giggling in her typical nineteen-year-old, everything
is a ball way.

            Over the
past two weeks, the pair (hair stylist and assistant) had taken on a more
defined big sister/little sister role.  This was because the amazingly juvenile
Violet thought Champagne was cool and held her up on a pedestal. Bear in mind
that at thirty Champagne was what some young people might prefer to call ‘over
the hill’.  Then again most other thirty-somethings were also married, had
babies and a mortgage to boot so ‘over the hill’ for them was an apt
description. Champagne however held none of above, and as such enthralled
Violet.  They were like two peas in a pod.

            “She’s
like a blooming flower,” Champagne sighed, patting her protégé’s empty seat.
“Give her sunshine and she will grow, forget to water her and she will rot.”

            It was
funny how people went all philosophical when their subject disappeared to the
toilet.

            Getting
back to this ego deflating game, Champagne and Violet had taken it upon
themselves to play God on the film set. It was an executive decision made the
morning after the videotape episode, which had enraged Champagne. She wasn’t
even in it. Instead Violet had fallen for the “I’ll make you a star” line,
dealt out to her by the producer’s brother.  It had almost gotten her kicked
off the job; because as one knows rule number one on the set was do not
fraternize with the family of the cast or crew members. Women especially got
jealous; they were possessive and dangerous bitches when provoked (the producer
in this instance was unfortunately a woman).

            Champagne
and Violet figured if men can drivel out of their asses then women should be
able to do it too. Really why was it that woman were so often forced to keep their
mouths tapped shut, lapping abuse in the form of criticism, neglect and
insincere flattery? Why was it that men got to be vocal with their concerns
while women had to swallow them? The answer was because woman allowed it to
happen. Women allowed themselves to be doormats, geishas, losers, and thus got
treated that way. It was time to end that self-fulfilling prophecy, even if it resulted
in temper tantrums, curses and evil nicknames the likes of Trampervan.

            The girls
decided that every day they would write a list which divided the male crew into
one of four categories: the bush pigs, fairies, angels and puppets. At night
Champagne and Violet would revise the list, adding any new insights, insults
and the like, before printing it out and attaching it to the trailer’s
corkboard. The actresses loved it, especially Cindy Glass; the men hated it,
even if they made it to the lucrative angel list (at the moment it bore only
the director’s name; the girls didn’t want to get onto his bad side as well). At
long last, for the first time ever the girls and boys on the set were been
treated exactly the same; like pieces of meat.

            Then one
day it happened. Like it had to happen.

            “What is
up with you?” Champagne demanded, when hair and makeup were complete for the
day. “I know you prefer the “ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies”
routine but really your quiet stance is starting to really piss me off.”

            Serena
shrugged. Oh crap. She was secretly hoping to cruise through the next three
months pretending everything was all right. Lately she was even getting good at
it- when V and C asked her about love Serena just imagined it was the same time
last year.
What did we do on the weekend? Oh we flew up to Las Vegas and
gambled away our savings. Last night? Oh I made a delicious vegetarian lasagna
and washed it down with Dom Perignon.

            Okay so
maybe her memory was a tad adventurous but the girls believed her most of the
time. The beauty with V and C was that when they didn’t believe her, when they
knew she was lying, they still thought it was funny. Serena’s made up stories
(once they got squeezed out) were almost as hilarious as Violet and Champagne’s real life ones.

            “Okay,
okay,” Serena sighed, when she figured V & C wouldn’t give up. They were
looking at her the FBI does when waiting for someone to confess to heinous
crime. Her fingerprints were on the knife, her dress was completely bloodstained
and soon witnesses would be popping out from behind every rock.
Just tell
them
, the voice in her head said.
Tell them about stupid Markie’s one
last request. What’s the worst that can happen, other than them dragging her
out on one of their nightly crusades after work?
Yet that no longer seemed
so painful anymore.

“It begins
like this,” Serena started and ten minutes later the weight was released off
her shoulders.

As predicted, Champagne and Violet took Serena out for a wild night on the town.

            It had
been a while since Serena had gone out with the sole intention of getting
totally smashed but the idea of it made her feel good. Yes, let me drink my
sorrows away! Let me float absently down a river of martinis and wine until I
hit a stump and need to go home.  Historically this would take place around one
o’clock but tonight Serena planned to go the distance. She’d stay up until the
sun came up (just like V & C were always bragging) even if her eyelids fell
through the toothpicks.

            “So where
to?”  Serena asked.

            The three
of them were sprawled across leather upholstery in the back of Lincoln’s limousine. The male lead of Never, Ever Again had generously let the girls have
temporary use of his transport, despite being the latest victim on the fairy
list.  Okay the only current victim. If Serena didn’t know better, she’d say
Violet and Champagne were accepting bribes in exchange for not-so harsh
treatment. 

            “Darling
Serena, we might look like scrags but tonight we are off to Hotel Lux.”

            “They have
this incredible cocktail bar down there,” added Violet, who obviously missed
the fact they weren’t in cocktail dress.

            According
to the Terrible Two, cocktail bars were THE latest place to hang out. Rich men
went there with money to burn searching for the latest trophy wife to inundate
with gifts. It was about being in the right place at the right time. Admittedly
not all the men were as attractive as movie-stars (something one needed to deal
with when they worked in the film industry) but that didn’t matter to Violet
and Champagne.

            “Put
simply, these will be nice boys and nice boys you can wrap around your little
finger.”

            “Fine,
okay, I’ll go and enjoy myself,” Serena replied. “But you need to stop the limo
along the way. I need to get to a bank machine like pronto.”

“What in
the world for?”