Picture Perfect (5 page)

“Lucas. You’ll like him. He’s very cute, and much more mature than the last one.”

The “last one” she’s referring to was a big-hearted, country boy keen on Robert Frost who fell head over heals in love with her. The poor boy was devastated when the semester ended and she booted him out like a stray cat. He was going to report her to the Dean for sexual harassment, but when she convinced him that her breaking his heart was the best thing to happen to his writing, he dropped it.

“He’s been very helpful. I’ve made many new contributions to my opus since he came on board.”

“But isn’t your opus finished by now?”

“One’s opus is never finished. It is my life’s work.”

“So what the hell is being published tomorrow?”

“That’s just a reflection on a theme—identity. I think you’ll like it.”

“A reflection? Is that a bunch of poems or what?” I like to harass her about her poetry. God knows she loves to harass me about my work.

“Jesus! Do you have to be so literal? Of course it’s poetry. A collection of poems written about a specific topic.”

“Identity?”

“Yeah.”    

“What’s the matter? Are you having an identity crisis or something?”

What I know of Justine’s poetry is that it’s always personal. She’s not the type that writes fifty lines of nonsense describing the petals of a rose. She’s usually exploring some personal issues.

“
I’m
not.”

“Okay . Someone you know? Is this about your father again?”

“Oh, just come to the reading Friday and you’ll know what I’m getting at. You are coming, aren’t you?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it. And frankly, I could really use a break from this town.”

“You just need to get out of that business. It’s not good for your spirit.”

“You sound like Jack Ford, now. He said Alan was no good for me.”

“Sounds like a smart boy. Maybe you should hang on to him.”

“I don’t know. He’s too young for me. And too wild.”

“Well there must be something really remarkable about this guy to get you to put on a pair of rented shoes.”

“I just couldn’t say no. It’s like all logic and sensibility evaporated from my consciousness, and I was just reacting on some sort of gut level.”

“Sounds like love to me.”

Why is she encouraging me? That’s not the kind of help I was after. She’s got to know that this thing, this whatever-it-is with Jack, cannot be. It’s just not right. An older female producer with a younger male star? What would people think?

“Come on. The guy won’t even tell me how old he is.”

“I know you have a thing for rich, older men, Lauren, but it hasn’t done well for you thus far. Have some fun for once.”

I ponder this concept of hers. Have fun? I can’t remember the last time I did something purely for fun. It’s taking on some appeal.

“Okay. For you, I’ll have some fun. Right after I destroy that little tramp, Jennifer. Oh, who am I kidding?
That’s
going to be great fun.”

“I thought you liked her.”

“Sure, before she ditched me. That little tart betrayed me…with Alan of all people.”

“She’s having an affair with Alan?”

“No. She quit today. She’s going to work for him tomorrow. But now that you mention it, an affair does make a lot of sense. The timing is too perfect. Alan files for divorce the same day Jennifer quits? I have to investigate this,” I say, determined to get down to the bottom of my husband’s
real
reason for making our separation official.

“Lauren, don’t go off all half-cocked.”

“Oh, I’m fully cocked. I can assure you of that.”  

I hang up the phone, zip up my pants, straighten my blouse and swing open my office door to find the cold, blue eyes of Rebecca Walters staring at me.

“We need to talk,” she insists.

All the courage I had five seconds ago flees into the pit of my stomach as I submit to Rebecca’s stern command. I follow her into my office, closing the door after her, and perhaps on my career, as well, I fear. Rebecca takes a seat in my guest chair, and I slide into the seat behind my desk, wondering if it’s the last time my ass will touch its buttery leather.

Beads of sweat trickle down my neck as I sit waiting for the axe to fall. I focus on Rebecca’s hands, her fingers clasped tightly together on her lap, one massive emerald winking at me, a half dozen other gems nearly blinding me.

She’s going to fire me.

“Lauren, we’ve had a very good relationship here at Timeless for the past, what is it, six years? You’ve done wonders for our long-form division and are single-handedly responsible for our ratings hikes on Saturday nights, which you well know is traditionally the one of the worst nights for TV programming.”

“I just know what audiences want.”

“Indeed. However, your behavior today has me wondering if you’re taking on too much responsibility here. If you need a break, or to take a leave of absence, we can arrange that.”

“Absolutely not, Rebecca. I’m in complete control.
A True Heart
is just about to get off the ground. I signed Jack Ford to the lead role today. A major coup.”

“So I’ve been informed.”

“Production is scheduled to roll next week. This would be a very bad time for me to take a leave of absence,” I say, my throat tight and my breath quick.

“I understand that you’re under some emotional and personal stress right now. I don’t want to jeopardize your health just for the sake of a TV movie. I’m sure Jennifer would be able to oversee things for you—”

“Jennifer?” I screech. “She’s not even my assistant anymore. She quit.”

“Are you sure?” she asks doubtfully.

“Of course. She’s going to work for Alan tomorrow. She just told me this morning,” I add, trying to compose myself.

“That’s odd,” she says, a look of bewilderment on her face. “She didn’t mention that to me.”

“When did you speak to her?”

“About an hour ago when she came to me about your…situation.”

“What did she say?” I beg as a sharp pang in my stomach causes me to wince slightly.

That traitor!
Another reason to crush her into dust.

“I spoke to her in confidence. But, I’ll give you some advice. Your actions are being highly scrutinized. Don’t give the board a reason to fire you.”

“I understand.”

“I’ve always liked you, Lauren. You remind me of myself when I was your age. Don’t let this situation with Alan ruin you,” she cautions. “It’s kill or be killed in this business, you know.”

“Only all too well,” I say, as the terror of losing my job, and worse—Rebecca’s respect, sinks in.

Rebecca rises and swiftly exits my office, leaving me feeling like I’ve just been visited by the angel of death.

I take a long look at the diamond wedding ring on my finger. When Alan first gave me this ring, I would spend hours gazing at it, thrilled to the core to have something so beautiful, so meaningful. Now it just reminds me of what a colossal failure our marriage has been. And what a fool I am for having believed it would ever last. 

I twist it off and toss it in my desk drawer before marching out of my office and up the stairs to the twelfth floor, resolved to put an end to this debacle before I find myself on the unemployment line.

Clomping through the reception lobby like a Clydesdale on steroids, I am nearly knocked on my ass by Sally as she leaps out from behind her desk to halt my furious pace. Holding her hands out in front of her, she looks like she’s trying to stop a freight train from running over her cat.

“Ms. Tate, please don’t do this,” she begs me. “I know you’re upset, but you’re just playing right into his hands.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know everything. I’ve known everything for months!” she cries.

Chapter 4

Sally and I sit at the Starbucks around the corner from Timeless Television, I in a pair of dark sunglasses and Sally with a baseball cap pulled down over her eyes. She speaks in hushed tones as I listen in earnest to the details of Alan and Jennifer’s scheme to destroy my career.

It started six months ago when Jennifer first came to work for me, and coincidentally, when Alan moved out of our Westwood condo and into our weekend beach house in Malibu. Apparently, Alan fancied Jennifer immediately, but being the conniving imp that she is, she refused to get involved with him unless he left me and procured her a corner office and an expense account. Never mind her lack of experience or business savvy, she was confident that she’d glean all the industry knowledge she needed from me. Thinking back on all the times she pumped me for information, I can see now that it was a lot more than just curiosity or an eagerness to get ahead. She was trying to render me obsolete.

“But how is it that you’re privy to all of this?” I ask Sally.

“They needed my help. I was a go-between for Alan and Jennifer. They had to keep up appearances, you know.”

“Why did you do it?” I ask, feeling my heart sink into my stomach.

“I’ve been a receptionist for three years. I can’t get promoted, and I don’t know why. Alan promised to help me, to hire me.”

“But now that he’s hiring Jennifer, your loyalty is for sale, eh?” I ask, wondering what her motivation is for coming clean.

“No!” she shrieks so loudly I nearly topple off my chair in fright. “I just decided that I couldn’t help them deceive you any longer. It’s not in my nature to hurt people, but they convinced me that you deserved it. And, to be honest, I didn’t have the highest opinion of you,” she adds, lowering her eyes.

“No?”

“No. You were always kind of mean to me—and everyone else who didn’t have a fancy title.” Sally eyes me accusingly. “After Rebecca Walters, you’re the most intimidating person in our office.”

“Really?” I ask, slightly pleased with my ability to incite fear in the lower ranks. “It’s just part of the business. You’ll learn. Being nice won’t get you very far. It takes a thick skin and a set of brass balls to succeed in Hollywood.”

Sally lowers her eyes again and drums her ragged nails along the side of her coffee cup. I’ve hit a nerve.

“You really want to know why you never get promoted?” I prod, taking in the image of her in her peasant blouse and flowing, floral print skirt.

Sally shrugs her shoulders.

“You don’t look the part. Honestly, you look like you should be teaching Sunday school or growing organic lettuce on the side of a mountain.”

“Huh?”

“What’s up with the Laura Ingalls look? It doesn’t say ‘professional,’ and it definitely doesn’t say ‘Hollywood.’”

Sally wiggles in her seat. I’m obviously making her very uncomfortable.

“Look. In this industry, appearances are everything. You just don’t project an image of confidence or business savvy.”

She pulls the baseball cap down lower over her eyes.

“Why do you want to work in Hollywood anyway?”

“I’ve always loved movies,” she squeaks.

“It takes more than love.”

“I know. I’ve studied. I have a good degree, and I read the industry trades like they’re the bible,” she says, gulping back tears. “I’m smart, and I have skills. That should be enough.”

“It’s never enough, Sally. Thousands of wannabes come to this city every day trying to catch their break. You have to be better, smarter, younger and hipper than they are if you want to get ahead. It isn’t just about having a head full of ideas and information. You have to convince people to invest in you.”

“And I can do that just by changing my clothes?”

“We can start with the wardrobe, but it’s gonna take more than that.”

“We?”

I give her a curt nod as I dig my iPhone out of my purse and call the only one I know capable of transforming this wisp of a girl before me into an attention-getting woman. Or at least less of an eyesore.

“Giles, I have a new assistant. Her name is Sally, and she is in desperate need of some appropriate business attire,” I bark into my cell phone. I glance at Sally’s mass of frizzy, orange hair poking out from under the cap on her head. “And a new cut and color. Can you hook her up?”

“Anything for you, dah-ling! But what happened to Jennifer?”

“She quit.”

“The cow!”

“And that’s not the half of it.”

“Do tell,” he begs.

Giles is always hungry for some good gossip. In entertainment, it’s the support staff that feeds the rumor mill.

“No time at the moment. Can you take care of Sally now?”

“Sure. Shall I come round to pick you up?”

“Just Sally. She’s at the Starbucks on Sunset Strip by my office. I have other issues to deal with right now.”

“Got it. Uh, okay, so, I hate to be gauche, but who is paying for this? Last I heard, assistants don’t make enough money to afford my services.”

“They don’t. Send me the bill.”

“My, my! Aren’t we feeling generous today?”

“Keep it reasonable, okay?”

“Reasonable? Where do you expect me to take her shopping? Wal-Mart?”

“Don’t be a snob. Take her to the Gap, Banana Republic, or someplace like that. She’s not ready for the likes of Prada yet.”

“If I must be forced to shop with the masses, I’m going to need a seaweed scrub afterward. Day spa, anyone? Join me in a mani-pedi for two?”

“Not for me, but get Sally one. Her hands look like they’ve been shucking corn,” I add before switching off the phone.

“You must be feeling a bit like Cinderella right now,” I say to Sally who is biting off the last of her fingernails. “So, let’s be clear. We’re going to try this for one month. If in that time, you don’t fuck up and I don’t get fired, we’ll make it permanent.”

I suck down the last of my mocha latte as Sally says, “I won’t let you down.”

“Great. Now let’s just see if I can keep my job long enough to process the paperwork on your promotion.”

Leaving Sally anxiously waiting for Giles to drive up in his pumpkin and fit her with a glass slipper, and me wondering if I may have just walked into a trap set by Jennifer and Alan, I dash out of Starbucks and into a throng of tourists gawking at the obnoxious billboards hovering over Sunset Boulevard. Dodging the sightseers as best I can, I collide with a newly married couple dawning baseball caps embossed with “Bride” and “Groom” (I just may vomit at the sight of them) in front of Chin Chin, a local dim sum joint where Alan and I had our first date nearly six years ago.