The Second Assistant (31 page)

Darling Luke,

Paris is lonely without you. Shooting in Tuileries today. Thought of you going headlong into the boating lake that time! Won’t make it back now until early March. J is insisting on reshooting all my outdoor scenes.

 

À bientot to you and Rocky
Emanuelle
♥♥♥♥
×××××××××

“All rightee,” I said under my breath and replaced the fax with my shaking hand. I wasn’t sure which bit was the worst—that her handwriting was beautiful, that she seemed to speak French, that she was an actress—ergo fantastically pretty—or that the asshole in the bed in the other room had lied quite so consummately last night. I took a deep breath and thought calmly about my options:

1. Go back in and tear the fax into little pieces and let them rain down on him from a great height.
   
2. Send a reply fax to the impossibly cute Emanuelle and tell her what a coincidence it was that her boyfriend was about to go headlong into a lake today, too!
   
3. Put it on the bottom of the pile and fall in love with LL anyway in the hopes that she got fat from eating too many baguettes and he decided to dump her.
   

I moved my purse from one shoulder to the other as I pondered my dilemma miserably. Then, feeling the deadweight of my bag, I remembered that I’d been carrying
Sex Addicts
around for days now. And with that I pulled out the script and a pen and did the only thing that I could do under the circumstances—I scrawled on the front of the script:

I guess that it was just business after all, then! Hope you like the script.
Elizabeth
××

Then I left.

It’s a perfect night for mystery and horror. The air itself is filled with monsters.

—Elsa Lanchester as Mary Shelley
The Bride of Frankenstein

B
anishing my bittersweet memories of Sundance when I returned to Los Angeles had been much easier than I had imagined. For only a day after we got back into the office, Scott had gone on what Lara referred to as a rampage. Apparently this wasn’t the first time this had happened. The last rampage had been three years ago, and it had ended with Lara taking a trip to the hospital, where the best plastic surgeon in town had to stitch up an inch-long cut above her eyebrow. It seemed that one Tuesday afternoon, having had enough of Scott’s tantrums, indecisiveness, blame, and accusations, Lara had finally hurled the Rolodex at his head—but it had hit him on the shoulder instead. This had left Scott needing years of physical therapy. In fact, I had heard him mention a few times that if it hadn’t been for that Rolo, he could have pitched for the Yankees.

Anyway, with his good arm Scott had returned fire with the only thing he could reach—his lucky deck of cards, bought on eBay and signed by Amarillo Slim. The corner of the deck caught Lara right above the eye, and she started to bleed. That put a quick kibosh on the tantrum. Scott’s guilt had been so extreme, as had The Agency’s concern over a lawsuit, that he’d insisted she take a two-week spa trip to
Canyon Ranch, fully comped by Scott Wagner, and paid leave happily granted by The Agency in return for her signature on a document waiving all rights to sue.

I was secretly plotting what item
I
might throw at Scott that would inflict the least amount of damage on his person but would grant me the maximum amount of spa time. My only concern was that Mia had given him a glass paperweight for Christmas (which I was sure I’d seen at Rexall in the clearance bin), and if he hit me in the head with that, I’d certainly miss out on the revitalizing salt glow and The Agency would be tipping the embalmer.

As Lara and I waited in the kitchen in a bid to avoid flying objects, I’d filled her in on the Sundance episode. Luke Lloyd and all. And instead of being scary and judgmental, she told me that Emanuelle, the French tart he was dating, had a tendency toward violent outbursts and that she would very likely maim Luke before she allowed the relationship to end. That gave me momentary pleasure, but then I started to think how much I actually liked that stupid, infidel’s smile of his and how cute he had been when he’d pulled me by the ski poles to the café.

But I hadn’t heard a word from Luke since my return, and I was sure that he’d simply chalked the whole thing up to experience. I also hoped that he regretted being found out just as much as I regretted finding him out. The Sundance fallout had taken a surprising turn when Jake Hudson had shockingly remembered my name and had been calling every couple of days. I had continued adamantly on my path of total inaccessibility, and as a result he would occasionally vary his approach—gradually upgrading the offers. First it had been a few phone calls, then an invite to his house for dinner, next an invite to dinner in a public place. Then, when none of those tempting offers worked, he’d sent flowers. I wasn’t dumb enough to think that I was the only woman on his call sheet, and I’m sure Jake and his love life could have supported Luna Gardens, who did wonderful things with twigs and exotic flowers, single-handed. But the truth was, I didn’t care if half the women in Hollywood received the pretty twigs and lilies that very same day, too—they brightened up my desk and made the entire floor smell delicious for a whole week. So being pursued by Jake wasn’t nearly as horrible as being pursued by Bob.

Similarly, the girls in the office were taking great pleasure in my rejection of Jake the Rake. He had smashed so many hearts in this town
that he had become required, if twisted, entertainment, and those in the know were taking bets on when he’d call and what he’d offer next. Courtney, who was keeping the book, had even received a phone bet from one of our top actresses, who had fleetingly fooled around with Jake herself once upon a time. But it wasn’t as though I was callously stringing him along. The first time he’d called after our Sundance trip, I’d told him in no uncertain terms that he had misunderstood the relationship between Scott and me and that I was only Scott’s assistant. Oddly, what I thought would put Jake off for good simply managed to stoke his ardor. I think the gall of a lowly assistant’s turning the golden boy down was too much for Jake to bear, and he’d been thrown into a tailspin, wondering whether he was losing his touch.

Needless to say, after a few days of flowers and dinner offers, he upped the ante and invited me to the one thing Lara had told me not to turn down—Jake Hudson’s biggest premiere of the year. If not his lifetime. Two studios had joined forces and made one of the highest-budgeted films in history, exceeding $180 million. And apparently they’d gone over budget, which meant the real figures were probably closer to $200 million plus. Though the risk was split with a rival studio, Jake Hudson still had an enormous stake in the success of the film. A star was cast in every bit part, and the premiere was going to be
the
event of the year. Alarmingly, Jake was offering to degrade himself and forgo the arm of a supermodel or movie star to take me as his date. Being high-minded and moral, I immediately agreed to go. Lara assuaged my feelings of hypocrisy by reminding me that it was vital I went in order to prove to myself that I’d overcome my feelings for Luke Lloyd. My only concern had been that I might run into him there, but Lara quickly assured me that he was in France scouting locations for his next film. Yeah, more likely scouting some French actress’s underpants. So Jake got the answer he’d been hoping for, and I got a whole new set of insecurities about how difficult it might be to walk down a red carpet and whether I was tall enough and what dress I might wear.

When the day of the big night finally arrived, I was drafted into a meeting at the last minute to take notes and fetch coffee by Victoria, who I was sure was acutely aware of my plans, because every time someone made a move to leave the boardroom, she would splutter on about some bizarre, not-a-cat-in-hell’s-chance casting idea that she’d had that would make The Agency millions. The whole sorry meeting
had finally finished so late that I had to sprint from the elevator to my car and could have matched Michael Schumacher with the speed at which I took those ramps in the parking garage. But as I pulled up to the exit, I was delayed by Daniel, slowly getting into his Aston Martin. Unable to honk and yell, “Get the fuck out of my way, baldy!” I gave a strained smile in his direction and picked the peeling nail polish off my fingernails. At least that would save my having to do it when I got home.

Tall José was helping Daniel put a few brightly wrapped presents in his trunk when the other José came up to my window.

“How are you doing, Lizard?”

“Oh, hi, José. I’m pretty well. I have this big premiere tonight, and I’m running late as usual. How long does Daniel usually take to get going?”

“He’s a deliberate man, Lizard.
Hierba mala nunca muere
.” I tried my best to figure it out as José stood staring at Daniel with a steely look I’d never seen before on his gentle face.

“José, I have to admit that I haven’t had time to sign up for those Spanish classes I mentioned. Nothing dead? Is that what it means?” I tried to guess, and he patted my arm as he watched Daniel get into his car.

“The devil looks after himself.”

“Okay. I’ll remember that.”

“You better get moving, little Lizard, or you’ll be late for your big date.” Only when I’d emerged from the garage into the sunshine did I wonder: How did José know I had a date?

I was just sliding into Lara’s shoes when the buzzer rang. It was Jake, sounding very much like the man of the moment. He had a slight lilt in his voice, which always made you believe that at any moment he just might break into song. It was a charming characteristic that made people feel at ease with him, but to unsuspecting girls it was like the song of a man siren, as it had been to me just after the hockey puck, before I’d gotten wise.

“Lizzie, it’s Jake. I’ve come to whisk you off.” I gave myself one last check in the mirror, then ran down the stairs to find him outside my building, leaning against the black stretch limo looking like the kind of
man they don’t make anymore. Because despite all the terrible things I thought about Jake, you had to appreciate his style. He let out the best wolf whistle I’d ever heard and opened the door of the limo with an appreciative nod of his head.

“C’mon, darling. Don’t want to be late,” he called out. Then I had a distinctly joyful
Pretty Woman
moment as I ran toward the car. But my enthusiasm was just slightly dampened when I recalled that Julia Roberts had in fact been playing a prostitute.

“Hop in,” Jake said and theatrically held open the door for me. “You look great, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said and felt like, well, a movie star, I guess. I ducked under Jake’s arm as he stood looking up at my building for a moment too long.

“Everything okay?” I asked as I slid in against the black leather seats in Lara’s finest.

“Oh yeah.” He got into the car and closed the door. “Everything’s cool.” I inhaled the reassuring air of luxury. Jake sat on the other side of the seat and grinned at me and off we went.

“So this is fun,” I said, suddenly realizing that even though I knew a lot about
him
(all that I’d gleaned that afternoon on his deck for starters; that wasn’t even to mention the gossip I’d heard and the articles I’d read), he didn’t remember anything about me. So technically we didn’t really know each other very well at all.

“It sure is.” He stretched his long legs out and smiled languidly. “So Lizzie, what did you do before you came to Hollywood? You did say you’d been here about a year, right?”

“Wow, you remembered,” I teased. “I’m impressed.”

“Oh, come on,” he chided. “So what were you, like a heart surgeon or something smart and sexy?”

“Actually no. I worked in politics,” I said before I could engage my brain. Rather stupidly, it hadn’t occurred to me for a second that Jake might have recognized my apartment building, then looked at me and suddenly remembered the hockey puck and that we had dallied before. The reason this slipped my mind was that the man had had at least a hundred other clues as to who I was and had not picked up on any of them, so why would this one be any different? Why would he suddenly put two and two together now? Clearly, I had completely lost my own mind, or begun to massively underestimate Jake’s mind, because no
sooner had those words sailed from my lips than he looked very closely at me and squinted.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“Sure, I’m Lizzie,” I said goofily, thinking that this was just a cuteness of his.

“No, I mean we met before Sundance. Before the plane when you were looking really hot. Right?”

“Ah,” I said, finally getting the picture.

“I knew I’d been to that apartment building before,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Only when we met on the plane. With Scottie. You never mentioned that we’d already met, did you?” Jake actually looked deeply serious. Maybe even mad. Certainly he wasn’t smiling anymore. And he’d drawn his legs neatly into the seat.

“I don’t think I did mention it, no.” I looked up because, well, he was tall, and tried to gauge whether I was truly fucked.

“You should have.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Jake Hudson frowned at me. His blue eyes were flecked with yellow and surrounded by wonderful, warm creases. His nose belonged to a sculpture and in the magic hour, with the sinking sun behind him, he looked startlingly perfect.

“Yeah, I should have mentioned it. That was rude of me.” I lifted Lara’s beaded purse onto my lap and prepared myself to have to get out of the car and walk back home with my head hanging down. It served me right for countenancing the office sweepstakes and the betting and for allowing a decent, if fantastically lascivious, man to be used for sport.

“You’re fucking kidding, right?”

“What?” I lifted my shamed head and asked as Jake’s lips broke open to reveal his miraculous teeth.

“That is so fucking funny. You’re the hockey puck chick.” He laughed.

“I know,” I said, still in a state of shock.

“You were hot. I wondered what had happened to you. I called you, didn’t I?”

“I think you did, yes.”

“And you never fucking called me back.”

“Well, I heard things about you. I mean, I was going to, but then I saw you at a party and you didn’t recognize me and . . .”

“This is incredible. You were the hot hockey puck chick. I mean, you are. I love it.” Jake laughed loudly and then kissed me on the lips. Obviously, he figured he’d done the groundwork before. “Lizzie the hockey puck chick and me are going on a date to my premiere. You just blew my mind, darling. I love it.”

And not once in the entire forty-minute drive to the Universal Amphitheater did he try to grope me. Instead, I filled him in on my Hollywood career so far, which took all of one and a half minutes, and then we chatted the rest of the way about what a nightmare the movie had been to shoot and how the director had been kicked off the project halfway through. Apparently the first AD had taken over with the help of the DP and finished the film with the studio’s backing. They’d worked together through the editing process and saved the film. Unfortunately, no one was allowed to divulge this well-known secret as the director had legal rights and the studio could face a lawsuit if it let slip who was really responsible for the final work. As a result, the director would be there tonight smiling at the flashbulbs and taking all the credit for someone else’s labors. The more I learned about the movie business the less I felt I knew.