The Second Assistant (37 page)

“I’m at this great spa. Shame you have to work, or you could come join me.”

“Okay, don’t rub it in, buddy,” I warned. “I just called to say thank you for sending that e-mail to Scott. It was really good of you.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to fuck you over and not redeem myself.” I could hear rushing water in the background and the strains of a woman’s laughter. “ ’Cause I’ve seen what happens to people who screw with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at Daniel Rosen. He does one tiny deal behind your back, and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse come to seek vengeance against him on your behalf.” Jason laughed.

“You’re so dramatic, Jason.” I shook my head and sighed. “But I like it.”

“So what’s going to happen to you in the shake-up?” Jason asked while multitasking in some indiscernible way. But I knew distraction when I heard it at the other end of the phone.

“I guess nothing. I mean, I’ll move to the fourth floor. Scott will be president, and things will carry on pretty much as normal. Don’t you think?” I hadn’t really had time to assimilate the events of the day, let alone predict what might become of us all. Although Courtney as a junior agent was pretty encouraging—if she got a promotion, then there was always hope for me.

“Are you crazy, Lizzie?” Jason said. “I sent that e-mail to give Scott a heads-up on how great you are. Also he has to appreciate that thanks to you The Agency now has an extra three million dollars’ worth of business, and . . . well, I hate to sound conceited, but according to
Entertainment Weekly,
today I am one of the hottest properties in young Hollywood. I am a Spielberg of the future. So he should be grateful to you that he has my business.”

“Jason, you are so far up your own ass already.” I laughed. “Does it really say that in
Entertainment Weekly,
by the way?”

“Oh, and much more besides. Let me tell you, I am what they call a prestige client. The fact that I went with Scott and not Daniel in this takeover will mean that The Agency is now seen as the hot, in place to be. Others will follow.” Jason laughed loudly. I sort of knew that he was telling the truth.

“Okay, well, since you’re such a rock star, you better go and make out with a chick in a hot tub or something,” I told him. “I’ll call you later so you can slum it and say in interviews how you still keep in touch with your old friends and haven’t changed a bit.”

“Darling, I’ll take you to L’Orangerie for the best chocolate soufflé you’ve ever tasted,” he said. “Warm love coming from the West, okay?”

“Okay,” I said as Jason hung up. I had a feeling that in the future Jason might become my most amusing friend. Already the scratchy sweaters had gone, he was suddenly cognizant of every sleazy Hollywood phrase and expensive restaurant, and I suspected that he was not multitasking alone in the Jacuzzi. He’d always been sweet and easy to be around, but rich, famous, powerful, successful, Academy Award–nominated Jason was going to be too much fun to miss.

I clicked onto the
Hollywood Reporter
online to see whether there was any breaking news on our takeover. Clearly, the embargo on information was still in effect, because there wasn’t a hint anywhere. I knew, though, that it would be huge news in the industry. It was also the sort of piece that
Vanity Fair
would write a feature on one day. They’d make it seem like a den of vipers and then talk about the constellations of stars we managed and whose loyalties had lain where and what carnage of egos had ensued.

I thought back on my part in these historic occurrences. Really, I’d been as clueless about this takeover as I had about so many other things in my time here. Though I suspected that if I were ever in the same situation again, knowing all that I know now, I would be a much more savvy operator. Certainly the likes of Ryan would never be able to get one past me again. Especially if I found him with his head in my boss’s filing cabinet. Next time I’d just close it on him. I even felt that I could handle an abusive harpy like Victoria if one ever happened to cross my path in the future. Also, after seeing the merit in
Sex Addicts in Love,
I felt more confident of my ability to spot good material.

I looked at my computer clock—half an hour to go until we all had to report to the boardroom. I was looking forward to seeing Katherine and Scott, the new captains of our ship, deliver their news. I wondered whether Scott would have shaved.

I decided to go and get a Diet Coke from the kitchen. Now that Daniel wasn’t here, we could all rebel and fill the fridge with cans of soda whose labels didn’t face outward. But as I stood up, my phone rang.

“Lizzie.”

“Scott?”

“How you doing down there, Lizzie-o?”

I was flattered that in the midst of what was doubtless chaos, he found time to remember me.

“I’d love it if you could come up here and tune in my plasma for me,” he said. I might have known that he wouldn’t think to fill in his second assistant—who he wasn’t fucking—on developments.

“Sure. I’ll be up in a minute. Where are you, exactly?”

“My new office.”

I loved how Scott was so instinctively a survivor. He wouldn’t have dreamed of saying he was in Daniel’s
old
office. That would have been
to acknowledge that Daniel had once worked here. But under the new order, Daniel might as well have never existed. You had to be ruthless to get ahead in this Mickey Mouse industry.

“I’ll be there,” I said, reading between the lines and assuming that it was Daniel’s old office. Though I’d be billyclubbed by the thought police for even having that cross my mind.

On my way through the lobby, I caught sight of a diminutive figure with a balding head standing outside with the pack of journalists. At first I wasn’t sure if my eyes were deceiving me. It looked like Daniel. I took a slight detour via the vase of flowers on the reception desk so that I could get a better look through the glass doors. And, curiously enough, it
was
Daniel. He was speaking into a boom in front of a TV camera. Talking animatedly. I knew that it would all be a lot of horseshit about amicable partings and wanting to explore new frontiers. Only today he looked smaller and older. I suppose he was just stripped of his power. The suit was the same, and the smooth attitude was the same—he just looked very ordinary. I was overcome with the urge to bounce peanuts off his shiny pate, but, fortunately for him, I was all out of bar snacks, so I went on my merry way to Scott’s new floor. The king was dead, long live the king.

As I rode the elevator up, I wondered what Scott had in store for me. Except to get me to tune his plasma, of course. Could Jason be right? Might I be in line for some new challenge at The Agency? I mean, I wasn’t expecting anything, but it would be nice to have some sort of recompense for what I’d lost out on when Jason screwed me.

“Lizzie, come in.”

As I stepped out of the shining elevator doors onto the fourth floor, Scott was standing in his office down the hall. All Daniel’s country-house antiques were gone, and in place of the Stubbs paintings and the red, leather-bound rows of books on the library shelves were a Space Invaders machine, a jukebox, and Scott’s multiplex-size entertainment center.

“Whaddayathink?”

“I think it’s going to be great,” I said truthfully, walking past a row of small glass offices and wondering who’d be filling them. At the other end of the corridor, I noticed Katherine dressed in heavenly shades of caramel arranging an orchid on her desk. Her room was literally deluged with congratulatory bunches of flowers. On the back of her
promotion alone, the stock price on lilies must have skyrocketed. I suspected that together these two were going to be a pretty dynamic duo, and I genuinely looked forward to working under them—in some capacity.

“Come on down!” Scott yelled along the hallway. “It’s in here. It’s kinda fuzzy.”

“Don’t you have an electrician or someone who can do that for you?” I asked as I approached a bunch of wires hanging out of the back of the screen.

“I don’t trust anyone like I trust you,” he said as he tested his chair wheels out across the new long-length floor of his office. On parquet flooring. For the thrill of whizzing on his chair across his new office alone, I was sure that Scott’s hostile takeover had been worth it.

“Congratulations, by the way,” I said as I flicked his aerial until the screen was as clear as day. “I mean, I don’t know the full details of the takeover, but the changes all seem to be good.”

Scott moved his chair back into its rightful place behind his desk. Then he folded his hands and rested them on the familiar cherry wood in front of him. “Can you close the door, Elizabeth?” he suddenly said as he transformed himself into the head of this insanely powerful Hollywood company. I did as I was told. “Take a seat,” he told me.

“Thanks.” This felt a bit too reminiscent of my firing episode. I pulled up a chair and sat down.

“See, here’s the thing, Elizabeth.” He paused momentarily. “Here at The Agency, we really appreciate what you do.”

“I’m glad.”

“I got Jason Blum’s e-mail this morning, and it’s because of you that we as a company now have this great opportunity to work with an exciting new director.”

“Well . . .” I said modestly, “I’m not sure about that.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” His voice rang out around the half-furnished room. “You have taste. You have judgment. And in a couple of years’ time, we’re going to be looking a couple of those Academy Awards in the eye, thanks to your ability to spot a good thing when you see it.”

“Oh, Scott, really, I think that may be a little premature,” I said. “But thank you.” I didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his praise.

“Plus, we’re going to make a fair amount of cash on Jason Blum’s career, I’ll bet.”

“Well, yes, that’s probably true.”

“And you know me, Lizzie, I’m a fair guy.” He laughed. “Most of the time.”

“Well, you haven’t hit me with a deck of cards yet, so I’d say that’s pretty fair.” I shrugged and smiled. Embarrassingly, he didn’t laugh at this. He simply continued as if I’d never spoken.

“I’m a fair guy, and I believe in rewarding the loyalty of my employees. Now,
you,
Lizzie”—he pointed at me the way a sports coach might point at his star player—“you are something else. You’ve put your ass on the line for me. You’ve been a good friend to Lara, which I know only too well isn’t a piece of pie. You’ve worked hard and brought in new talent. And I don’t know how you came to work for me in the first place”—I wasn’t going to put my hand up at this point and tell him that it was Daniel’s doing—“but I am glad that fate brought you to my door.” He paused for a moment. Go, Scottie, I thought breathlessly.

“I’m glad I got the opportunity to work for you, too,” I assured him.

“I guess what I really want to say is that I believe in rewarding greatness. So I have an offer to make to you, Lizzie.” He sat up in his seat and beamed at me expectantly.

“You do?” My toes were fizzing with anticipation. A million thoughts raced through my mind, but, like swirling snowflakes, none of them settled.

“I do.” He leaned forward and looked me in the eye. I sat up straight in preparation for what he had to ask me.

“I also like you, Lizzie. You’re a great kid. You have a level head. You’re easy on the eye.” He winked. That would go down well with Human Resources, I thought.

“Lizzie?”

“Yes, Scott?”

“Lizzie, as you know, there’s going to be a vacancy in this office as of today.”

“Yes?”

“And I would really, truly love it if you’d agree to come and work for me.”

I held my breath and blinked. “Yes?”

“As my first assistant.”

We would like to thank some special people who have helped to bring this book into being.

The Blonde, our éminence grise. You are a genius, a loyal friend, and the wildest, greatest girl in the world.

Barney Cordell, with loving thanks—for your poker expertise and all the other things you do so brilliantly.

Emma Parry, who miraculously manages to be Rumpole of the Bailey, Don King, and Mother Hen all at once. We’re so happy we found you.

Molly Stern, for your vision, enthusiasm, and generous ministrations.

Jon Levin, who is one of a rare breed—a dedicated agent and a lovely man.

Kamin Mohammadi, for your encouragement and for always laughing in the right places.

Meg Davidson, for your kitchen table, unerring hospitality, and the chats.

Marcie Hartley, for the joy with which you allow us to invade your life every time we descend on L.A.

Jason Blum, our favorite producer and greatest friend, who would never be seen dead in a yak wool sweater. Thanks for all that warm love from the West.

Lloyd Levin, unbeknownst to you a lot of this originated in your den. We promise to replace the Pop Tarts.

Richard Charkin, for the cocktails. We trust the adoption papers are in the mail.

Simon Amies, for your round-the-clock support and encouragement—even when you didn’t feel like giving it.

And thanks to all our friends, who put up with the panics and the flakiness with good grace and are always there when we need a margarita.