The First Assistant (10 page)

I glanced out the window. Shit. It was here, the bright blue chariot that would transport me to my new life—aka, a van that would spend the next

hour picking up strangers around LA, making a half-hour journey extend to two hours. But before I could even contemplate departure or the fact that my suitcase looked like the result of a controlled explosion, the phone started to ring. And suddenly I realized how much I wanted it to be Luke on the other end of the line. Calling with a perfectly reasonable explanation for the photo, like he’d met his long-lost identical twin in Prague. I raced to answer but as usual the cordless wasn’t in its cradle. I could hear the ring but couldn’t locate the source. Then the knocking started. In a panic I ran back to the door to tell the driver to hold his horses, but I was still in my underwear. I’m not an exhibitionist by nature, but Lara had reluctantly laid out the perfect outfit for international travel with a superstar when she’d dropped me at home last night and I’d had no intention of ruining it before I’d even stepped out of the house.

“I’m coming!” I yelled, hoping he could hear through the four inches of oak. Where was that damn phone? I had to find it before it stopped ringing and I lost my boyfriend forever.

I got down on all fours and stuck my head halfway under the sofa and stretched my arm into the mystery beneath. I’d just gotten my fingers around the handset when something sharp hit me in the face. I screamed and jumped back in stunned agony clutching my wound. I was bleeding. Then I saw Chucky fly past me and disappear into the bedroom. No. I wasn’t on any meds and it wasn’t a creepy red-haired doll wielding an ax. But not far off. Chucky was the name I’d given to Charles, Luke’s evil orange tabby after he’d taken his first pound of flesh the day I’d moved in with Luke. It was now clear that Chucky and I had never really recovered from that first encounter.

The cat had been a gift from Emanuelle when she and Luke had played house for a few months. And she’d happily told me at the premiere all about how they’d gone to the pound and saved the life of this
très petite chat
and how they’d fed him with a dropper. Apparently Charles had totally adored her. He had been their test child. I chose not to point out that she’d abandoned the cat. But since then I’d had an irrational ha-tred for Chucky spurred on by Luke’s absolute devotion to him. Every time Luke stroked him and made him purr, Chucky would suddenly be-come a dead ringer for Emanuelle, and I had to bite my lip as her juicy French pout nuzzled into my boyfriend’s lap.

As I felt around the scratch to see if he’d hit any main arteries, I realized that the phone had stopped ringing. Emanuelle had triumphed again. I got up, dropped the phone in the charger, and went to the mir-ror to examine the damage. I heard a last honk of the horn and resigned myself to paying the extra sixty dollars for a taxi. I didn’t have much choice as now I’d have to drop Chucky off at the kitty spa. I looked at my scratch and realized it was really a blessing in disguise. I’d completely forgotten Chucky existed. And would have been happily sipping Mai Tais in my five-star hotel in Thailand while Chucky died of starva-tion. Though it was a pleasant fantasy, I knew that a dead cat would be the proverbial nail-in-the-coffin of my relationship. Though I was running away, something deep inside of me was still waiting for that last-minute reprieve. Proof that Luke wasn’t a lying rat but the lovely dreamboat that I still believed in my heart he was.

The phone rang again and I looked to the sky certain there was a God. “Hello,” I answered in my sexiest voice possible

“Is Elizabeth Miller there, please?” I hated when he had the PA put through the calls. The least he could do was dial the number himself.

“It’s me. You can put him through.”

“Put who through?” asked a perplexed voice on the other line. “Luke! Listen, I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“This is Music Express.” Now it was my turn to be confused. “Who?”

“Your car service to take you to the airport. Our driver is running ten minutes late and we just wanted to apologize for the delay.” Though I wasn’t getting what I wanted, I was certainly getting what I needed. And I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“No problem. But since you’re late, would you mind terribly making a quick stop on the way?”

“Ms. Miller, it’s your car. You can stop as many times as you like.” Wow. I made a little mental note to see if The Agency could switch their car service.

“Oh. Okay. Well thanks. See you soon”—I was about to hang up— “wait! Sorry. Would you mind telling me who ordered the car?”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation. “Emerald’s Third Assistant.” I didn’t even know she had a second assistant, let alone a third. I

wondered where I fell in the ranks? I’d just assumed I was the one and only, but obviously there was an entourage. I would have been thrilled if my current experience with assistant’s assistants wasn’t proving to be such an unpleasant one. But I didn’t have time to think of my future, and if I’d taken the time I would have been launched into a deep, un-recoverable depression. So, best not to go there.

With a ten-minute reprieve, I pulled on the mushroom-colored Juicies and a cashmere hoodie and went in search of Chucky. I donned a thick plastic apron and rubber gloves—my armor—and laid out the baby blue Hermes kitty carrier, which had definitely been an Emanuelle hangover.

I discovered Chucky in my half-open stocking drawer maliciously shredding every pair of Wolfords and fishnet stockings I’d been careful enough not to run. I swear he even smiled when we made eye contact. Luckily when I dove to catch him he got his paw caught in a bit of fishnet that was hooked to the drawer handle. I successfully managed to shove him and my favorite twenty-dollar Agent Provocateur thigh-highs into the carrier.

As I slid onto the cool leather seat of the car, I let out an enormous sigh of relief. The driver and I both had to sit on my bag to get it zipped, but we’d triumphed, and all my belongings, including Chucky in his cat carrier, were safely stowed in the trunk. I’d never been so happy in my life to lock up a house and escape. There had been no call from Luke and every minute in that place without him made me feel more insecure. Maybe this little hiatus from my life was exactly what I needed. It wasn’t just my romantic prospects that I needed to revaluate but my professional ones as well. And though I wasn’t riding in the latest stretch Hummer or even a Mercedes Vito, it
was
a town car and as we all know the
only
town car is a Lincoln. Black with tinted windows and cushy black leather seats. And for once it felt ...I don’t know, appropriate. What I failed to realize was how many different ways I was going to have to pay for all the little perks that were about to come with my new life. My reverie was interrupted by the driver.

“Excuse me, miss. I don’t know much about cats, but is that sound coming from the trunk natural?” I tuned in and heard what sounded like a strangled wail coming from the trunk.

“Yup,” I replied. “He’s probably smelled some girl kitty in the hundred-mile radius.” Chucky wasn’t going to ruin my brief moment of relaxation before I was plunged into my new job.

“It sure is a noisy one,” the driver said.

“You should try sleeping through it. Sheer murder. Just turn up the radio. That’s what I usually do.” The driver smiled and did just that as we cruised down Sunset.

I was thankful that as we pulled up in front of the Beverly Hills Pet and Day Spa, Chucky had gone quiet. The last thing I needed was some braying cat that the nice receptionist would refuse to accept. If I got in and out of there in three minutes, I could still manage to get to the airport before Emerald. I knew how very important it was not to disappoint my new boss. So I dashed from the car, grabbed the cat carrier out of the back, and sprinted into the kennel.

“Hi. Elizabeth Miller. Dropping off Chucky.” The woman looked perplexed. “Sorry. Charles Lloyd,” I said. Her face lit up. Well, as much as her Botox would allow.

“Oh. You must be Emanuelle’s assistant.” She obviously didn’t see me blanch as she pressed on. “We haven’t seen Charles in ages. We’re just such big fans of Emanuelle’s. She’s so down-to-earth and so gorgeous. How is she, anyway?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” I said. The girl shook her head in anticipation. She was practically salivating. “It’s very sad. If she makes it through I know she’s planning on suing the plastic surgeon.” I sighed convincingly.

The girl practically squealed. “Plastic surgeon?”

“We’re just hoping she won’t be disfigured for life. But since the col-lagen implants moved from her lips into her cheek, it does look a bit like elephantitis. You know, really uneven.” I screwed up my face in a way that made it abundantly clear how poor Emanuelle was looking.

“Oh my God.” The girl put her hands to her face in horror. “And I thought her lips were real.”

I leaned toward her in a stage whisper. “Just between you and me, okay? You know since I am her assistant and I did sign a confidentiality agreement.”

The girl put her hand to her heart. “I promise I won’t say a word.” “Everything is fake!”

“Everything?” Her jaw was practically on the floor.

“Think Cher. Now I have to run. But take good care of Chu... Charles.” I gave her a wave and dashed off. I know I shouldn’t have, but it just felt so good. Anyway, it served Emanuelle right for lumbering me with her evil feline and stealing my boyfriend.

As we pulled into the terminal I looked at my ticket for the first time. “First class!” I yelped. I didn’t mean to brag but I was so shocked I had to say it out loud. The driver glanced into his rearview mirror and gave me a smile. I took this as an opening and shoved my ticket toward the front seat.

“Would you mind taking a look at my ticket? I know it sounds strange, but I think it says first class.” The driver grabbed the ticket with one hand.

“I can confirm that you’re flying first class, Ms. Miller.”

I took a deep breath and a grin spread from ear to ear. I had never flown first class on my own merit before, only as the guest of someone else. This was a momentous moment and thankfully I’d given some thought to my outifit as a T-shirt and my most comfortable pair of sweats definitely wouldn’t have done in first class.

I practically bounded from the car when we arrived. I was just so excited to walk up to that lone, empty desk. I knew the checkin lady would look at me like I was on drugs, certain that a girl my age would never be flying first class. I was relishing that moment of satisfaction when I handed her my ticket and she went from rude to deferential. This was going to be fun, after all, a real adventure. I knew now that I’d made the right decision. Well, the right decision had been made for me, but what difference did that make? I was here. My lovely driver carried my bags to the first class desk and I followed him like an eager puppy. I waved good-bye and thanked him profusely for his patience, and then I handed over my ticket and passport. To my great disappointment the woman didn’t even bat an eyelid. She smiled politely as she looked at my picture. Either I wasn’t looking as young as I thought I did or Lara had dressed me so artfully that I looked like I belonged. I was more inclined to go with the latter. When she saw my name on the passport, she breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“Miss Miller. Thank God you’re here.” I broke into an instant sweat as anxiety flooded my body.

“Did something happen to my family? Is Luke okay? Did I forget to turn off the gas at the house?” I just knew this wasn’t going to be a smooth ride. The checkin lady looked baffled for a brief second.

“As far as I know your family is alive and well. You’re Emerald Everhart’s assistant, right?” she asked.

I nodded dumbly.

“Well she’s waiting for you in the first class lounge. She’s been rather . . .” The woman trailed off nervously. “Let me just check you in
quickly.
” Now that didn’t sound good. My anxiety worsened when she tapped a colleague on the shoulder and they did one of those whisper-stare-whisper things. I felt like I had a wart on the tip of my nose.

Her colleague took my ticket and passport.

“Just come with me, Miss Miller. I’ll escort you to Miss Everhart. It’ll be quicker.” He picked up my carry-on and began sprinting toward the gate. I had no choice but to follow since he had my passport, wallet, and laptop.

“Excuse me, is there a problem with Emerald?” I called out as I jogged after him.

He stopped briefly and looked at me closely. “You’re not her usual assistant, are you?”

“No. I’m new,” I puffed.

He let out a nervous laugh, then carried on with his jog, practically knocking people out of the way like a prize running back. He’d hurry up to whomever he was trying to circumvent and I’d hear Emerald’s name and then like a flash I was through. We made it to the American Airlines lounge, when I suddenly got very cold feet. He opened the door and held it open expectantly. But I was rooted to the ground. This was my very last chance to escape.

“Ms. Miller, you really
have
to go in.” He looked as if he was on the verge of tears. And before I could turn tail and flee, I was grabbed by another concerned representative and dragged through the door. I thought to myself then and there that I really needed to be a bit more proactive with my life. I was in this situation because I’d allowed myself to be traded for a car.

The AA representative who was pulling me by the arm was dressed in an official flame-retardant suit. “Miss Miller. Thank God you’ve arrived. I’m Carol Powers, head of AA customer relations. This is a potential PR nightmare. We do everything in our power to guarantee the privacy of our customers, but there is just no way of being absolutely certain that a member of the press isn’t in our midst.” All the while she was dragging me closer to what sounded like an injured hyena.

“What is that noise?” I asked nervously. But as I rounded the corner, I discovered the answer for myself.

Emerald was standing on the bar in her Manolos and micro mini in the middle of performing a strip tease for twenty or so transfixed businessmen. “Is she drunk?” I stammered. Hoping—actually praying—that this was the case, because if this was her sober, God forbid she cracked a