The First Assistant (27 page)

“Why?” I asked, noting the difference between the life of a First Assistant and that of a newly celebrated director. And to think we used to share the same sofa every night of the week and I cooked chicken dinners for him and we were, to all intents and purposes, each other’s other halves without the sex.

“Her hairspray was cracking in the wind.” Jason laughed so hard he al-most forgot to turn off onto the freeway. I was glad that success had made him loosen up a bit. He used to be so earnest it hurt. These days, now that he was fulfilling his creative urges (not to mention his carnal ones) instead of frothing milk at the Coffee Bean, he was altogether more fun.

“No way.” I laughed. “So what happened?”

“I had to take her home ’cause she was in tears.”

“Okay, well then maybe I can see why you would be fed up with actresses,” I agreed.

The “bird streets” are a bunch of winding roads that are vertiginously perched above Sunset Strip with views from the Los Angeles Basin to Downtown to Malibu. They have names like Swallow, Flicker, and Nightingale. Everyone lives here. By everyone I mean Tobey Maguire, Courteney Cox, Keanu Reeves, Leonardo DiCaprio. And now of course, Jason Blum. They were pretty houses, surprisingly close together for privacy-hungry stars, and the most expensive real estate in the city.

Jason and I climbed effortlessly up the streets in his Porsche and talked about his next project. He asked me if I’d like to produce for him again and of course I agreed. He was thinking of something on a larger scale, more epic, possibly about war. I couldn’t argue with that. It seemed to be what male directors who were shown a glimpse of an award did—made movies about war and disaffected heroes.

When we arrived at the house the real estate agent was waiting in the driveway in a bigger, shinier car than even Jason’s. He got out and shook our hands in a bone-crunching fashion that I assumed had died

out in the nineties. He had parked across the driveway to stop the electronic gates from closing.

“Hey guys,” he said with cheery casualness. “I’m Ivan.”

“Jason. And this is my friend and business partner, Elizabeth,” Jason said as he looked up at the house. The ultimate in Los Angeles real es-tate with its white front and imposing black doorway.

“You’re loving it already, right?” Ivan laughed at the look on Jason’s face. “Well just you wait until you see inside.”

“So how long has it been on the market?” Jason asked as we were let in by a pretty maid: No Mrs. Mendes for this house with her nanny goat’s beard and furrowed brow, I noticed, only the most aesthetically pleasing décor.

“It was bought by a couple six months ago, but they made the reno-vations, changed their minds, and never moved in.” Ivan shrugged. Then, as if by way of explanation, whispered, “Internet software.”

“I see,” Jason said as we walked through the stark white hallway into the living room. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in sight, just acres of glaring white space. Ivan led us up some stairs to a landing from which we could see corridors leading off to the master suite, the never-ending kitchen, and outside to the pool, and then the part I guessed you’d be paying your millions for—the view. Jason and I stood transfixed and I thought back to the day, almost two years ago, when I’d just moved to town, and my new friend Jason, whom I wasn’t sure if I had the hots for or not, decided to take me hiking in the Canyons. I guess this was one of the houses we’d have seen that day. One of those that Jason had looked down on and pointed out as a future home. I had, of course, no such ambitions then, I was very happy with my studio apartment in Venice, which was probably the reason I wasn’t buying a place for several million dollars today. As Somerset Maugham famously said, “It’s a funny thing about life, if you refuse to ac-cept anything but the best, you very often get it.” I guess that was the difference between me and Jason. Not that I was complaining.

“Do you really think you might buy it?” I whispered, although it was impossible to whisper in here without it carrying around like an echo chamber.

“Yeah, I think I will,” Jason said as we wandered around the master suite with its bathtub that you could see for miles from.

“Imagine bathing in that every day,” I said to Jason.

“It’d be great for the soul,” Jason agreed. I was sure that it was possible to do good things for the soul without having to spend a trillion dollars, but I guess a leg up the ladder to a higher plane wouldn’t hurt.

“Maybe that’s why the Dalai Lama comes from the mountains of Ti-bet,” I said.

“Could be.” Jason wasn’t really looking at the view anymore, though. I noticed that as I’d been touching marble work surfaces and staring off at the horizon, he’d begun to look at me. His eyes were following me around the room. In fact, if I thought about it, he’d been looking at me more intently today then ever before. Perhaps it was the dark circles under my eyes that made me look as if I were suffering and conse-quently poetic. It certainly wasn’t my sundress, which I’d worn a million times before with him.

“That dress reminds me of that day we went to Neptune’s Net in Malibu and we ate cheap lobster and got drunk on the beach,” he said wistfully. I almost jumped out the window. Could Jason be psychic? Or was it the inspiring view?

“Really?” I squeaked. Oh God, Jason didn’t get a crush on me, did he? Of course he didn’t. Jason liked girls over five-foot-ten who could wear a bikini in public without the need for a sarong. Perfect girls.

“Yeah. Do you remember that night?” he asked when the realtor was asking the maid all sorts of questions about the AC and the pool pump and what her telephone number was.

“Yeah, I do,” I said. “I can cast my mind back to Neptune’s Net. No pun intended.” At which Jason gave his new, wonderfully free laugh. In fact his laugh was so infectious and natural that even I, oh cynical one, was momentarily won over.

“God, Lizzie, do you know how long it’s been since a girl made me laugh?” He shook his head.

“Actually, Jason, it wasn’t really very funny.” I was faintly embarrassed.

Thankfully we were saved from certain mortification when Ivan came back in the room.

“Well, guys, how are you finding everything?” he asked, fiddling with his cell phone. Clearly our time was almost up.

“Great!” Jason said.

“Good, because if you don’t mind I have to make an appointment in the Colony, but Lucia will let you out when you’re done.” Ivan twitched.

“Oh, okay.” Jason stood up to shake Ivan’s hand.

“I’ll call you later to see what your feelings are,” Ivan said, backing away toward the main hallway. He threw me a hasty wave and I smiled back and shrugged my shoulders.

“Bye, Ivan. Thanks!” I called out as he disappeared down the stairs. “What would we do if we lived here, Lizzie?” Jason asked as we heard the front door close and the supernatural haze of the afternoon sun

poured over the valley.

Wow, I thought carefully for a moment, what would I do if I lived here? “Well, I guess I’d swim in the morning as soon as the sun came up; I’d have an office overlooking Sunset and I’d make a few calls for work, for my production company.” I laughed. “I’d drink delicious cof-fee and read the papers.”

“What about children?” Jason asked as he came and sat beside me on the side of the bathtub, which was the best view I could find.

“Children?” I repeated. I looked at Jason for signs of irony, but he was on his own fantasy so I went along with him. “Well, they’d be named Grace and Frodo.”

“Frodo?” Jason sat back with surprise. “I like Frodo. It’s sweet.”

“It’s a hobbit.”

“Are you going to argue with me?” I asked, with a grin. “When I’ve gone to all that trouble to give birth and lose my figure?”

“I guess it would be pretty harsh.” Jason laughed.

“Right, so then in the afternoon I’d take Grace and Frodo for a walk in the Canyon with Lara and then we’d come home and make dinner for Daddy.”

“Daddy?” Jason pointed a finger at himself questioningly. I nodded. “Well, it is
your
house, and you asked about
our
lives, so I guess you’d

be the daddy,” I consented with a giggle.

“And then what?” Jason asked, riveted by our game.

“Then it’d be bath time so we’d come up here and everyone would get in the bath and we’d have big towels and put on pyjamas and when Grace and Frodo were finally asleep Mommy and Daddy would go downstairs

and have a glass of wine, a bowl of pasta, and a talk about the fascinating movies we were making.” I finished. Jason didn’t reply. “Right?” I turned to him and smiled, but Jason was just looking at me now.

“That’s so cool, Lizzie,” he said with a glazed look in his eyes. “That’s the life I want.”

“That’s the life we all want,” I said pragmatically, getting up from the side of the bath but losing my balance when my foot slipped on the mat. The next thing I knew I had fallen backward into the deepest bathtub ever made and was as stuck as a beached whale.

“Help,” I demanded. Jason was watching me, laughing that laugh again. I stopped struggling to get out and looked at him for a second. He was cute with the afternoon sun burnishing his hair and giving him a halo of light. And as he reached out and took my hand I had a feeling I’d never experienced in his company before. I understood why all those women fell for him. He was natural and charismatic and smart. And we loved each other like brother and sister, right? I asked myself.

Well, it seems we used to, but in that instant when he reached down and pulled me up it was as if all our friendship and shared memories and nights collapsing drunk into bed together were ignited by the conversation we’d just had. By the idea that Jason and I were as natural together and as right as anyone I’d ever met. I felt safe with Jason as he pulled me out of the tub, as if he wouldn’t let me fall and would never do anything to hurt me.

“Thanks,” I said quietly as I found myself inches from his face. “You’re welcome.” Jason didn’t take his gaze away from mine. And the

next thing I knew, we were kissing.

I don’t know who made the first move, for all I know it was both of us. At the exact same second. All I know was that a few minutes later I was kissing Jason. My lips were on his and I could feel his cheeks, his hair, and his body in a way that I’d never felt them before. This was such a new experience, to be doing this with Jason, that it sort of blew my mind. Well, it must have tripped some switch in my brain, because twenty minutes later I was in my underwear, in the empty bath, having the most athletic, fun sex I’d ever had in my life.

With Jason Blum.

Sixteen

Half the people in Hollywood are dying to be discovered and the other half are afraid they will be.

—Lionel Barrymore

“Scott Wagner’s office,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Maybe it was the weather, but as I jotted down the details from the mechanic on all the things that needed to be repaired on Lara’s new Porsche Cayenne, I realized I was feeling slightly depressed. As I looked out the window at the sheets of rain beating against the glass it occurred to me that it wasn’t the steady deluge that was getting me down but the climate shift in my office. Since my return from Thailand, fall had taken hold of my desk and the color was pure Amber.

The police hadn’t reappeared and no one had mentioned blackmail or missing photos, but something just wasn’t right. The Agency was now rife with gossip and speculation about the missing files and every day it was rumored that another star was being threatened with having his/her ass/breasts or gay/adulterous incriminating shots posted to the press if he/she didn’t come up with several million dollars. I’d been meaning to talk to Scott about it, but every time I tried he shrugged me off with irritation. And to make matters worse, I’d been unofficially demoted by Am-ber, who had Scott eating out of the palm of her hand, and I had no idea how to get my old job back.

The situation was impossible because no matter how hard I plotted and schemed, I couldn’t find a single concrete reason why Amber should be fired. Besides being a slippery reptile, which certainly didn’t qualify as grounds for dismissal in this town, she hadn’t done anything wrong. To all intents and purposes, she’d done everything right. She

was much more organized than I’d ever been, hence my feeling of alien-ation when I returned and couldn’t find a single thing in my office. She’d devised some new filing system that was clearly only decipher-able to English girls with classics degrees. Or more likely she’d devised some enigma code for the filing system that would take the offspring of Steven Hawking to figure out, in order to move me one step farther away from steady employment.

The long and short of it being that every time Scott asked me to get something from the files, I couldn’t find it and had to ask Amber, who then happily bypassed me and pranced into Scott’s office telling me to relax and put my feet up. As a result Scott didn’t bother to ask me anymore. He just went directly to her. But as my salary was still the same and my job title intact I couldn’t really complain to Scott or Human Resources. I realized as the lightning struck dangerously close to the building that the only way to tackle the situation was head-on. That meant I needed to confront Amber directly, taking the power back that I had involuntarily surrendered during my foray to the Far East.

But there was a slight problem with this brilliant plan. I just wasn’t born with a confrontational bone in my body. Lara had sweetly, or perhaps in dire self-interest, tried to talk to Scott about Amber, but Scott just waved her off, attributing her comments to too much time spent alone with the baby. Lara had quickly retreated, terrified of alienating him lest she end up driving him into the arms of his assistant. Amber was clearly up for it and history did have a way of repeating itself in Hollywood, hence all the remakes. So I was on my own this time. What was the best approach? Should I take Amber to lunch? Should I wait until next week when Scott was in New York again? I instinctively reached for the phone to call Luke for some emotional support and moral guidance, but as quickly as the desire hit me, the reality hit me harder. Luke wasn’t waiting on the other end of the phone willing to lis-ten to my silly assistant dramas anymore. He was probably having the time of his life dating women who looked like Heidi Klum, spoke seven languages, and played Chopin on the piano.