Earlier he had watched her browbeat a hapless PA and congratulated himself on not being anything like her. Of course not. I was never that bad. Although only this morning he had taken Kurt to task for forgetting his dry cleaning. No, it was simply that he liked things in a precise way, and if he could afford to have people do it that way, then why not? He wasn’t…he didn’t—
Sudden nausea hit Darcy like a cannonball to the stomach.
Aunt Catherine had shanghaied Caroline into joining her lunch table and now was treating her with regal condescension. Caroline knew how to play the game; she gushed over the older woman’s acting, clothing, choice of dogs, even her personal assistant—as if Bill Collins represented the high quality of his aunt’s tastes. In return, Aunt Catherine bestowed a beneficent smile on Caroline, like a queen approving of a lady in waiting.
When Elizabeth approached to ask a question about the next scene, Aunt Catherine regarded her like a speck of mold on her bread; unsurprisingly Elizabeth did not linger. Darcy understood his aunt’s thinking: Caroline was a bona fide star while Elizabeth was a nobody. But Darcy was beginning to wonder if his aunt had her priorities skewed.
If Elizabeth is the better person, why am I avoiding her and hanging out with Caroline?
No, that wasn’t fair. There were lots of good reasons to choose Caroline. He would work with her in the future. She wouldn’t expect too much from him. She was the kind of person he might invite to appear with him at industry events. Her family wasn’t super annoying.
So why do I wish I could eat lunch on a bench beside Elizabeth? Why does the prospect of lunch with Caroline and Aunt Catherine make picnicking on a hill of fire ants sound like fun by comparison?
He had been staring at the platter of cold cuts for an absurdly long time; on the other side of the table, a gaffer scooping pasta salad onto his plate gave Darcy a strange look. Ponder the vagaries of your feelings for Elizabeth another time, he told himself. At this point, he apparently needed all his concentration simply to make a sandwich.
As he trudged toward his aunt’s table, Darcy wondered how far behind they were on the production schedule. They should have finished shooting the first scene by now, but they weren’t even close. If only Aunt Catherine would pay as much attention to her acting as she does to her on-set amenities.
After the first hour of shooting, Perez had dropped tactful hints about making Aunt Catherine’s character less irritable. By the middle of the morning, the director had been reining in exasperation as she insisted on greater empathy, and as lunchtime rolled around, Perez was getting red in the face and Darcy worried about her blood pressure. Aunt Catherine was simply certain that her way was the best.
He felt somewhat responsible for the difficulties since he had convinced his aunt to take the part in the movie, but he reminded himself that her name in the credits would help sell tickets. They would find it worth the aggravation.
The group from True Colors had arrived mid-morning and was currently munching sandwiches on the far side of the set. They were a colorful collection. At least three were so androgynous that Darcy couldn’t tell if they were male, female, or non-binary. Several were Gothed-up with all-black clothing and dramatic makeup. One blond boy was wearing a bright green tutu.
But they seemed very interested in the process of making a movie. They had gone utterly silent when Perez yelled “Settle!” and they had stayed out of the way of the production staff. In fact, the twenty teenagers had caused far less disruption to the set than one aging diva.
Darcy managed to start a moderately interesting conversation about recently released movies, which gave his aunt fewer opportunities to complain. Just as he thought he might have gotten her into a better mood, Elizabeth reappeared.
Elizabeth smiled ingratiatingly. “Mrs. de Bourgh, would you be willing to chat with the teens from the homeless shelter for a few minutes? They’d be thrilled to meet a Hollywood legend like you.”
Oh no. Darcy could already anticipate the train crash.
Aunt Catherine sniffed. “No. I don’t approve of their kind.”
Elizabeth stiffened. “You mean gays and lesbians?”
The older woman regarded Elizabeth steadily. “No, teenagers.”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
Is it too late to pretend I don’t know Aunt Catherine? he wondered.
“I don’t care for children, and teenagers are a type of child.” Seated beside his mistress like a trained dog, Collins nodded sagely.
“You don’t like children?”
Aunt Catherine pursed her lips. “I don’t see the appeal. All children do is consume valuable resources, such as time and money, and they give nothing back. They start out as helpless, squalling, pooping bundles. Then there’s the ambulatory disease vector stage. During the school-age years, all they care about are Bob Sponges and games with balls. The teenage years are the worst. They start demanding keys to the car and college educations, as though they have some claim to your money. It’s one big racket.”
Aunt Catherine extended a bony finger toward Elizabeth. “In fact, you look suspiciously young yourself.”
“I’m twenty-two,” Elizabeth said.
“Hmph. That’s acceptable. You can quit sponging off your parents and make some kind of contribution to society.” The older woman settled back into her chair. “But don’t come looking to me for some mentoring.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Elizabeth said faintly.
Aunt Catherine stood, prompting Collins to surge to his feet. “I shall retire to my dressing room for a nap.”
Collins smiled obsequiously. “Excellent idea, ma’am. I am sure you will feel most refreshed after your slumber.”
She strolled away, holding her head high like visiting royalty, while Collins scurried behind her. Elizabeth gave the others a bemused look.
Caroline raised an eyebrow. “She has a point. Children are rather…messy.”
“Is your aunt for real?” Elizabeth asked Darcy.
“She’s not making it up, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No wonder…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at him.
“No wonder what?” Darcy asked.
“Never mind.” Elizabeth strolled away with the air of someone who had figured something out while Darcy had the disconcerting sense that he had missed something.
***
After checking again on the True Colors group, Elizabeth set off to find lunch and Charlotte. This was the first moment of downtime she’d experienced all day, and she wanted to share her insight about Darcy. Who knew that having a stick up your butt could be hereditary? The conversation hadn’t gotten far before Bill Collins emerged from Mrs. de Bourgh’s dressing room, carefully bearing her dog on a little velvet cushion.
“Oh, what a darling little dog!” Charlotte exclaimed. “May I hold him?”
Elizabeth expected a long disquisition about who was important enough to handle the great Cecil B. DeMille. Instead, Bill blushed and stammered, “I-I suppose it would b-be all right. J-Just for a moment.” He lifted the dog gently from the cushion and placed him carefully in Charlotte’s hands. “Here, let me show you the proper way to hold him, but perhaps it’s best if you sit down first.”
Charlotte sat, enchanted, while a well-groomed dust mop rested on her lap and deigned to be petted. She crooned to the dog, telling him how cute he was.
Hovering protectively, Bill didn’t have much to add to a conversation between a woman and a dog that mostly consisted of baby talk. Elizabeth took the opportunity to satisfy some of her curiosity about his employer. “It must be nice to have a bit of time to yourself while Mrs. de Bourgh naps.”
Bill wrung his hands. “Not at all. I would much rather be there to watch over her while she sleeps, but she hates it when I breathe.”
Elizabeth didn’t know how to respond to such a declaration. “How did you end up working for Mrs. de Bourgh?”
Bill’s eyes unfocused as he rem
inisced rapturously. “It was through an ad. I was instantly intrigued: ‘Wanted: Personal Assistant who would be willing to give up their life.’”
“I didn’t realize she has such a sense of humor.”
The man drew himself up to his full height. “I assure you, it was no joking matter; Mrs. de Bourgh was perfectly serious. Immediately upon being hired, I moved into her mansion and cut all ties with friends and family.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Even your parents?”
He appeared proud of his extreme devotion. “Nothing but a card at Christmas. Mrs. de Bourgh cannot spare me on Christmas day; I am required to sing carols for her.”
Wow, this job is even worse than I’d originally thought. “You really did have to give up your life.”
“Indeed. And not only in a metaphorical sense. I have trained to protect her from all manner of ills. I taste all her food. I know how to throw myself in front of a bullet and disarm a bomb. And I’ve learned seven ways to kill a grizzly bear.”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. “I would imagine most personal assistants don’t need that kind of training.”
“Most personal assistants don’t have a fraction of the devotion that I hold for Mrs. de Bourgh.”
Most assistants regard it as a job rather than a sacred calling. “She’s very lucky to have you.”
“I am the lucky one, I assure you.” Bill’s eyes drifted in the direction of Mrs. de Bourgh’s dressing room. “She has been most generous with my salary, and I have lovely accommodations at her mansion.”
Well, that might be the definition of success for some people.
The dog, sitting on Charlotte’s lap, gave a big yawn. Bill swooped down and picked him up. “Mr. DeMille, is it time for your massage?”
Elizabeth gaped. “The dog has a masseuse?”
Bill shot her a withering look. “Of course not. I massage him.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn dog massage,” Charlotte said dreamily.
“You have?” Bill regarded her with interest.
“Yes. And pedicures.”
“Well, Mr. DeMille dislikes pedicures, but he will sit up and beg for a massage—not that Mrs. de Bourgh would allow her dog to perform such a demeaning action, of course.”
“Can I watch you perform the massage?” Charlotte asked.
Bill regarded the dog thoughtfully. “As long as Mr. DeMille doesn’t find it disturbing. He is very sensitive.” Bill’s eyes darted around the set. “I will need a suitable location.”
“You’re not going to do it here?” Elizabeth asked.
“Pssh. It is far too noisy,” Bill said dismissively. “And I will need to locate the dog’s portable massage table.”
“I’ll help you find it,” Charlotte said eagerly. “And we can use the conference room. It should be empty right now.”
“That would be acceptable.” Bill inclined his head regally.
As they hurried toward the conference room, Elizabeth reflected that friendships were created in many ways, but that was the first time she had seen anyone bond over doggy massage.
***
Darcy’s “Aunt Catherine headache” had subsided only marginally by the time he returned to his trailer later that afternoon. They had finished one scene, but she would return tomorrow to complete a shoot that should have taken one day. Noting the tightness in his neck muscles, Darcy mused that he could have used Cecil B. DeMille’s massage.
He stopped short when his trailer came into view. A slender Asian boy with spiked hair and an elaborate earring in one ear was sitting on the steps leading to the front door. Good lord, what now?
The boy stood up as Darcy approached and extended his hand. “M-Mr. Darcy? I’m Garrett Cho.” Darcy shook his hand. “From the True Colors program?”
Oh yeah. His mentee. Well, the kid wasn’t too grungy for being homeless. His band t-shirt and skinny jeans weren’t particularly fashionable, but they were clean and neat. The hair and earring wouldn’t cause anyone to bat an eye on a movie set.
And he didn’t appear to be the kind of teen who would lift Darcy’s wallet. Of course, you could never tell for sure; Darcy would have to keep an eye on him just in case. After a movie’s release, props and costumes could be sold for a hefty profit on the internet. Why did I agree to this again?
Darcy unlocked his trailer and gestured for Garrett to follow him. He had been planning to pass the kid off on Kurt, but his personal assistant was late getting back from his coffee break. Again.
Damn. Now Darcy needed to stall and make small talk, which he sucked at. What kinds of questions was it okay to ask a homeless gay guy? Or maybe he wasn’t a guy? Maybe he was a she? Or a they? Damn, this was confusing. He tried to examine Garrett more closely without appearing to be staring.
“Er…” Darcy indicated the leather sectional occupying the trailer’s living room. “You can have a seat. So…how long have you been at True Colors?”
Garrett’s eyes went wide as he surveyed the trailer. It was probably a palace to him. Bringing Darcy’s personal trailer to the set had been a considerable expense, but it was worth it. The trailer was certainly more comfortable than lounging around the soundstage, and it afforded him some privacy. The leather sofa and fifty-inch television did help him unwind, although he rarely used the stainless-steel appliances in the gourmet kitchen. I could invite Garrett to use the gaming systems when he’s not working. Darcy didn’t know how to operate them.
“Six months.” The boy tucked himself onto one end of the sofa as if trying to take up as little space as possible.
“Um…how old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
The kid’s one-word answers made it hard to keep a conversation going.
“Are you particularly interested in filmmaking?” At least this question would demand a longer answer.
Garrett’s face finally showed some animation. “Yeah. Oh my God! Being on a film set is like my dream come true. And meeting you…well…” He made an explosion sound effect. “My mind is like completely blown!”
+Darcy was finally getting somewhere. “Do you think you might be interested in a career in filmmaking?”
Garrett’s head bobbed up and down. Here it comes, Darcy thought. Everyone at that age thought they’d be the next Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise.
“I’m particularly interested in sound design or, like, being a Foley operator?” The kid chewed on his lower lip.
Huh. That wasn’t something you heard every day. There was more to this kid than Darcy had expected. “Have you worked in sound design before?”
Garrett chewed on a fingernail. “A little. I did some work backstage with the sound board at my high school…before I dropped out.”
Something about the kid’s shy, earnest attitude made Darcy feel unreasonably protective. “You shouldn’t have dropped out.” God, now I sound like a parent.
“I know.” Garrett squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa. “I tried to keep going, but it was too hard after my parents kicked me out. Just finding a place to sleep and getting food took so much energy. And I was so tired all the time. After a while I started to wonder what’s the point of making all that effort to go to school. You know?”
Darcy did his best to keep his expression neutral. He had known, of course, that such things happened to LGBTQ teens. But he had known in a vague intellectual way. He hadn’t actually expected to meet someone with such a horrific story. Which was pretty stupid, now that Darcy thought about it. How did he think that homeless teens ended up being homeless?
Garrett had slumped into the sofa, the perfect pose of teenage languor, but then he sat up straight. “But it all worked out. I mean, True Colors is awesome, and they’re helping me get my GED.” Had Darcy appeared so distressed that Garrett felt the need to cheer him up?
“I’m glad to hear that.” Darcy wondered if there was a tactful way to inquire how and why his parents had kicked him out. But before he could develop one, Kurt ambled into the trailer, apparently not in
the least concerned about being twenty minutes late returning from break.
Darcy carefully refrained from yelling at his personal assistant in front of the teen. “Kurt, this is Garrett from True Colors. He’s going to be on the set for a couple of days.” Garrett’s face lit up. Darcy had promised Elizabeth he would take a student for a day, but now seeing the kid’s earnest face, he couldn’t keep it so short. How much could Garrett learn in a day? “Can you give him a hand and show him where everything is?”
Kurt regarded the teen with complete blankness, adding to Darcy’s suspicion he dabbled in illegal substances during his break. “I don’t know. I’m kind of busy…”
Darcy took a deep breath, striving to keep his temper under control. “That wasn’t a request, Kurt. This is part of your job, do you understand?”
The assistant tossed his head. “Sure. Whatever.”
“Garrett is particularly interested in sound design, so make sure you introduce him to DaVon and Harry.”
Kurt stared. “Who?”
“Never mind. I’ll do it the next time I’m on the set. Right now, I need you to go to wardrobe and get my jacket for tomorrow’s scene.”
It always took Kurt a minute to process instructions. “Okay,” he said finally, turning toward the door.
“And take Garrett with you so he can see that part of the building.”
Kurt heaved a sigh and then gestured for Garrett to follow him. As he watched the two young men leave the trailer, Darcy wished—for about the millionth time—that he hadn’t driven Elizabeth away.
Chapter Eight
Charlie Bingley really was the ultimate party guy, Elizabeth thought as she stepped into his house. It was surprising that he hadn’t thrown a party for the cast and crew before now. His house was fairly modest by Hollywood standards, only a little larger than Elizabeth’s parents’ home. But it was in the posh Hollywood Hills area, with its leafy green trees and houses perched on terraced hillsides.
Darcy in Hollywood Page 10
