The Second Assistant (20 page)

“Money. Flowing water promotes the influx of cash. The last guy who owned the house went bankrupt. Before Noel moved in, I added the fountain in the front and this magnificent piece of design in the dining room.”

He beckoned me to follow, and I walked into the next room. Noel had taken a section of the roof off and replaced it with a piece of clear plate glass. Under it he’d built a restaurant booth with banquettes that seemed to meet the heavens. One of the banquette walls had been replaced by another piece of glass with a flowing waterfall effect that you could actually lean against while you ate your pizza—but I guessed that anything as commonplace as pizza never crossed the holy threshold of this temple. I sat down at the table and leaned back looking at the sky—which was admittedly a little smoggy, but who’s keeping tabs?—and listened to the tinkle of water flowing all around me. I felt like I was in an aquarium. True genius. Though Noel was an asshole, he had really good taste, and for a moment I really wanted to be him.

“You are really and truly amazing,” I told Lee. “I’m dead broke, but one of these days I won’t be, and I’d love to hold on to your card so I can track you down.”

Lee smiled knowingly, without a hint of mockery. He knew how quickly people rose in this business, and he wasn’t going to look a nag in the mouth, because it just might turn out to be a gift horse. “Call me anytime, sweetcheeks. Maybe if I have a minute, I’ll do a consultation for you on the house.” He laughed. Out of kindness, so did I.

“That’s funny. Thanks, Lee.” And I was about to give him a little bow or something but was interrupted by a small brunette, Noel’s wife, Sandy, who was hurrying around the room like a wasp in a jar trying to get everyone seated. “Quick, everyone, sit in a circle—Noel’s home.”

Everyone dived for chairs, and I decided to perch on a sofa arm, away from the ominous-looking leather library chair they’d chosen as Noel’s seat. I didn’t want to be in the line of fire if he decided to lash out at someone.

We sat in expectant silence as we heard the key turn in the lock. Sandy went over to the door and greeted him. Oh, God, this was like watching the dentist scene in
Marathon Man
—always even more painful because you knew it was coming.

“Hi, babes. I’m exhausted. I thought you had your knitting circle tonight. This fuck cut me off when I was driving home, and I—” Noel walked through the door, tossed his leather Gucci briefcase on a bench-cum-morgue-slab, then sidestepped his wife without kissing her. Presumably, on an ordinary night, he would have charged on in and asked what was for dinner, but this evening he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the group of people looking expectantly up at him from his sunken living room.

“Are you having a party?” He looked bewildered and confused.

“No, baby, it’s an intervention. For you. You’ve changed, and no one likes who you’ve changed into.”

Noel assessed the room, and for a moment looked positively shaken. Like a newborn colt unable to understand the evil world he’d been born into. But then, almost as if a door had slammed, he put on his mental armor and sneered.

“This is bullshit. I’m out of here.” He turned to go, but his best friend from college, the president of his fraternity, stood up.

“Noel. I think you need to stay and hear everyone out. You may not agree, and that’s your choice, but everyone here loves and cares about you and has taken the time to be here for you. So just sit down and listen.”

Noel laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “Fine, whatever. But can we make it quick? Because I have two new drafts to read, and I’m supposed to green-light these movies tomorrow. And talking about emotional shit with a bunch of earnest do-gooders isn’t going to get my work done for me, is it, now?”

The crowd smiled with satisfaction, feeling that he’d just given them the affirmation that they needed to prove he was an asshole. Sandy led him forward, and he sat down in the library chair, which had clearly been drafted in from a friend’s home—because it looked much more humane than the concrete plinth that poor Sandy had to sit on.

“Okay. Assassinate my character.” He leaned back and looked bored. If he’d had bubble gum, he’d have popped it in our faces like a defiant teenager.

Noel’s sister stood up, then sat down. “I haven’t spoken to you in four weeks. We used to speak every day.”

“I’m sorry, Samantha, I’ve been busy. I thought I returned your calls.”

“Well, your secretary did return them, but I didn’t call you back, and you didn’t even notice that I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Jesus, Sam. I’m busy, and if you’re mad at me, just tell me. What are you so cross about?”

“I have an entire list, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was the Bambi hunt. How
could
you?” Samantha, who was strikingly similar in appearance to Noel, looked crushed.

Noel started to laugh but realized he might face a firing squad if he continued. “Come on, Sam. It was a little innocent fun, and nobody got hurt.”

“Would anyone like me to clarify what a Bambi hunt is, by the way?” Sam looked around the riveted gathering. A few people nodded so she proceeded. “It’s where men get together in the forest to hunt down naked women and shoot them with paint balls.”

“I’ve heard about it on TV,” Lee said, then hastily added, “it sounded immoral.”

Noel rolled his eyes. “Hell, one of the girls made twenty-five hundred bucks because she didn’t get shot.” The audience remained unsympathetic.

“Noel, you were shooting at women with a gun as they ran through the forest naked. How is that all right?” wailed Samantha.

“They had sneakers on, and they could have worn goggles and a helmet. I heard the guide offer it. Anyway, it was an innocent way of letting off some steam. Us guys lead stressful lives. The Bambis didn’t mind. We all had beers together afterward.”

“You were hunting naked women. Does that not seem a bit twisted to you, Noel? Are you such a misogynist? You have a wife and a sister.
A wife who made her objection clear before you went, and you ignored her. You’re disgusting.”

“Hey, hey, it was only paint.”

“Noel, you used to be a Democrat. You marched for gun control. What happened to you?”

Wow. This was really intense. A little garbage in the hallway was nothing compared to this. It was the most entertaining thing I’d witnessed for a long time. Maybe I should pitch a show called
Intervention
to NBC. This was live drama unfolding right before your eyes, with family, loved ones, and virtual strangers participating. And Bambi hunting? I’d never heard of that one before. I’d have to look into how you get hired, just in case I was ever really strapped for cash. I had a high pain threshold and could run fast, so I’d probably be really good at it. I snickered at the idea. Out loud, unfortunately. Slowly the whole room turned in my direction.

Noel looked over at me, annoyed. “Who the fuck is that, anyway?”

“See, Noel, you’re hostile and abusive to a completely innocent girl. That’s Elizabeth, and you were a total asshole to her.” Alexa stepped in with this ringing endorsement. Oh, shit, my stupid giggles had put me on the spot. “Elizabeth, would you like to share your experience with us?”

Now I’d have to speak. Everyone was waiting for me. I seemed to have lost my voice.

“To clarify things . . .” I cleared my throat, swallowing what felt to be a bolder blocking my windpipe. Then I looked at Noel’s hairline—I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. “You ran into me outside Alexa’s apartment. You knocked me over, and all my trash went everywhere, and you walked on without stopping, looking, or even apologizing, like I didn’t exist.”

Alexa picked up where I’d left off and elaborated on my story. “We’re trying to show you a variety of examples of how you’ve changed. You used to be gallant, a gentleman, a boy who was brought up well, with manners and respect for others.”

Oddly, Noel had gone very silent. He looked penetratingly at me, seeming to remember the incident, and, even more than shooting naked girls in the woods, this odd testimony seemed to shame him. He turned toward me and looked me in the eye. “Elizabeth, I know that I was an asshole to you. I should have stopped and helped you pick up that trash. I’m sorry.” He looked like a smashed piñata.

“No big deal. You’re forgiven.”

The onslaught continued, but I felt that I’d been witness to enough and to watch any more was a bit like Bambi hunting—far too easy. So I whispered my good-byes in Alexa’s ear and slipped out unnoticed while Noel’s mom was having a go at him for showing up late to his grandfather’s funeral, then taking a phone call in church while his uncle was breaking down in tears at the pulpit. As I closed the door quietly behind me, I realized that Noel sounded like he was worth saving. He hadn’t always been an asshole. He’d just morphed into a stranger, like an X-Man mutant. Maybe I’d helped a little bit, and maybe someday, if
I
turned into the archetypal Hollywood asshole, I’d have enough cool people and loyal friends and family to intervene on my behalf. One could always hope.

The next morning I woke up with a start. My doorbell was ringing. Irritatingly, by the time I found this out, I’d already launched my clock across the room like a rocket, so I had no idea what time it was. I trudged to the door in my pajamas and opened it. Alexa was standing on the other side with a yoga mat in each hand. One blue and one purple. She was wearing white hot pants and a wife-beater T-shirt.

“Good morning, Lizzie. I thought I’d give you a little free yoga instruction. It’s very important to repay a kindness with a kindness. And it occurred to me that you might need it.”

I rubbed my eyes and yawned. What I really needed was an extra hour of sleep.

“What time is it?” I was trying to open my eyes, but they seemed cemented shut by some mysterious fairy dust.

“Six-thirty. I thought we could do an hour three times a week before you go to work. It’s really no problem for me, since this is when I do my own workout, and I don’t mind guiding you for a few weeks. Then you can just follow my lead. Anyway, you said you were too poor to join a gym, and this is much better for you.”

Alexa marched into my apartment and spread out the mats. Then she sat in the lotus position on her mat and closed her eyes. I looked on. Couldn’t I just watch?

“Babe, you need to go and put on something comfortable, something with stretch.” She opened her eyes. “Do you own any Lycra?” I
shook my head sleepily. “Then your pajamas will do just perfectly,” she said, so I reluctantly sat down and crossed my legs.

“This is a perfect apartment for yoga, Lizzie, nice open spaces,” Alexa said as she demonstrated a mudra—which was apparently what I was supposed to do with my fingers while I was sitting.

“My boss has his own personal mudra that he uses every day,” I laughed, flipping Alexa the finger in demonstration. She didn’t seem to appreciate my joke, so I stopped smiling, did as I was told, and followed her lead. I was wise to behave, because the amount of pain that it caused me simply to sit in a cross-legged position suggested that I might need all the guru I could lay hands on for quite some time.

I arrived in the office at eight-thirty on the dot. I’d even had enough energy to read one of Victoria’s scripts over my chai latte in the Coffee Bean. I had a sense of overall well-being and practically skipped over to Scott’s office to put his mail on his desk. Nobody else was in yet, but I noticed that the door was already a tiny bit ajar. Usually the cleaners locked it and either myself or Lara unlocked it. I pushed it open slowly, thinking perhaps Scott had spent the night there after a battle with Mia. I wasn’t prepared when I saw a dark head fumbling behind the desk. My immediate reaction was horror, thinking I’d caught Scott in the act with one of his extramarital dalliances, but when I cleared my throat discreetly, the head popped up like a jack-in-the-box. It was Ryan. I was so shocked I just stared dumbly as he bolted past me, almost knocking me over in an attempt to exit.

“You stupid cow!” he spit. “You’re never on time.” Then he was gone.

I wandered in a daze over to Scott’s desk and checked to see if Ryan had left anything behind, like a clue as to what the fuck he’d been doing there. Nothing seemed to be missing, but the papers on Scott’s desk had definitely been rifled through, and it looked like someone had been trying to jimmy open his file drawer. Luckily for Scott, he’d asked me to put a serious lock on that specific drawer just two weeks before. He frequently had his stash delivered, in Beverly Hills style, directly to the office by a blond female courier on a motorcycle. I’d never seen it myself, but Lara said the weed came in a vacuum-sealed pouch with the dealer’s company logo on a sticker sealing the bag. Scott had needed a secure hiding place for it, so I’d had the locksmith come in and fit a special metal drawer and given Scott the only key.

I went back to my desk and waited with unmitigated excitement for
my boss to arrive. I was finally going to get my revenge on Ryan, and I hadn’t even had to plot it. There was nothing malicious about reporting what I’d discovered. Actually, I really had no choice in the matter. If I kept it to myself, I’d be betraying my boss’s loyalty. I wondered if Ryan had a drug problem. Maybe someone had told him where Scott kept his stash and he was jonesing for a hit. The Agency was like one big party of whisper down the lane, so it wouldn’t surprise me. But then why hadn’t I heard about Ryan’s addiction problems? No one told me anything.