The Second Assistant (35 page)

“See? She doesn’t like you either, and I didn’t even tell her what a shit you are,” I said, staring stonily at the wall ahead.

For the next hour, Jason sat there like a good boy and took the abuse he had coming to him. We had the same conversation, in various guises, about thirty-seven times. The gist ran something along the lines of:

“Listen, Lizzie. How can I make it up to you?”

“Turn back the clock, fuckface.”

“If I could, I would,” he replied pleadingly.

“Then, you bitch, tell them I’m attached to produce.” I was pushing my luck now, but I couldn’t help myself.

“I can’t. Daniel made me sign the contract yesterday. And when I
called him to say I was unsure and I needed to talk to you first, he said it was too late and that if I backed out now, they’d sue me for breach.” To give Jason his due, he didn’t look much like a man who had just landed himself a $3 million payout. Rather, he looked like he’d run over his own dog.

“He’s lying. They won’t sue you. I don’t think. You cocksucker.” Break over. Then we’d start back at the beginning.

Eventually, though, I think that my anger must have bottomed out, because just as I was in the middle of telling him that he was the henchman of Beelzebub himself, I suddenly got the most irksome, ill-timed fit of the giggles. Maybe it was the tequila or perhaps just sheer resignation. But most likely it was that I’d never called anyone a cocksucker before, and it sounded really funny coming out of my mouth.

“Lizzie, thank God you’re laughing.” He tried to give me a hug, and I shoved him away.

“Don’t look so relieved. I still hate your guts. I’m just laughing at myself. For being such a moron and trusting a rat bastard like you.”

“Maybe I can just tear up the contract, and then we can set the project up with Luke Lloyd like you’d arranged.”

“Too late now, Jason.” He relaxed a little on hearing that I was simply able to speak his name.

“What I’m most sorry about was that I wasn’t straight with you,” he began to explain. “But it happened so fast. After you called me and told me about Luke Lloyd, Daniel Rosen called. He said that you’d given him the script and he knew all about the Luke Lloyd deal but that he had a better offer already lined up.”

I turned to Jason, shocked. “But how did Daniel know about the Luke Lloyd deal?”

“I don’t know. He just said that he’d spoken to him about it at some premiere.”

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Daniel had been eavesdropping the night of Jake Hudson’s premiere. He’d heard Luke say that he was interested in the project, and then Daniel had run with it, calling all the studios and creating a bidding war on the back of Luke’s potential offer to me. It occurred to me then that I was going to struggle to remain working at The Agency anymore. The idea of being under the same roof as Daniel Rosen was unbearable. I might find myself making homemade explosives instead of butternut squash dishes from now on.

“I told him I needed you to come to the pitches, but he said that you’d throw off the buyers and put the whole thing in jeopardy. He said we’d address your position as producer later. But then Revolution made the offer, and it was so much money, Lizzie. They were offering me pay-or-play for my script and my directing services. That was more money than I’d dreamed of making in a lifetime. And more opportunity than I’d ever dared to hope for. Then Daniel dropped the bomb. Telling me that he’d tried his hardest to get them to agree, but they said if you were attached, there was no deal. He asked if you’d signed anything, and I’d told him we hadn’t.” Jason took a brave sip of my tequila at this point, and I remained silent—he didn’t deserve to know that I’d spit in it. “I was weak. And at the moment I really don’t like myself very much, but I was sick of mopping up after Max Fischer at the Coffee Bean and sick of trying to be heard. I just couldn’t help myself.”

That was when I realized that this outcome had been inevitable. I couldn’t hate Jason for making the decision that he had. I’d been pursuing this dream for less than a year; he’d been pursuing it for twenty.

“I guess almost anybody in your situation would have done the same thing.”

“Not you,” he said sulkily.

“Well, I’m an idiot,” I reminded him.

“Daniel played me, and I know it.”

“Join the gang.” I suddenly caught sight of the clock behind the bar. “Shit, it’s six o’clock. I have to stop by the office to pick up the weekend read on my way home, so I’d better get a move on.” I stood up to go.

“Lizzie, I’m going to make it up to you. I promise you. I’ll think of something.” And I truly believe he meant it.

“See ya soon,” I told him.

“Very soon, I hope,” he said plaintively.

I waved and walked out the door nonchalantly. I was getting good at that move, and I’d left him with the check.

I’ve fallen in love! I’m an ordinary woman—I didn’t think such violent things could happen to ordinary people.

—Celia Johnson as Laura Jesson
Brief Encounter

A
t six o’clock I went back to the office to pick up my weekend read, which Victoria would have left on my desk. Now that I was going to be a second assistant for the foreseeable future, I was going to have to work on coverage like everyone else.

“Elizabeth, what are you doing back here?” Lara was at her desk, and the rest of the office was like a graveyard—chairs were tucked in, most of the lights were off, except for the lamp shining on Lara’s desk, and the cleaner was in Scott’s office tipping out the wastepaper basket and polishing around the phone.

“Just came to collect my things. More’s the point, what are you doing here? It’s Friday. It’s way past your home time.” I altered course and made for her desk, where I could perch and tell her all about the roses and Jason’s groveling, sniveling apology. “Oh, you’re Internet shopping.” I looked at her screen, which was patterned with an array of baby garments—tiny cardigans, little sun hats, and a primrose yellow jacket. “Cute, baby shopping. Is this for a godchild?” I asked.

Lara looked up at me, then flicked off her screen. “Elizabeth, do you have time for a drink?”

“Sure. Then I can tell you all about what Jason said when we went to El Carmen and he offered me the moon.” I hopped off her desk and
picked up my house-size pile of scripts with Victoria’s usual arid note paper-clipped to the top.

“Perfect. How about Chateau Marmont?” She flicked off all her switches and stuffed a few bits of paper and a folder into her bottom drawer.

“Sounds good to me,” I said, and we walked out of the building toward the parking garage together.

Lara valet-parked up at the Chateau, and I parked on the street a minute down the hill and walked up, because I wasn’t going to be getting rich anytime soon. I met back up with her in a quiet corner of the lounge, where she was sunk deep into one of the plush sofas. A guest was sitting at the piano, gently coaxing out a tune while his dog watched him. The other sofas were occupied by couples having affairs and romantic tête-à-têtes over champagne. I turned the other cheek.

“I’ve ordered us both a martini, is that okay?” she asked as I approached the table.

“Great.” I was working on my martini drinking. Truth be told, I found them bitter and unpleasant, but they were an undeniably elegant cocktail, and I’d been determined to learn to drink them for a while now. Just as I’d been determined to learn French and the flute—so one out of three wasn’t bad.

“Love is in the air,” I said caustically as I sat down on the chair across from Lara and turned to the cooing room of lovers. “I guess at least I should feel inspired. If it wasn’t right with Luke, it’s because I’m meant for someone else. Or is that me being delusional?”

“Elizabeth, you’re going to be fine.”

“I hope so.” Our martinis arrived, and I lifted mine stoically to my lips. “So I have got to tell you about Jason. I mean, it wasn’t exactly the result I was hoping for, and I’m still high and dry because he’s got the deal, and I’m not attached to produce, but at least he was contrite—”

“Elizabeth, I have something I want to tell you.” Lara was holding a cocktail stick thoughtfully between her beautiful lips.

“Oh,” I replied, and took a sip of my martini. I knew that it wasn’t going to be good news. I just knew it. It never was good news these days, and she also had a look of vague mortification in her eyes. “Is it bad?” I asked warily.

“It’s great news, really. But I feel bad having to tell you,” she said, and her shoulders dropped despondently as she sighed out loud.

“Oh, God, just get it over with then,” I said, bracing myself. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was going to tell me. I put down my drink in case I spilled it in shock or felt compelled to throw it at her when she imparted her mixed tidings.

Lara looked directly at me as though conducting a risk assessment on a condemned building she was about to demolish. Then she lowered her eyes and focused her gaze on her red cotton skirt. “I’m pregnant,” she said without a frill.

“Wow.” I gulped and took a sip of my drink. “That’s amazing. I mean, it’s great. Isn’t it?”

We looked at one another for a moment.

“It is great. And we couldn’t be happier.” She gave a faint smile.

“The married man?” I asked tentatively. “It’s his baby?”

“It is.”

“And he’s happy, too?”

“He’s thrilled, and he’s been amazing,” she said, her sketch of a smile suddenly blooming into a full-blown, ear-to-ear number. “We went to get the first scan yesterday. He came with me, and it was so exciting. So small and perfect. Of course, he swore that he saw a huge penis, but I think it was just the umbilical cord,” she laughed.

“That’s great,” I said, and gave her a hug. “I’m so happy for you. Both.”

“There’s something else, though.” She managed to shake me off gently with her words.

“I’m sure there is. I mean, it can’t be simple being with a married man. But, hey, you said his marriage was rocky anyway, so it can’t be
too
bleak.” I was delighted now I knew that whatever would follow was not going to affect me in any way. It was about the married man and babies and—

“It’s Scott,” she said flatly. I swiveled my head and surveyed the room behind me. Just our luck to rock up to the same joint as our boss. But Scott wasn’t there.

“Where?” I asked, then it occurred to me what she had meant. He wasn’t here at the Chateau. “Oh, you think he’ll mind?” I leaned back in my chair, finally relaxing into my drink. “Well, too bad. Scott can’t mind. Women get pregnant all the time. It’s life. It’s your life. Just because you’re his assistant doesn’t mean you have to live your life to please him. He’ll have to learn to be a little less reliant on you from
now on. It won’t hurt him. I think he’s too codependent on you anyway,” I said boldly.

“You do?” She looked at me like a goofy teenager in love. And suddenly the penny dropped.

“You’re kidding me?” I sat stark upright in my seat. Oh, my God, I was such an
idiot
.

Every single day since I’d arrived at The Agency, I had failed to see what was going on under my nose. Despite the fact, I suddenly realized, that everyone else in the office knew and had openly made references to it and I . . . well, I had been such a thickhead that I hadn’t realized. “You’ve been having an affair with Scott this whole time, and I never noticed,” I told Lara.

“There were so many times I wanted to tell you. But you and Mia seemed to get along so well, and we didn’t want to take that risk in case you found yourself in an uncomfortable position, with her asking you a bunch of questions. So, well . . .” Her face had flooded with relief. Her little secret was out in the open. But I wasn’t done with her yet.

“So you waited until it was impossible
not
to tell me, even though everyone else knew? Even Courtney and Talitha knew, didn’t they?”

“I guess they must. I mean, I haven’t spoken to them about it, but they make snide remarks all the time, so I figure they found out somehow.” She shrugged.

“Lara, I thought you were my friend.” I thought back to all the lies she must have woven like a cobweb over my eyes since the day I started. Then it all made sense—the exhaustive wardrobe, the shiny SUV, the spa trips, her ability to make Scott fall into line when nobody else could, their huge fight, after which she’d gone out onto the roof of the party at Halloween and he’d lost his mind on Ritalin. All of which made me feel like a total fool.

“I
am
your friend. And now you know, so we can celebrate, right? And you can come baby-clothes shopping with me, and when I give up work, you can come and meet me for lunch at Il Fornaio.”

“Hey, back up a minute, you’re giving up work?” I asked. She couldn’t leave, could she? Life at The Agency without Lara would be like drinking battery acid on a daily basis.

“Of course I am. I have a novel to write,” Lara said mildly. “And someone has to take care of Scooter here.” She patted her tummy.

“You’re going to become a Beverly Hills soccer mom,” I said in horror.

“I know. Isn’t it exciting?” Lara said.

“I guess.” I sank back into the cushion and felt about as depressed as it was possible to feel. The rug was well and truly gone from under my feet, and I was flat on my ass on the stone cold floor.

Then I caught sight of Lara’s beaming face and realized that I had to rally. This was an amazing event in her life, and she wanted me to be happy for her.

“Right, then, no more martinis for you, young lady,” I said sternly, moving her half-finished drink out of the way. “I’ll order you an orange juice, and we’ll discuss what you’re going to call Scooter there. Because if you really want me to be your friend, you’re not allowed to name it after a baseball or basketball star. Okay?”

“Funny you should say that,” Lara touched my arm conspiratorially. “Because only last night Scott tried to convince me that Shaq could be a girl’s
or
a boy’s name.”

“So what about Mia?” I hesitated to ask, but it must have dawned on them between scans and baby naming that Mia would have to find out eventually.

“She’s promised him the mother of all divorce battles. She’s hired the biggest, meanest lawyer in town.”

“Shit, poor Scott,” I said, knowing that Mia would sting him for all he was worth. I hoped he’d be able to keep their kid in diapers by the time she was finished.

“Oh, it’s fine. She’s been having an affair with some crazily rich old guy who used to own a TV network. You should see him—he’s had so much work that he looks like he’s been reanimated—but at least Mia’s been unfaithful, too, and Scott has proof, so she won’t get more than half,” Lara said cheerfully.

And when I thought about it, I honestly believed that Lara and Scott might not care even if they had no money. I could tell that they were both clearly mad about each other, now that I had enough pieces of the jigsaw to figure it all out—the mooning looks, the filthy fights, the fact that they were still together despite Lara’s bitching and Scott’s occasional infidelity—it was as plain as the ring that wasn’t on Lara’s finger.

And she must have read my mind, because she turned to me and
said, “We’re getting married in Vegas just as soon as the divorce comes through.”

“That’s great news,” I said. “A Vegas wedding, that’ll be fun.”

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

“I’d love to. I mean if I’m invited.”

“Of course you’re invited. You’re one of my closest friends.” She patted my knee. And even though I didn’t exactly feel a sisterly, warm vibe from Lara most of the time, I think she really meant that. Which was both lovely and sad at the same time.

“And the honeymoon?” I skipped on quickly.

“Arizona,” Lara proudly informed me.

“Arizona?” I imagined there was some groovy new hotel there, news of which hadn’t reached my unhip ears yet.

“Scott’s going to the Meadows Rehab Clinic to clean up before the baby’s born, and I’m going hiking in the canyons nearby. So we’ll both be happy.”

“Fantastic,” I said dubiously. But then, just because it wasn’t
my
idea of a honeymoon . . .

“Oh, Elizabeth. I’m just so happy.” Lara said, and knocked back her orange juice. “He’s so sweet and sensitive. I can’t wait to be married to him.”

All of which merely reinforced my theory that there’s somebody out there for everyone. Because if a smart, cool, beautiful girl like Lara could want to scrape a wastrel like Scott up off the sidewalk and love him, then maybe even I could meet someone funny and great who I liked.

But then I remembered that I had. And now it was over. I hugged Lara good-bye and scuffed my shoes against the ground as I walked back down the hill to where my car was parked on Sunset.

I tucked my purse under my arm and wandered up the street a short way until I saw a liquor store. I went in and paced around a bit. I wondered whether I should buy a bottle of vodka or something to forget. Maybe if I became a drunk and had to go into rehab, Luke would come to visit me or buy me a basket of muffins. Then I saw my martini reflection in the window of the store. I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted Luke Lloyd back. I had to stop drinking—booze made me reckless. I bought a packet of Junior Mints and went home.

Finally I decided that there was nothing for it but to call him up. But it was so indecently early on Saturday morning that I was afraid that if I left a message on Luke’s machine and he saw the time I’d called, he’d never speak to me again. Five
A
.
M
. was the hour of stalkers. It was the hour of joggers. It was the hour of breast-feeding mothers. Normal people didn’t watch for the pale, encroaching light of dawn. But I couldn’t sleep. I’d lain awake for what felt like hours, listening to my gurgling toilet tank, with a feeling of blind terror at the thought that I might never see Luke again. And if I did see him, I’d have to smile and kiss him on the cheek and nothing more.

For not only were we never going to be lovers now, we weren’t even going to work together. I couldn’t console myself with the prospect of weekly meetings and eating Krispy Kreme doughnuts with him on our movie set in the fall; there would be no dream of us getting drunk at the wrap party and declaring our feelings; there would be no dazzling at our premiere. Nothing, in fact. Apart from what might have been. I felt nauseous at the thought. I really, truly think that I loved him. Of course, not in any profound, eternity-band, for-his-faults-and-all way, but I did think that he was the only man I’d met—ever, really—who I liked so much. Who made me smile even when he was dumb or cross or ridiculous. And for whom I had the hots quite so uncontrollably.