I met her while I was at work.
Despite always arriving on time, kissing some major ass, and keeping several copies of my screenplay in my Chloé bag (just in case), my job as assistant to the assistant consists mainly of fetching Coffee Bean and Spago’s to go. I have not so much as lifted a pen to paper the past month.
Los Angeles decided to become freakishly cold and one morning I rushed to work, my nose cold and cheeks pink after the ride. As I was taking off my leather jacket and sitting down at my miniature desk--which I seem to be sharing with someone’s Maltese puppy--the actual assistant, Karen, hurried over. Side note: Karen is thirty-something and takes her job very seriously. She wears only black, probably a remnant of her days working backstage during high school theater productions. Heavy black eyeliner, red lipstick applied liberally, and a generous spritzing of Bath and Body Works Vanilla Noir are all hallmarks of the look. Karen is faux-easy going, still prefers cassette tapes to “compact discs,” knows all of the Hollywood gossip but is a part of none of it, and has a picture of her pet parrot, Gregory, on her desk. As I was plopping down in my red swivel chair Karen swooped in and grabbed my arm--not a totally shocking move as she is oddly touchy-feely.
I need you to sit in on a meeting today. I need you to not draw attention to yourself. I need you to bring the Coffee Bean order. I need you to take notes. I need you to absolutely not speak unless you are spoken to. Can we do this?
Yes we can. I said, keeping the sarcasm internal, and looking her solemnly in the eye. I was also doing a little dance in my mind. Finally. Something!
That is how I found myself a few hours later handing out non-fat soy lattes and green tea ice blended things. I took Karen’s rules to heart and kept my head down, trying to be as discrete as possible. Then I handed over a ridiculous holiday raspberry hot chocolate and the hottest hand (yes hand!) took a firm hold of the paper cup. My head slowly raised to look at her face and suddenly I was drowning in these cat-like topaz eyes, fringed by long black lashes. She arched an eyebrow at me and I coughed and scurried away.
Here is the thing. I have been playing it cool as a cucumber the last few months, juggling girls, phasing them out after a night or two, and generally being in charge of celebrations. Despite the level of attractiveness, and amount of fish in the sea, no one has left me tongue tied. Not like her. The butterflies were flying around my tummy with wild abandon.
After taking my seat, slightly behind Karen, I thought it would be safe to look up again. Wrong. She was looking back at me, sitting straight across the table. Then I did something I have not done since...I don’t even know when: I blushed. The blood rushed to my head and all of a sudden I was in a slow motion movie sequence. Zero 7 played something sexy and slow as she licked a little bit of whip cream off her lip. My heart thundered in my chest and then stopped beating for an eternity. Her eyes held mine and I tried to blink breaking the penetrating gaze. God those eyes. They screamed sex and desire and passion and artistry and torture; her warrior eyes assaulted me.
I guess everyone else arrived for the meeting: a smattering of suits and writers. I didn’t really register anything until she broke my gaze and then shocked me further by calling the meeting to order in an authoritative and throaty voice. Obviously I should have known--she was in charge. And therefore, that made her Margot Whitney, creator of the series and head writer. Holy shit.
The meeting began and the suits and writers argued back and forth over minute details. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand and take notes, rather than staring at Margot’s incredibly luscious mouth as it formed words. They began to argue over one character “Clara,” and where they wanted to go with her storyline.
She’s boring. She is totally boring. We have heavy hitters vying for these parts. This isn’t the fucking Disney channel!
What if she gets pregnant?
That has been so done! So done!
Eating disorder? Drugs? Bisexuality?
Warmer warmer...
For some reason I forgot that I was an outsider. I forgot Karen’s rules, and all of sudden it was creative word vomit everywhere. From my second row seat I put in:
What if she leaves her boyfriend--say a hot player type--for a chick? And not just any chick but a full on dyke. That stuff is really now, you know? It would be shocking. And you get say a Blake Lively type or some other pretty little starlet looking for an edge. People would eat it up...
I trailed off looking around the room at surprised faces. A little bald man glared.
Who the fuck is she?
Karen, wide-eyed and practically shaking tried to move her chair further in front of me. Sorry Dale, that is no one, just my assistant, she didn’t mean to interrupt, maybe we should take a quick ten? I really don’t--
Shut up Dale. Everyone turned and looked at Margot. I stared at my laptop and where I had stopped taking notes when I busted into the meeting. Waiting.
It is fucking brilliant. Daring. Interesting. Bold. Different. What’s your name?
Louise. Laurent.
Thank you Louise.
Since I am not an utter moron, I managed to keep my mouth shut the remainder of the meeting. When it was over I quickly tried to escape, fearing for both my job and my life, either by Karen’s hand, Dale’s, or both. I had just made it to the door when one of those sexy hands grabbed my elbow. Walk with me Louise. Margot steered me down the long hallway into a massive glassed in office looking out on the city. She shut the door behind her, and then sat at a long sleek desk, gesturing for me to take one of the leather seats opposite her.
You’re new aren’t you?
I choked back a nervous laugh Yeah.
New is good. It is fresh. We need fresh here. I am tired of all the inhibitions. You don’t have any do you Louise?
Actually...well...very few.
I knew it. I want to pick your brain, if I may. Dinner tonight?
It took me about fifteen seconds to register what she was asking.
Absolutely.
Perfection. Have Karen email me your information. I’ll pick you up at nine.
Leaving her office in a daze, I wandered back down the long hallway wondering what exactly had just taken place. I returned to my desk where Karen was waiting for me, tapping a clunky heel.
You are so lucky this time Louise. SO lucky. Don’t ever ever EVER do that again! DId you completely forget the rules? What the hell?
Unable to help it, I smiled.
Karen, could you please email Margot my contact information? Thanks.
SO to be continued...
Always,
Louise
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