The Second Assistant (32 page)

I had never been to the Universal City Walk, let alone to a movie venue of that size, and as the limo pulled up to the back of the arena, I started to feel my heartbeat under my red satin dress. Though I had seen premieres on
E!,
I just wasn’t prepared for the sheer magnitude of it all. Not only were there thousands of people waiting outside to get snapshots or merely catch a glimpse of a celebrity, but the noise they were making was almost deafening. A portion of the amphitheater seats (the nosebleeds, of course) had been sold to Joe Public, and the proceeds were being given to the star of the movie’s favorite charity. An enormous scoreboard blinking the name of the film and its stars in electric lights and a TV screen built for a stadium were hung high above the crowd for their amusement. The unrecognizable were ushered down the red carpet at top speed, like cattle being led to the slaughterhouse, as the photographers strained to snap the stars.

As we stepped from the limo, Jake put on his game face, and down the red carpet we went. No one was cheering for us, but you never
would have guessed it the way he waved to the crowd. The sheer audacity of it impressed me. Also, the way he sidled up to Julia as the bulbs were popping and planted a big one directly on her lips was pretty mind-boggling. But, just like any other girl, she seemed to enjoy it and kissed him back with similar effusiveness. The cameras had a field day—because although Jake wasn’t a movie star, he was very much part of the Pretty Posse, a clan of powerful yet cool young execs much beloved of the media. Any one of them could have been the captain of the football team in school or perhaps posed for their college calendar for charity. There were a few women involved, but, like most of the film industry, it was still male-dominated, one big fraternity house. They worked ceaselessly to build each other up and were now having quite a remarkable run, with four or five members firmly placed in pole position at studios, agencies, and production companies. They might not always be the brightest of buttons, but they’d chosen the winning team.

As Jake and Julia were exchanging flirtatious anecdotes, I stood a few feet away, like a coat you keep meaning to take to Goodwill. But I didn’t mind—it was all so buzzy. Young girls were screaming, and their faces dissolved into tears when Leo cruised by with a casual wave. I just watched in wonder as the roar exploded anew with the arrival of each actor. Suddenly I was grabbed by the hand and Jake was pulling me along past the fans. Obviously red-carpet time was over, and he had to move on to more serious meet-and-greet.

Once we were inside the amphitheater, the noise of the fans faded to a gentle din. Jake was smiling like the cat who ate the canary.

“God, Elizabeth, it gets me every time. I mean, it’s such a rush. I never quite get over it, and it happens a couple of times a month. All those people fucking cheering and screaming, just dying to be me.” His eyes were shining as he looked at me. “Doesn’t it make you horny?”

Even if I hadn’t been speechless, I wouldn’t have been able to say anything, because he pushed me against the wall in his euphoria and kissed me. Suddenly, in the exceptionally public environs of the Universal Amphitheater, I was kissing a man who made Heidi Fleiss look like the Virgin Mary. And despite his sweetness when he picked me up and our nice talk on the limo ride, he was still Jake Hudson, so I just wasn’t really that into it. I glanced over his shoulder, hoping to find
some excuse to escape, but what I found instead was an appalled glare. Luke Lloyd was back from France.

“Hello, Elizabeth.” Luke pointedly ignored Jake, who slapped him on the back as he quickly disengaged his tongue from my tonsils and wiped his mouth.

“Luke, buddy! How’s the picture going? I can’t wait to see the finished product.”

“The film is in the can. I just got back from scouting locations for my next project.” Luke continued this conversation without once taking his eyes off me.

“Yes. I heard you were very busy in France.” I couldn’t help but drive the final nail into the coffin of what had been my last hope for true love in Hollywood. Just in case the Jake kiss hadn’t done the trick already.

“Cool. Lucky you, those women in France are fierce. Weren’t you dating that actress? The really sexy one who was in that sci-fi movie last year? What was her name?”

“Emanuelle,” I replied with a sneer as Jake put his hand on my ass.

“Actually, Jake, we’ve split up. And I would have ended it sooner, but I’ve just never been a believer in ending relationships over the phone,” Luke said grumpily. Not that Jake seemed to notice the lack of humor settling like a black cloud over our friendly banter.

“Yeah, you’re right. Always easier not to end them at all. Eventually the gal gets the message.” Jake laughed, and Luke winced. “Well, Luke, good seeing you, and for fuck’s sake bring me your next project.”

Jake hooked his arm casually around my shoulder, and off we went. I longed to look back, but I knew that in order to preserve what little dignity I had left, I needed to tuck myself into Jake and walk the straight line. I held on for dear life in the rushing river of backslaps and handshakes that followed.

“You having some fun, Elizabeth?” Jake whispered in my ear as we walked up to the VIP seats, roped off for those directly involved in the film on strictly an above-the-line capacity.

“It’s great fun. Amazing,” I assured him as we found our seats. At last a chance to sit down and for the lights to go dark so I could rehash my encounter with Luke Lloyd. I had been so surprised to see him that I’d struggled to make sense of anything he said. My head was just starting to ache when we were accosted by an overenthusiastic publicist
heaping praise on Jake’s already overinflated ego. She gave Jake an extremely familiar kiss, and for the hundredth time that evening, I thanked God that forewarned was forearmed. Or I’d be in the bathroom by now in tears as my date spread himself very thinly among the womenfolk.

“Jake, sweetie, I made sure I’m sitting next to you,” she brayed in an English accent as she tossed back her badly bleached hair.

“Fabulous, darling,” Jake said absentmindedly.

She gave me the once-over and immediately dismissed me as unimportant. I knew that she was wondering what my secret was. How had a regular girl like me snagged Jake—and for the most coveted ticket of the year? I longed to be able to tell her that I had something that she didn’t—indifference.

Jake slipped off his jacket and placed it in his lap as I looked around at our seat positioning. I quickly realized that we were bang in the middle of the cast row, with everyone in the theater straining to get a look at the key players of the evening. In such a high-tech place as Hollywood, I loved the practically rustic methods used to assign seats. They’d just printed up a few sheets of copy paper with everyone’s name on them in boldface and Scotch-taped them to our places. It was the same for Cameron, Ben, Jen, et al. Such equality made my heart soar for a second. I also noticed that the infamous Tony was positioned just a few seats down from me, and I thanked my lucky stars, no pun intended, that he had never actually met me, or there might have been a ruckus.

As the lights went down, I settled into the picture. Which was nothing if not huge, with enormous explosions and great silences and a screen as broad as the Himalayas. Once he’d finished his complimentary popcorn and spun his ice cubes around in the bottom of his Coke cup, Jake leaned over and took my hand. And in the dark I just pretended it was Luke Lloyd, and during the daylight scenes I cast my eyes around the theater to see if I could glimpse the man himself. But before I could even study the backs of heads in the rows before me for tufty black hair, I was distracted by Jake’s strangely sporadic squeezing of my hand. At first I thought he was getting amorous, but then, when no amour or even acknowledgment of my presence was displayed, I decided it must have to do with scary or sad or even just plain huge
moments in the film. And the squeezes were Jake displaying inadvertent emotion. I observed the pattern.

During an endless monologue by a dying soldier, he grabbed my hand with such ferocity I thought he was having a heart attack. But he wasn’t. He was completely absorbed in the movie. Eyes front.

Then, during a breathtaking, sweepingly romantic scene, he began to press my fingers together with rhythmic intensity.

Gun battle. No squeezing.

Landscapes. His squeeze nearly caused my fingers to turn blue and drop off.

Sex scene. Nada.

Finally I came to the conclusion that Jake must really be a country boy at heart. I knew he was from Kansas, but to get excited at fields and cows was almost too sweet for words. My estimation of Jake was starting to rise ever so slightly from the depths of the gutter. After all, Luke Lloyd had never called me, or for that matter sent me flowers, and I had slept with him. Luke was the worst kind of Hollywood male—at least Jake was honest. Luke hid behind morals and ethics, yet he was the biggest liar and sleazebag of them all. But then, just as I was ready to switch allegiances and see the light, Jake’s head collapsed onto my shoulder. I thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, but when I looked down at him, he let out a long groan. And not the kind that’s inspired by a cheesy joke, sadly. This was a groan of satisfaction. And a loud one, too. Thankfully, it was drowned out by the bombing of Berlin, or the entire theater would have turned to check out the live action.

No, this was the kind of groan a man gives before . . . well, in this case before the badly blond publicist slides her hand out of his pants. I blinked incredulously as Jake turned and smiled broadly at me. The publicist just wiped her hand on the armrest of the theater seat before giving me a curt, victorious smile. Never again would I shake anyone’s hand with the same innocent enthusiasm. It was air kissing all the way from now on. The credits started to roll, and the audience rose for a standing ovation. His film was a success, and Jake Hudson’s meteoric rise was assured. Just not with me on his arm. And certainly not holding his hand.

As the lights went up, I winked at him and made excuses about escaping to the bathroom. As I launched myself toward the themed
buffet, I caught sight of Daniel Rosen pressing the flesh. As I was deliberating whether I could be bothered to go say hello before he saw me and thought I was ignoring him, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. It was Luke Lloyd.

“Hi.” He just stood there and stared.

“Hi,” I replied, unable to do much better.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“Why are you here with that guy?” He looked like a little baby who’d just spit out his pacifier.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your girlfriend?”

“I wanted to, but . . .”

I knew what came next. The inevitable apology and bullshit excuse that I was so desperate to hear. I wanted to forgive and forget, but my survival instinct took over before I could lay myself bare for more abuse. I put my hands up as a signal for him to stop.

“Never mind, Luke. It doesn’t really matter anymore. It’s none of my business.” He put a hand on my arm, and I moved back a step to break the connection.

“Fine, I understand if you don’t want to be with me. But don’t be with him. He’s scum. Goes through women like boxer shorts. I can’t stand to see you ruined by him.”

“Ruined? What is this, Luke, the eighteenth century? I can take care of myself.”

Luke bit his lip. “I know that much.” Then he smiled, and I couldn’t help it—I smiled back.

“Well, you said if it wasn’t going to be romantic, then it could be professional, and I loved that script you gave me.”

I wasn’t expecting this. “You what? You’re just saying that because you feel guilty.”

“No, I’m not. Because in the first place, I have nothing to feel guilty about. I also firmly believe that love is one thing and business is another. Okay? I don’t risk fifteen million dollars to say sorry.”

“Ever?”

“Never. So when can we meet to talk about the project? I’d love to meet the writer/director guy as well—his work is incredibly powerful. I think he’s a real talent. What’s his name, Jason Blum?”

“Yes.” I nodded enthusiastically. Suddenly Luke raised his hand and
waved at someone behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, and there was Daniel Rosen, within spitting distance. Just standing there. I was glad we hadn’t been discussing our “romance.”

“Hey, Luke. Call me tomorrow. I still want to discuss a few points on Mel’s deal,” Daniel said. Luke nodded agreement, and then Daniel turned to me. “Hello, Elizabeth, nice to see you out of the office. Have a good evening,” he said, then disappeared into the crowd.

Short José had been staring directly at Daniel when he’d mentioned the devil earlier. I turned back to Luke, who gave a shiver in the damp night air.

“That guy gives me the creeps,” I said, unable to hold back, per usual.

“Me, too,” he agreed with a smile. “So when can I see you? I mean, when can I have a meeting with you?” He was like a dog with a bone. And I couldn’t have been happier.

“How about Thursday? Morning, that is. At your office. In daylight.” I was a certifiable moron.

“Well, Lizzie, it is usually daylight in the morning.”

“Okay, I’ll call to arrange it. And now, before you change your mind or I say something horribly rude, I’m going to walk away.” I made a move to go.

“Alone?” He stumbled with his words. “I don’t . . . mean with me, but not with him . . . right?” He looked so crushed, and I knew that I should tease him for a little bit longer, make him feel I was worthy of pursuit, make him regret the existence of that stupid French tart. But I just couldn’t do it.