by M. S. Parker
Carrie's face turned bright red. “I never should have told you about that.”
Before the mood could get serious again, I climbed out of the car and pulled my bag out of the backseat. This one was bigger than the one I'd taken before since I knew I'd be at least four or five days without the rest of my wardrobe. I was going to be making a lot, but I didn't have it now to spend on extra clothes.
I spent most of the flight trying to plan what I was going to do when I landed, but every time I started, another memory from my time in New York would make its way forward, reminding me of what I was leaving behind.
The time Leslie, Dena, Carrie and I had crashed a wedding at some museum. Carrie would've remembered which one. What I remembered was the four of us running from the security guards, carrying our heels and laughing so hard we almost got caught. That had been my idea, a dare for Leslie that had somehow turned into all four of us doing it.
Meeting Leslie and Dena for the first time.
The nights we'd stay in eating ice cream and watching chick-flicks.
Getting a call at two in the morning from a broken-hearted Dena when her high school sweetheart died in a car accident. We'd all gone and stayed with her for two days.
The Fridays after work when we'd go to a bar or club to unwind after a long week.
Forcing Carrie to go talk to the hottie at the bar and then seeing how happy she was with him.
By the time I arrived at LAX, I was emotionally wrung out. No one was waiting for me this time, which wasn't surprising since I hadn't told anyone when I was coming in, but I was glad. I didn't want to have to pretend to put on a happy face, even for a company driver.
I stood with everyone else who was trying to get a cab and when I got in, I gave the driver the address to Hotel Hollywood. I'd considered going back to the hotel where the company had put me up, but they cost three hundred and fifty dollars a night, even in their least expensive room. Since I wasn't sure how many nights I was going to stay, I'd opted for something nice, but less expensive. My first paycheck wouldn't be coming until the end of the month, and while that would take care of any financial issues, right now I only had my savings, which was enough for a deposit and the first couple months rent.
I hadn't really had time to start looking at places, but at least the cost didn't seem too much different than New York. Back home – back in the city, I corrected myself – I'd needed a roommate because I hadn't been making enough to afford a place of my own. Here, with my much larger salary, I could afford it, but I didn't know if I wanted to. I'd never lived alone. I'd gone from my parents' house to rooming with Carrie at Columbia to rooming with her in our apartment. I was afraid that living by myself would be too quiet.
Maybe I'd find a two bedroom and then start looking for someone who wouldn't mind my mess. Maybe I could even offer a lower portion of the rent if she kept the place clean. That way, I wouldn't need to worry about it or have to feel guilty for not doing it. I allowed myself a small smile. That was a brilliant idea.
The hotel was nice, nothing too fancy, but not some one-night place that people traveling used as a place to sleep before moving on. I could be comfortable here while I looked for apartments over the next couple days. My stuff would arrive probably on Wednesday or Thursday and I didn't want to have to rent a storage unit, so I'd probably be spending the rest of the day looking for places to visit after work tomorrow.
I didn't really have much to unpack, but by the time I was done, I was starving. I'd been so worked up this entire weekend, I hadn't eaten a lot. I wasn't sure if Sunset Plaza was close enough to walk to, but I could get a cab. I frowned. I didn't want to risk running into Taylor. He'd been polite when we'd parted ways, but that had been before I'd found out that he'd been paid to flirt with me. I wasn't sure how I'd react if I saw him.
Fortunately, I'd spotted a small café down the street when I'd arrived. That looked as good a place as any. After the long flight, I was glad to stretch my legs and I let myself enjoy the late afternoon sunshine, reminding myself of the gray skies in New York when I'd left.
As I walked, for the first time, I noticed the homeless people begging on the sidewalk. Being from Chicago and New York, this wasn't exactly something I hadn't seen before. Here, it made a bit more sense than it did in either of those other cities. Here, at least, the weather was almost always nice, plus there were plenty of tourists. I usually limited my interactions to working soup kitchens around the holidays, but today, I dropped a five dollar bill into the box that sat in front of an older man. He had a large beard and a long, thin face. He kind of looked like a guy I'd seen playing Jesus on a movie once.
“Go get yourself some lunch,” I said with a smile.
“God bless you, child,” he said as he picked up the bill.
I continued on my way, occasionally dropping some change and a couple one dollar bills as I went. I knew I couldn't afford to do this every day, and I couldn't give all of them five dollars, but at least I could help a little. By the time I reached the café, the smile was staying and I was feeling much better. I still missed New York and my friends, but I could see a good life here. A new job. A new place. New friends.
DeVon's face flashed through my mind.
A new boss.
My stomach clenched. There was that, too. A new boss who pissed me off... and maybe turned me on.
My phone rang, interrupting my less-than-welcomed thoughts. I looked down at the screen. Mom. Damnit. I'd been ignoring her calls all weekend. I hadn't told her about my interview in LA and I had no clue how to tell her that I'd already moved here. DeVon had said to give it a week, but I knew the chances of me quitting were slim. Jensens didn't quit.
I sighed. I had to talk to her sometime, and at least a conversation with her would distract me from what I'd been thinking.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Krissy Marie Jensen, have you been avoiding my calls?”
I winced. Mom didn't yell or even raise her voice. When she was pissed, her voice got quieter. She was barely speaking above a whisper right now.
“I'm sorry, Mom. I've been really busy with work.” That, at least, was the truth.
“You and your father,” she said. “Sometimes I wonder how he ever found the time to contribute to your conception.”
I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to say that the last thing I wanted to think about over a meal was my conception.
“I tried calling him to see what you were up to, but he didn't even take my call. Some big new case, I supposed. Amelia said I was being too sensitive. She always says I'm too sensitive.”
And now we'd moved from complaining about my father to complaining about her newest lover. My mom had 'discovered herself' when I was about eleven or twelve, but she and my dad managed to hold it together until I was thirteen. Sometimes I thought it was because he was usually so busy with his law firm that it had taken him that long to realize that his wife was a lesbian. Not that I'd ever asked. That was one of my top “conversations never to have with my parents.”
“So, darling, I need to know if you're planning on coming home for Thanksgiving. Your father will be working, I assume, but Amelia wants to bring her parents over to meet you.”
I didn't mention that I'd never met Amelia myself. The last of my mother's girlfriends I'd met had been Summer, and that had been six months and two lovers ago. My mom's a bit high-maintenance. Not in the money sense, because she had all the money. When your dad's a big-shot lawyer pulling in six figures easy and he's the 'poorer' parent, that's saying something. Mom was old money. Her great-great-grandfather, or something like, that had struck gold or oil and moved the family up in society. At least, that was the story the family told. I personally suspected we were descended from some gangsters who'd gotten rich during Prohibition and then invested wisely. Again, a conversation to avoid.
“Krissy?” My mom repeated my name.
“Sorry, Mom,” I mumbled. “I don't know if I'm going to be able to make it home for Thanksgiving.”
“And why not?” Back to her quiet voice.
“Because I have a new job and I don't know what days I get off.”
“Honey, the flight's only a couple hours and I'd be happy to pay for it.”
“I don't want your money, Mom,” I said the sentence automatically. I'd been saying it since I'd graduated from high school. My parents had insisted on paying for college, and that wasn't one I argued about much, but everything else had been me. I didn't want anyone saying I'd gotten to where I was riding my parents' coattails, and I didn't want anyone trying to suck up to me just because my parents were rich. “And it's not a couple hours.”
“Sure it is.”
I took a deep breath. “My new job's in LA, Mom. I'm not in New York anymore.”
“Excuse me?”
Wow. That was the quietest I'd ever heard her. “I took a job in LA. In fact, I just moved out here today.”
“Does your father know about this?”
My parents had stayed amicable after the divorce, but things tended to get a little ugly if I told Dad something and not Mom. Dad didn't care. He was happy with what I gave him, when I gave it, and concentrated on his work the rest of the time. I wasn't sure which annoyed me more.
“No, Mom. It happened really fast.”
“You know,” she said. “If you'd take your father's job offer at his firm, you'd never have to worry about vacations.”
“I want to make it on my own,” I argued.
“And you've proven that you can,” she countered. “But one day you're going to inherit my portion of the family money and take your place as the public face of our family. You need to come home so you can be properly trained.”
More training. I wondered if DeVon's training would include the rigorous etiquette lessons and ass-kissing that my mom's lessons would have. It was possible.
“Mom.” I kept my tone firm. “I love you and I love Dad, but I'm doing this. Now, I have to go look for an apartment. I'll let you know closer to Thanksgiving if I'll be home, and I'll definitely try to make it out for Christmas.”
“Krissy...”
“Love you, Mom.”
I hung up before she could say anything else. I loved my parents, but they were a handful. One of the reasons I hadn't stayed in Chicago for school had been to get away from them. We got along much better when we were apart. Dad didn't feel guilty and I didn't resent him. Mom could focus on herself and she couldn't control me.
I paid my bill and headed back to the hotel. I was more determined than ever not to quit, no matter how asinine DeVon's behavior. I had to prove to my parents that this was the right choice. I didn't even want to think about the alternative.
Chapter 15
I was actually relieved when I saw that my office was about average-sized. It wasn't as big as some of the ones I'd passed coming in, but it wasn't tiny either. I'd been afraid I was going to end up in this massive corner office and really piss some people off. I was there to work, but I hoped I'd at least make a couple friends, like I'd done at Webster and Steinberg. I already felt like I didn't deserve the job. I didn't need anything else to make me stand out.
Once the relief passed, I was able to sit behind my desk and appreciate everything. The décor was modern like the rest of the building – with the exception of DeVon's office. The office chair I sat on was comfortable enough that I knew it cost more than I'd made in a month in New York. The two chairs on the other side of the desk looked just as expensive. There were no paintings or anything on the walls and I made a mental note to try to find something to make it feel more personable in here. The outside wall and front wall were glass, and I supposed that was a good thing. I knew people were probably going to be talking about me. If DeVon came in to see me, at least there'd be no gossip about what we were doing behind my closed doors. I wondered how many of the women out there had experienced the same unique interviews I had.
I turned to my computer and pushed thoughts of DeVon and his women out of my head. I was here to work. I had to prove that I deserved this office instead of being downstairs among the cubicles with the rest of the legal department.
“Excuse me, Ms. Jensen?” A pretty, red-haired girl knocked on my open door.
“Yes?”
“Hi,” she said brightly. “I'm Tracy, your PA.”
I couldn't help but smile back. She reminded me a little of Leslie when we'd first met, fresh out of college, just turned twenty-one. “It's nice to meet you, Tracy, and please, call me Krissy.” If I was going to call DeVon by his first name, then Tracy could call me by mine.”
“Krissy, then.” Her smile widened and she came into the office. She was dressed in a cute dress that was the perfect combination of professional and fun. Definitely like Leslie.
“So, DeVon told me to help you get set up,” Tracy said.
I felt a pang of disappointment that I wasn't the only employee to use his first name, then I pushed it aside. I had to focus.
Tracy walked around the desk so that she was standing near my computer. Her tone changed to something more brisk and business-like as she turned on the computer. She handed me a slip of paper and, when the login screen came up, she punched in my user information. Passwords would change on a weekly basis and were all randomly generated so that no one could hack the system by guessing that you always used the name of your first crush. I listened carefully as she explained the various programs I would need to access and the uses for each. I'd never been the most computer-savvy of the people working at Webster and Steinberg, but I was smart enough to be able to memorize things.
“I also have these for you.” Tracy handed me two files I hadn't seen her bring in. “DeVon sent them to me at the end of last week and said that they're your first two clients.” She gave me another charming smile and then headed back out to her own desk.
I picked up the files with a combination of dread and relief. I'd had a hard time sleeping last night, thinking I'd be spending most of my day sitting around with nothing to do. I didn't handle downtime well. I was terrified I'd screw something up, but at least it was work.
I opened the first file and glanced at it, then did the same to the second. Both were female actresses who'd had several small appearances on television shows I didn't watch, but neither one was working now. I'd never seen either one before. I set down the second file and began to read the first more thoroughly.
I was halfway through when Tracy knocked again. “Unless the door's closed,” I said. “You don't have to knock.”
“Understood.” Tracy held out another file.
“More clients?” I wasn't sure why DeVon would be giving me another before I'd done anything with these.
Tracy shook her head. “No, this is the latest 'who's looking' list.”
“The what?” I hated looking ignorant, but better I get the information from my PA than risk looking like an idiot in front of some higher-up.
“It's a list of upcoming television and movie projects that are looking for talent, and it also has upcoming auditions.” The fact that Tracy answered me without any surprise that I didn't know told me that DeVon had told her about my inexperience in the field. I wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing or bad.
I glanced at the file. It made sense, I supposed. A big part of my job was probably matching my clients with suitable jobs.
“Oh, there's more,” Tracy said.
More? I watched Tracy walk out and pick up a huge box that had been sitting on the floor next to her desk.
“DeVon told me to give you this, too.”
“What is it?” I almost didn't want to know. The sheer size of the box was intimidating.
“Screenplays.” Tracy reached inside and pulled out a sheaf of paper. “Some might make it to a movie, most won't. The trick is to pick a winner. Find something that could work for one of our clients. More than one, if we're really lucky.”
I stood and peered into the box. It was full. It would take me months to read all of these. At least I didn't h
ave to worry about being bored.
“By the way, we get a box like that every week.”
I looked up and Tracy was grinning at me, as if she knew I was currently asking myself what I'd gotten into.
“Let me know if there's anything you need.” Tracy went back out to her desk.
My eyes returned to the box and I took a deep breath. The best way to deal with a project that seemed overwhelming was to just do it. I began to unload the box, making neat piles on my desk, separating by genre.
I'd only been working for a couple minutes when someone knocked on my door. I raised my head to remind Tracy she didn't need to knock and saw a man standing in the doorway. He looked like he was at least ten to fifteen years older than me, which meant if he was like most of Hollywood, he was closer to twenty years older and had gotten work done.
