Absolutely True Lies (14 page)

We all know that in the United States, MTV is a bastion of reality shows, but in Europe, it seems they actually play music videos. And while it was nice to hear some words I recognized, I was also fascinated by the Italian version of rap—twenty-something, pasty white boys trying desperately to emulate Eminem and Jay-Z. The best part was that the music itself was absolutely dreadful.

I was entranced by what sounded like a French pop star when there was a knock at the door. I glanced at the clock and was surprised to discover that it was now eight o’clock in the morning.

I opened the door to find a gum-chewing, wiry little guy on the other side. He was weighed down by stacks of papers and a box of envelopes and looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here. I couldn’t imagine how jaded the guy must be to be irritated by a trip to Rome.

He shoved a packet of papers and an envelope at me. “Production meeting at the Siena in thirty minutes.” Sighing like I’d just spit in his face, the kid turned around to leave.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, not sure what I was supposed to do with the things I was now holding.

“Pro-
duc
-tion
mee
-ting,” he repeated, as though I was either deaf or profoundly stupid. I was pretty sure his attitude was far worse than his pay grade allowed.

“Yes, I heard you,” I replied. “But I don’t know what that is, how it involves me, or what these papers are.”

The guy blinked back at me for a few seconds before sighing again, louder this time. When he spoke, his words came out infuriatingly slow, in case I had trouble following along. “The producers want everyone over at the crew hotel at eight-thirty. It’s when we all talk about what’s going to happen over the next week. I just gave you the schedule, a map, a contact list, and your per diem.”

So I’d finally get to find out what a per diem was. Awesome. “Oh” was all I said, feeling like a moron. “Thanks.”

Rolling his eyes, the guy smacked his gum so loud it could have broken the sound barrier and then shuffled off down the hall.

I went back inside my room and glanced over the pages. There were a lot of schedules that meant almost nothing to me and a map of Rome that would probably come in handy. Then I opened the envelope and had heart palpitations. If I was worried about spending my last three hundred dollars in Italy, I needn’t have been. Inside
that little white envelope—in brightly colored cash—was more than a thousand euros. Given the ever-fluctuating exchange rate, that totaled somewhere near eighteen hundred dollars. I felt a little dizzy and had the sudden desire for a really expensive glass of wine. Then I remembered that it was very early in the morning and that I was about to go to work. Viva Roma.

The crew was staying nearby at the Hotel Siena, which was cute but far less posh than our own InterContinental. As I made my way to the production meeting I was certain I had no business attending, I took my time and watched Roman life unfold all around me. The buildings were beautiful, but crammed together the way a child might construct a Lego city—haphazard and dysfunctional. The street was narrow and jutted out at odd angles, and there were Vespas as far as the eye could see. I found myself smiling at businesspeople, men clad in suits and women all dolled up in dresses, straddling the backs of their shiny bikes and whizzing through traffic.

It was so lovely outside I had a difficult time forcing myself back into a cramped hotel. And it didn’t help that the production meeting turned out to be three hours of every department discussing what they needed and reviewing script details and changes. Maybe I should have paid attention and learned more about the way a film crew works, but thirty minutes in, my mind wandered completely out of the room. I like to think I was astrally projecting to someplace more interesting. Like a dental checkup.

At close to noon, an angry-looking older producer I hadn’t met ended the meeting and told the crew the call time for the following morning. He barked out something named a “precall” that brought some departments in at three-forty-five in the morning. I didn’t understand what a precall was, but it sounded like hell on earth. Then the producer told the assembled crew to prepare for lunch and a tech scout, another term I didn’t understand. I noticed that Ben headed off with the barking white-haired producer, but not before
waving to me. I waved back, his presence making me think about those delicious Kit Kat bars.

Vaughn walked over just as I stood up and stretched.

“Sorry I couldn’t connect with you last night,” he said. “I got caught up with the crew until after midnight and then I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“That’s okay. I figured as much. But you wouldn’t have been disturbing my sleep. I got all of about four hours.”

“I wish I’d known that.” Vaughn glanced over at the crew members making their way through the door. He looked uncomfortable. “How do you know Benji?”

“Met him at four
A.M.
,” I explained. “Hustled some junk food off him. Nice guy.”

“That’s . . . cool. You know, if you need anything, I can have a PA go get it for you.”

I stared at him, realizing with astonishment that his tone was laced with jealousy. Given how attractive Ben was, I wondered if Vaughn and the other guys on set saw him as competition. I thought the jealousy was sweet, but I wasn’t going to play into any macho hang-ups. “Thanks, but I think I can go in search of my own sustenance. I should have plenty of free time while Daisy’s shooting her scenes.”

“Right,” he said, still looking troubled. “Do you want to come with us on the tech scout? I thought you might find it fun. We can be bus buddies.” He cast one more fairly worried glance at Ben.

So that was why he’d invited me to this meeting. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” I said. “This is likely the only completely free day Daisy has. I’ll probably get less than no information out of her, but I at least have to try. I need to come up with material for this book somehow.”

Vaughn nodded for what seemed like forever, shoving his hands in his pockets. I swear to God, he looked like a dashboard bobblehead. There was an unbearably long silence before he finally said, “Yeah, of course. So . . . I’ll see you later?”

“Sure. Have fun.”

“Oh, that’s pretty much impossible,” he said, waving and heading for the door.

I waited until Vaughn was well out of the room before I headed toward the exit. If I’d had any lingering doubt about his interest in me before this encounter, it was completely erased now. Jealousy over a man I’ve just met isn’t normal “friend” behavior. The only real question now was what he planned to do about it. Because so far, he hadn’t made any move to transition our relationship to something bigger. Rather than worry about it, I decided to get back to work and let things play out.

•  •  •

I
heard the commotion in Daisy’s room before I saw it. I was barely off the elevator when I heard an inhuman screeching that made sense only if it came from a two-year-old or a goose being skinned alive. This girl could have a career in horror movies if she wanted.

“I fucking hate you people,” she screamed. “You did this to me on purpose! I know you did!”

I could hear Faith trying to calm her down, but the mother’s tone was so much lower I couldn’t make out any of the words. I turned back around and tried to grab the elevator, but the doors slid closed and dinged. I backed myself up against the wall and pressed the down button like a jackhammer.

“You are a stupid fucking whore and I
hate you
!” At this point, Daisy began sobbing at the top of her lungs. I was again astonished by the force and intensity of her crying; I’ve had some bad things happen to me before, but I’ve never sobbed with that kind of vehemence.

Before the elevator made it back to my floor, Jamie stepped into the hallway and spotted me. “Oh, thank Christ,” he said.

Damn. He eyed me like a vulture eyes a rat with a lame leg, and I knew I wasn’t getting away from this. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here.”

Jamie stepped over and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me back toward the room. His fingers dug into my flesh and I somehow knew they were leaving bruises. Aside from his roguish, too-tan good looks, what did women see in this scumbag?

“You absolutely should.”

He was strong enough that his one-armed yank propelled me a few feet into the room. My sudden presence caused Daisy to stop, mid-sob, and launch herself at me. Before I could properly react, she was sniffling and crying all over me.

“I—I—I h-hate them,” she stammered. I was reminded of a little kid I once babysat who could cry so hard she would momentarily pass out. I was always afraid to upset her and inadvertently cause brain damage. I think I once gave that little girl cotton candy and Jolt for dinner, just to avoid a crying fit.

“Now, I told you it was an accident,” Faith cooed. She sounded calm and Julie Andrews–like, but I noticed she stayed on the other side of the room.

Daisy’s head snapped up from my chest and she glared at her mother, nostrils flaring. “You’re a liar. A dirty, cocksucking
liar
.” If I had ever called my mother a name, she would have backhanded me into Kingdom Come. But then, unlike Daisy, I wasn’t possessed by the fame demon. She turned to look up at me, putting on her best poor-me expression. I didn’t buy it for a second, but I feigned a little sympathy. “I have a suitcase with all of my medications, and they
purposely
didn’t bring it.”

“Sugar dumpling,” Faith said, “we took it with us to the airport. We must have just missed it at baggage claim. The airline will find it and send it over real soon, I just know they will.”

“Oh,
Jesus,
” Jamie said under his breath. He was being a big help, I could tell.

She needed an entire suitcase for medications? A list of possible prescriptions floated through my mind. Lithium, antibiotics (she
was
apparently a tramp, after all), human growth hormone. I
thought about asking why they didn’t find a local doctor if these prescriptions were so important, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want any detailed information from Daisy’s medical history.

“I don’t believe you,” Daisy shot back, her chin jutting out and knocking me in the chest. I was waiting for her to let go of me, but it didn’t seem like that was in the cards. “You want me to suffer because you’re jealous. You’re all jealous.”

There were only three of us in that room with her, and I was reasonably certain none of us were jealous of Daisy.

“That’s it,” Jamie said, taking a wad of cash out of his pocket. “Hols, head down to the liquor store and pick up some vodka.”

“I’ve already had a drink,” Daisy pouted. “It didn’t help.”

“Then have more,” he shot back. “Enough vodka and you won’t be able to feel your face, let alone worry about your damn medicine.”

I gingerly detached myself from Daisy and took the enormous pile of bills Jamie slapped into my palm. I didn’t want to spend my afternoon searching for an Italian liquor store, but it was better than being stuck inside this room. Jamie then put a forceful hand to my back and pushed me out of the room, again causing physical pain and a growing sense of rage.

As soon as we were in the hallway, I jumped out of the way of Jamie’s grasp. “I have asked you not to touch me like that,” I warned him.

“What?” he asked, like I was speaking a foreign language.

“In Miami,” I replied, trying to maintain my composure. My fuse is shorter than Bruce Banner’s, and once I blow, I turn into the Hulk and stampede through small cities. I was trying desperately to keep myself in check, as I didn’t want to get fired in a strange country and with little money to get home. “You slapped me on the ass and I asked you not to touch me like that. I don’t appreciate it.”

“Sure, whatever,” Jamie replied, rolling his eyes. “Just go get the vodka, will you?”

“Why can’t you go?”

“Because the press will take pictures and say that I’m buying it for the brat,” he said, almost shouting the last word so that she could hear it inside the room.

“Which you are. Besides, they’ve already gotten pictures of me, if you recall.”

Jamie shrugged. “And Perez Hilton thinks you’re a knocked-up alcoholic. It’s perfect.”

Perfect
was just about the last word I’d use. I was in a feisty enough mood to say, “I’ll go, but I want my check when I get back.”

There was a clueless, blank hole where Jamie’s expression should have been. “What are you talking about?”

“My check,” I repeated. “You owe me almost seventeen thousand dollars. And that’s just as of last week. In three weeks, you owe me another ten. I want the check written out and in my hand before I give Daisy a drop of liquor.”

“Women are such pains in the ass,” he muttered. Jamie looked like he was trying to slyly talk to an imaginary person behind him, but we were—of course—the only people in the hallway. Maybe Daisy wasn’t the only one who could benefit from lithium. “Fine. Just get the damn vodka.”

I hit the down button hard enough that it hurt my palm. Fortunately, Jamie turned and went back into the room, so I wasn’t forced to endure another uncomfortable silence. Just as the elevator opened, my stomach rumbled and I realized it was lunchtime.
Screw Daisy,
I thought.
She’ll get her precious vodka, but I’m eating lunch first.

•  •  •

I
still didn’t know what press Jamie was talking about. By the time I dropped the bottles of booze and ran, I had been back and forth from the hotel twice and there wasn’t a single reporter nosing around the entrance. Unlike in Miami, no one here seemed to care who Daisy was, further upping my estimation of Italians.

When I got back to the InterContinental, the desk clerk said that I had a package. He handed me a medium-size manila envelope; the only writing on the front was my name. Given my work with Daisy, I was momentarily concerned that it might contain a bomb. But it didn’t tick and not many people would know my name, anyway, so I decided not to worry about it.

I was in the elevator when I tore open the envelope and saw that there was an iPhone box on the inside, along with a note. “Courtesy of production. Use it on us while you’re here and then I’ll switch the contract to you when we get back to L.A. Vaughn.”