The Perils of Praline (21 page)

One of the henchmen looked at his notes. “Palmetier. Peter.”

“Why, that’s me.”

“You!” the henchmen said in unison. Then they riddled him with questions, “You work here?” “Who do you work for?” “How long have you worked here?”

Sid laughed. The henchmen laughed too, though more hesitantly since they didn’t know why they were laughing.

“He works here,” Sid said, and continued laughing.

“The entire staff has been looking for you,” one of the henchman said to Praline. His tone was disapproving, as though Praline had been deliberately hiding.

“We want to buy the rights to your life story!” Another said.

“Except, he works here,” Sid repeated. Not laughing anymore.

It took the henchmen a moment, before they went “Oh” in unison.

Sid looked at Praline and said, “You work here. It means we already own your life story.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you remember all the paperwork you signed when you got hired?”

It was only two days ago, so yes, Praline remembered it. “Uh-huh. There were about thirty-six pages of fine print. They didn’t give me time to read it all.”

“Which is the way we planned it. Basically, we own everything you do, everything that happens to you, and everything you think for your entire life, both before and after your time with the company.”

“You got all that for twelve dollars an hour?” asked a surprised Praline.

Sid narrowed his eyes
.
“Do you think we overpaid?”

“No, I think you got a steal.” He wondered if his mother might be right. Maybe he should prostitute himself. It paid a lot more and no one would own his thoughts.

“Fabulous!” Sid said happily, but then frowned. “You’re an assistant, though.” To the henchmen he said, “He’s an assistant. Ideas?”

The henchmen began panting nervously.

“Actually, I was an intern yesterday,” Praline explained. “I’ve already been promoted.”

“It’s no good,” Sid fell into deep thought. The henchmen tried to follow suit. “It’s a better story if you’re…”

The henchmen began guessing
,
“a policeman?” “
A
sailor?” “
A
presidential candidate?”

“An executive!” Sid said, when the light bulb went off.

“Ah,” said the henchmen.

“That’s better?” Praline asked.

“Absolutely. Intern by day, hooker by night. It doesn’t work because anyone can see why you’re doing it. You’re broke. Executive by day, hooker by night. That’s works. The audience is immediately curious. You don’t need the money, so why are you doing it?”

“Actually, it was afternoon and I didn’t know—”

“Please, the worst thing you can do to a bio-pic is ruin it with the truth.” Sid rubbed his chin. “Okay, so you’re promoted right here, right now. What’s your boss’s title?”

“Director, Internal Casting.”

“Great, you’re Director, Internal Casting.”

“Are you giving Ms. Harvey a promotion?”

“What for? Her life’s boring. No one wants to make a cable movie about it. Go downstairs and fire her, right this minute.”

Helplessly, Praline agreed and left the office while the henchmen sincerely said things like “brilliant,” “genius” and “amazing.”

On his way to the third floor, he worried about firing his boss. Even though Madison had been brusque all morning, he didn’t feel right about it, and not just because he was sure she’d get angry and resist the process. It just felt vaguely wrong.

Still, when he got back to their floor, he walked into her office.

“There you are!” she practically screamed. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I’ve been in Sid Gaffer’s office. Where you sent me.”

“For an hour and twenty minutes!?” She squinted her eyes and stared him down. “Listen
,
I’ve been thinking. This isn’t working out. You’re a terrible assistant. I’m going to have to let you go. I’d give you back the intern position, but I’m afraid there are just too many bad feelings.”

Praline had been feeling bad, but being fired made things a lot easier. He blurted, “Sid wants me to tell you that you’re fired.”

“What?”

“Sid wants me to tell—”

“I heard you. Get Sid on the phone!”

“I’m not your assistant anymore, you just fired me.”

“JASON!”

A moment later Jason popped into the office. “Get me Sid Gaffer on the phone!” Madison screamed at him.

“I’m the intern. I don’t place calls.”

“I fired him. You’re rehired.”

“Actually, I fired her and now I have her job,” Praline explained. “Would you like to be
my
assistant?”

“He gave you my job!” Madison screamed. “You’re taking my assistant!”

“You had sex with Sid Gaffer!?” Jason screamed.

“No, not
with
…”

Jason stared him down.

“Near is a better description,” Praline explained.

“Please don’t say anymore,” Jason said. He had a vivid enough imagination to get the picture. “You had sex
near
the Godfather of the Gay Mafia.”

Praline shrugged. “I tried not to, really. But you said he could put an end to my sex life and I couldn’t let that happen. And besides, he didn’t give me Madison’s job because we had sex. He gave it to me because it makes a better story.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Madison.

“They’re making a movie of my life and thought it would be better if I had an executive position, so Sid gave me yours. I asked if he was going to promote you. Honest, I did. But he said your life is boring.”

“My life is not boring! It’s not! I have a complicated and compelling relationship with my husband that would make an excellent movie for Pay TV.” Her eyes filled with tears, possibly because the weaknesses of her life story had been exposed for all to see. “My life could even be a series. It’s
that
interesting.”

Not knowing what else to say, Praline suggested, “Maybe at another network?” Madison threw a porcelain ball at him. He ducked.

“Would you like me to call security and have Ms. Harvey escorted from the building?” Jason whispered.

“Yes, please.”

After security led Madison from the building—the former executive clutching a box filled with her collection of balls, the occasional orb falling out and bouncing onto the floor—Jason settled himself in at his old desk and asked, “Do you know what happens now?”

Having worked as Madison’s assistant for less than three hours, Praline really had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. He shrugged.

“You’re a new hire
,
which means you’ll have to go down to personnel and sign an even longer and more confusing contract. I’ll make an appointment for you. Since you’re a director you’re entitled to have your office decorated to your taste. I’ll set up a meeting with one of the designers. Then, you’ll need to have lunch with all the producers we deal with. I’ll get those meetings set up. It will take a couple of weeks to work through them all. You’ll also need to have breakfast or at least cocktails with all the independent casting directors in town. I’ll set those meetings, too.”

“Wow, I’m going to be really busy,” Praline said.

“Yes, you are. I think I covered everything. Do you have any further instructions?” Jason asked.

Praline was about to say no
,
but then he remembered. “Actually, before you do any of that, could you call Dave G.’s agent and have them send Dave G. in for an interview.”

Jason frowned. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You haven’t taken the seminar on sexual harassment yet.”

“It’s okay. Sid explained all about sexual harassment.” And since he’d just gotten promoted, he didn’t see why he had to worry about it. There were now lots of less important people he could harass.

“I wouldn’t go by Sid. Basically, he sexually harassed you.”

“Of course he did. He had every right to.” Jason rolled his eyes in frustration and Praline told him, “Just make the appointment.”  

When it was time to leave for the day, Jason continued to be moody. As they rode the elevator down to the garage, Praline wanted to talk but he was afraid he’d bring up Dave G. and how excited he was that he’d actually be meeting him tomorrow. And that, of course, would only make Jason grumpier. But really, why was this any of Jason’s business? Was he jealous? He couldn’t be jealous. Jason could barely stand him. That was clear. Praline wished he would be jealous, though. At least a little.

They climbed into Jason’s Civic. “Are you mad at me?” Praline asked.

“No. Disappointed.”

Praline was about to ask him to explain, but as the Civic pulled out of the garage a throng of paparazzi swamped the car. Praline couldn’t believe it. Flashbulbs went off everywhere. Praline was half-blinded and could barely make out Harris Pilton towering over the crowd.

“Where did they come from?” Praline wondered.

“I don’t know, but we have to get out of here,” Jason said as he inched the economy car through the crowd.

Praline rolled his window down a bit so he could hear what they were saying. “Will you testify in Mr. Wright’s suit against drug company Burke?” “Was Malcolm Wright sneezing during his encounter with you?” “Do you work through an escort service?” “Would you like to?” Praline buzzed the window back up.

Once Jason got the car onto the street, the flock of paparazzi dispersed and ran to their SUVs. He floored it. Pulling onto Keaton Boulevard, it wasn’t more than a few minutes before there was a line of paparazzi SUVs trailing behind them. Unfortunately, the Honda Civic was not the ideal car to outrun the paparazzi, having been built for those interested in thrift and low environmental impact; if one plans to outrun the paparazzi, or for that matter rival gang members, the Cadillac Escalade was the vehicle of choice.

Weaving down the street, Jason headed toward the freeway. Praline asked, “Why are you going this way? Don’t you live in the other direction?”

“I don’t want them to know where I live. If they know, they’ll never leave us alone.”

Deftly, Jason turned up the on-ramp, sped to the top and immediately came to a halt. Conducting a car chase during rush hour was one of the more challenging aspects of living in L.A. Jason looked into the rearview mirror to see a row of paparazzi SUVs lined up behind them. He noticed the photographer in the black Tahoe immediately behind him climbing out
,
camera in hand, so Jason pulled the Civic onto the freeway shoulder and sped away.

Behind them, the photographer jumped back into his SUV and followed them onto the shoulder. Moments later, he was just a few feet behind them. Unfortunately, the berm narrowed to economy car size and the SUV crashed through the over-worked guardrail
,
flipping end over end into someone’s backyard.

 “Oh my gosh!” exclaimed Praline, but he breathed a sigh of relief as he caught a glimpse of the two passengers jumping safely out of the vehicle. While he wished they’d go away and leave him alone
,
death was not required.

Speeding by the stalled freeway traffic, Jason saw that other drivers had decided to use the shoulder to leap frog forward despite the obvious risks, thus blocking the progress of the paparazzi. “I think we’ve lost them,” he told Praline.

An off ramp came into view and Jason aimed the Civic at it. He stepped on the gas and the little car burped forward. Praline held tight. Suddenly and without warning, a huge decades-old Oldsmobile decided to give the shoulder a try and pulled out in front of them. There were few choices: hit the Oldsmobile, hit the car in the lane to the left of them, or catapult off the berm into who knows what. The Civic catapulted—

Robin Palmetier books a spot on Dr. Jill.

—through a billboard for the new healthier offerings at McQuickie’s. The Civic then landed hard and loud in a Taco-Taco parking lot. The moment it hit the pavement the airbags went off, pinning Praline and Jason to their seats. When the airbags deflated they turned and looked at each other.

Readjusting his nose,
Praline
asked a rather obvious question. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just let them take my picture?”

“Sure, but how many more headlines do you want to see calling you a prostitute?” Jason seemed angrier about the whole thing than Praline, and something about that was appealing to our slowly maturing hero.

Maybe it was the excitement of the chase, or the danger of the crash, or just the way the light caught Jason’s cocoa-colored eyes, but whatever it was, Praline spontaneously grabbed Jason and kissed him. For an incredible moment Jason kissed him back. But then seemed to come to his senses and pulled away.

“What’s the matter?” Praline asked.

“You’re in love with Dave G.”

“I know. But he’s not here.”

“I’m not a seat warmer,” Jason said.

“Seat warmer?”

“At award shows, the people who sit in the actors’ seats while they’re presenting awards. I’m not a seat warmer.”

“Are you saying you want to be an actor?”

“No, I’m saying you’re in love with someone else, so leave me alone.”

Jason restarted the Civic and aimed it out of the parking lot. Despite the distressing sounds it made, the car was apparently drive-able and they headed back to Jason’s apartment paparazzi-free.

On the way, Praline couldn’t help but think about Jason. Despite the judgmental attitude and the constant criticism, he’d been a good friend. And Praline did still want to sleep with him. Kind of a lot, actually. He was, well, if not cute exactly, definitely interesting. Praline had grown to really like his nose, which was too large for his face yet somehow sexy. And the thing with the hair everywhere on his body, Praline had no idea why that was sexy, but it was.

On the other hand, as Jason pointed out
,
he was in love with Dave G. And who wouldn’t be? Dave G. was perfect, his face symmetrical, his nose exactly the right size, his chin square and strong, his eyes balanced and exact mirrors of each other. Dave G. was extremely photogenic. And in today’s world, while it was nice to be interesting
,
or even sort of sexy, it was much better to be photogenic. The fact that Dave G. and Praline were both photogenic was one of many reasons they belonged together. Relationships just didn’t work if you
had
nothing important in common. For that reason alone, whatever he thought about Jason it could only be…well, temporary.