The First Assistant (13 page)

“Do you have Absolute Citron?” I ventured, determined to get some sort of numbing agent down my throat as quickly as possible. I had nothing against the female anatomy, but I was no Eve Ensler. I’d just

never been the kind of girl who had any interest in looking at my private parts up close with my dressing-table mirror. I think it was the first time in my life that I’d cursed my twenty-twenty vision.

The bartender waved an Absolute bottle in front of my face and I practically grabbed the whole thing.

“Shots, please. Two.” I turned to Emerald. “Em, let’s just do these shots and get out of here. There’s supposed to be some great cigar bar on the other main drag.” But Emerald wasn’t listening to me. She was busy craning her neck toward the other side of the bar. My testosterone alert had obviously rusted into oblivion, because there, standing ten feet above everyone else, was the basketball player from the plane. And who was smiling at his side looking as handsome as ever but Jake Hudson.

“Make it
four
shots, please!” I yelped. At that moment I needed alcohol more than Betty Ford could have ever imagined. I managed to get two of the shots down before Emerald even turned around.

“Oh my God! That’s Freddie Murray!” She noticed my blank stare. “The center for the Lakers?” Then suddenly she started to flip her hair in a manner that looked almost painful. I made a mental note to book a massage for her on our arrival in Phuket. And “Oh my God. That’s Jake Hudson!” she said excitedly. She mistook my look of repulsion for lack of recognition and I had no intention of correcting her. “Lizzie. He’s like the head of the studio that’s doing my movie! And he’s fucking
hot.
”

Before I could pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and run from the bar, she was tapping Jake on the shoulder. I tugged on my dress self-consciously, but every time I gave the skirt a yank, the top came dangerously close to disappearing.

I couldn’t exactly hear what she was saying, but she was doing a lot of pointing in my direction and gesticulating. Though the world is a big place, Hollywood is a very small one. Jake looked up and our eyes met. He gave me a respectful little nod. But then his eyes drifted quickly to my right, and when he looked back, he gave me the naughtiest wink imaginable. I turned, perplexed, and there, hovering a mere three inches away from me, was a very beautiful Thai woman wearing only her underpants. She placed her hand on my arm.

“You want to go outside for walk?” she said with a remarkably innocent smile for a girl with no clothes on. I was about to pull my arm away, but she looked so young and sweet I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“No thank you. I’m just here with a friend.”

“We can go and you just pay bar fine five hundred baht. We discuss hanky panky later.”

I glanced over at Jake, but he was gone. Great, now everyone in Los Angeles was going to think I had a penchant for Thai strippers. It would probably do wonders for my image, I thought ruefully. I turned back to the girl. “Girls aren’t my thing. I’m sorry,” I explained, but the hostess seemed

to take offense. She began to jabber inanely, waving her arms around and drawing lots of unwanted attention in my direction.

“It’s not that I don’t
like
girls,” I said in a panic. “I
am
one, of course. And you’re very nice and everything. But I like boys. Do you understand? You know, men. I like to kiss men—”

“Yes. I remember,” a deep voice whispered in my ear as a rather possessive arm slipped around my shoulder. Though my romantic interest in Jake was null and void, there was something so comforting about having that six-foot-two-inch frame supporting me. I unconsciously leaned into him and could smell the hotel soap and his faintly damp hair. I couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to curl up in those big arms and forget anyone else existed. But then the memories came flooding back, and though the two vodkas were dulling the pain, they hadn’t actually erased my memory.

The last time I’d gone out with Jake Hudson, he’d ended up getting some action in the darkened movie theater from the publicist sitting to his left, while I, his unsuspecting date, sat to his right getting my hand crushed to some mysterious rhythm.

“I remember, too, Jake,” I said ruefully, as I pulled away and tried to gather my wits. But the hostess was still there standing stubbornly inches from my face. Thankfully Jake took charge of the situation in a way only a seasoned professional could do. And his credentials had nothing to do with movies.

“She’s with me. But we’d love to buy you a drink,” he said to her, casually handing over a few bills. She finally scurried off and I breathed a sigh of relief. I looked up into those perfect clear blue eyes and those

Chiclets teeth and felt absolutely . . . nothing. Though my hopes of anonymity were dashed, there was something oddly intimate about be-ing in a foreign country with people you didn’t know very well. There was an automatic familiarity that would never happen in your own country or city. And I realized that I was glad to see Jake.

“Elizabeth. Why aren’t you my girlfriend?” He was obviously having the same experience.

“Because, Jake, you don’t do girlfriends. Or if you do, you do a lot of them at one time.” I punched him in the arm trying to establish the “we’re just buddies, let’s have a beer” kind of rapport and grabbed for the remaining two shots. I handed one to him while he gave me his best Boy Scout look. We clinked glasses and downed the vodka.

“But you could change me, Elizabeth.”

“Yeah. And I’ve heard if I buy a ticket I can win the lottery, too.” I turned to the bartender. “Two more of these, please.”

“So how’s Luke?” Jake said as he looked me squarely in the eye.

I was taken aback by the question. I couldn’t believe he actually knew we were together. And I was even more shocked that he didn’t know we’d split up. The public nature of Luke’s infidelity was bound to be headline news to those in the know.

“Luke is . . . away! Away filming
Dracula’s Seventh Sister
. Or something Oscar-worthy like that,” I said vaguely.

“Luke’s one of the good guys, you know,” he said with sincerity.

I choked on my own tongue as Jake pressed on. “But that said.
I’m

better.”

I started to laugh. It might have been verging on the hysterical, but I don’t think Jake would have been able to differentiate.

“I think you’re not wrong, Mr. Hudson. I’d say you’re about equal in the quality department and you just might be edging ahead slightly.”

Thankfully Emerald bounded over before I was stuck explaining my-self. She had the gentle giant by the hand and occasionally she’d turn and give his stomach a big hug.

“Lizzie. Oh my God! You know Jake! He’s here for our first day of shooting. We’re all going to fly on the studio jet to Phuket tomorrow. Isn’t that great?” “That’s great news, Em,” I said. All I could think of was the possibility of an extra few hours in the yummy Frette sheets at the Oriental.

“And if you girls stay out and party with us tonight, I promise to have the plane leave in the evening after a day at the spa on me. Apparently they have coed massages. Either of you game?” Jake looked directly at me. But thankfully Emerald didn’t notice his pointed stare and jumped up and down with glee.

“I am. I am! But first we all have to go upstairs. You won’t believe what Freddie and I discovered. It’s so
cool
.”

I had almost forgotten that Freddie was there. He hadn’t said a word and as his face was so far above mine it was almost too easy to treat him like a tree trunk. But instead of leaning against him, I stuck out my hand.

“Lizzie Miller,” I volunteered.

“Freddie Murray,” he said, smiling down at me.

“I hear you play some basketball?” I was getting a crick in my neck just looking at him.

“That’s what they tell me. But Jake here’s trying to persuade me to be in movies,” he drawled in a slightly Southern twang.

The alcohol was really starting to hit me now.

“Are you famous? Like someone my boyfriend . . . well, ex-boyfriend, would die to have an autograph from?” I asked.

Luckily Emerald intervened this time, as my ability for subtlety was waning at an alarming rate. She handed shots all around. “Okay. Al-abama Slammers. Then we’re going upstairs.” The four of us grabbed the shot glasses, clinked, and down they went. Then upstairs we went. Emerald had arranged four seats right on the edge of the stage. We couldn’t have been any closer unless we’d joined the act. I looked around, thrilled, because no one seemed to have better seats. This job certainly had its perks and the best of everything was one of them. I scouted the room and noticed that there was a drastic change in décor from downstairs. Every possible surface was mirrored harking back to 1983 with a slightly dated
9
1
⁄
2
Weeks
feel. And lo and behold a woman suddenly appeared onstage in a bowler hat and tuxedo jacket. I stifled a yawn at the idea of a protracted striptease. She started to take off her clothes to the music as I focused on the colorful balloons attached to

the pillar right by my ear.

“Do you think she’s hot?” Jake leaned over and whispered in my ear.

I leaned in close and whispered back.

“I know it’s
hard
.” I patted his leg amicably. “But you really should try and mask your puerile fantasies just a little bit. A less obvious approach would probably be much more effective.” I was getting ruder by the minute and the odd thing was it seemed to be turning him on. He just laughed.

“If I were any more effective, I wouldn’t have time to work.” Jake winked as he waved down the waitress and ordered a bottle of vodka. I would have liked to write this comment off to a grossly inflated ego, but I knew he was just stating the facts. If you had the right job in LA, you could get almost anyone to sleep with you.

I rolled my eyes and shifted my gaze back to the stage just as a Ping-Pong ball went sailing by my right ear. The woman in the bowler hat had shed her clothing with remarkable speed and was now naked fac-ing me on all fours in a crablike position. She let out an enormous grunt and another object came shooting by my left ear this time. I blinked, unable to comprehend exactly what was happening, when the performer started to insert a bamboo tube between her legs. The crowd was cheering as I just sat there in shocked horror. Emerald was practically rolling on the stage in fits of hysterical giggles between make-out sessions with Freddie. Obviously somebody found it erotic. But we all went silent as the stripper proceeded to hold up a dart. Then she gave another grunt and there was a loud pop. For a second I was sure she’d punctured her innards, until I realized that it was simply the balloon above my head. The dart dropped onto the table, right in front of me. Emerald made a dive, grabbing it like a baseball at the World Series.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” she screamed as she held the dart up in the air like a trophy. I grabbed the vodka bottle and doused Emerald’s hand.

“What are you doing?” she squealed, annoyed, as I accidentally covered half her arm and most of her front in the process.

“It’s a
dart,
Emerald, and it has been up a Thai hooker’s pussy,” I whispered.

Emerald displayed a tiny bit of sense and quickly dropped the offending dart and proceeded to cover her own hand in the remaining vodka. But my whisper had obviously not been quiet enough because I heard a grunt and then felt a sharp sting in my left arm. I glanced down at my bare shoulder and sticking straight out of my flesh was the dart. While I

was still blinking in horror, the human cannon sashayed over, ripped the dart from my arm, and said angrily for all to hear, “I no hooker. I actress!” I was shocked speechless, torn between two emotions. I felt terrible that I’d insulted this poor girl who was now busy shoving a string of ra-zor blades inside herself, and completely freaked out that I’d possibly just contracted HIV. What was I doing in a place like this, anyway? The poor girl had probably been sold into slavery as a child and made to perform like a trained monkey to provide a roof over her head. My sister’s face kept flashing in front of me. I knew she’d be sick with horror that I was contributing to the unregulated sex trade and essentially giving money to perpetuate the enslavement of women. I deserved to get

AIDS and die.

Emerald took the opportunity to get some payback and started pouring the vodka all over my arm and dress. I think the alcohol was making me a bit melodramatic or perhaps it was the lack of sleep, but suddenly my bottom lip started to quiver and I could feel tears sting my eyes.

Jake and Freddie looked at me in horror, and I couldn’t help but sniff and laugh at the same time. Here were two grown men who could watch a woman fire razor blades out of her private parts and not be fazed, yet when a tiny tear welled in a girl’s eye they turned white. It made me adore them both instantly. Emerald was still busy pouring vodka on me, totally unaware of the change in tone, until Freddie yanked the bottle out of her hand.

“Leave her alone. She’s upset,” he ordered.

Emerald looked at me closely and then at the boys who were hanging on my every hiccup. Jake was holding my arm, examining the wound, and Freddie was wiping the vodka off of me with his shirt. She was not a girl who enjoyed being outdone by a mere assistant.

“It barely pierced the flesh, Lizzie. I wouldn’t worry,” Jake said. “Yeah, and if you watched closely, the dart goes in the bamboo tube.

So really it doesn’t have any contact with her pussy,” Freddie said reassuringly. Then out of nowhere there was an animal keening and a wail. The three of us turned around in concern as Emerald was bent over with a dart protruding from her left thigh.

“Oh my God. I’ve been shot. Call an ambulance,” she screamed as only an actress could. Freddie dropped me in a second and turned to

Emerald. She collapsed in his arms, and he stroked her hair, whispering soothing sweet nothings.

Jake leaned in to my ear and said under his breath, “You’ve got to give her credit for being such a good method actor. It must have really hurt to stab that thing into your own leg.”