by J. J. Bella
"No clue," said Sophia. "Wait...I mean, I know he's been wondering how the shoot's been going. He probably just wants to check in."
"Yeah, you're right," I said. "OK, I should probably take this. Later, girl!"
"Bye!"
With that, I clicked over.
"Hey, Mr. Whittaker," I said, a little nervous.
"Call me Simon, young lady," he said in his languid British accent. "How's my little liaison doing on this lovely Sunday morning?"
"Um, just fine," I said.
"Good, good," he responded. "Well, as you know, part of this little arrangement that Mr. Thorne and I worked out is that you work as something of an intermediary between our two organizations. Which means that you keep me abreast of the goings-on with the production. But I haven't heard from you in quite some time. You haven't forgotten about ol' Simon, have you?"
I gulped. He was right: I'd gotten so involved with things here with Liam that I'd totally spaced on the fact that I was supposed to be checking in with Mr. Whit- I mean, Simon about how the shoot was going.
"Sorry, Simon," I said. "These last few weeks have just flown by."
"Think nothing of it," he said. "But I will need a little update on the shoot. Are you free this afternoon?"
This wasn't really a request. I mean, not like I could tell one of the owners of one of the largest film production companies in the city that I couldn't meet him for lunch because I needed some me-time or something.
"Of course!" I said, keeping my voice chipper.
"Wondrous," he said. "I'll send you the address. Let's say around twelve-thirty?"
"Sounds good."
"Until then."
I hung up the phone and began regretting right away that I'd had so much coffee. Between the caffeine and the meeting, my heart was racing. I checked the time and saw that I had a couple of hours before I needed to leave. I went to my room and picked out something professional to wear, hoping as I got ready that Liam would wake up so I could talk to him about this meeting. I mean, all I really needed to do was tell Simon how things had been going, but still, Liam was such a cool, in-control guy that having him say that I didn't need to worry about anything was would need to hear to take my pulse down by about fifty beats per minute.
But as the time came to leave, Liam still wasn't up. He might've been in his office, but I didn't want to bother him with my dumb insecurities if I didn't have to. So, taking a deep breath, I was off. The restaurant was in Nolita, which was only about a twenty-minute walk away, so I decided to go on foot instead of taking the train.
After a nice walk, I arrived at the restaurant. It was a large, open space with lots of white and gold, the afternoon sun shining in and filling the space with some level of cheer. It was packed, and I could tell by the clothes that the clientele was just as wealthy as those at the place last night, though a different type of wealthy; the place last night had the people who stared in the films, and this place had the people who funded them. I scanned the sea of well-dressed men and women and spotted Simon, who was sitting at a small table near a window, a little glass of clear liquid in front of him.
He saw me as I approached, and a slow, creeping smile spread across his fleshy face as he rose to greet me.
"There she is," he said, giving me a too-firm hug before pulling out the chair for me.
"Well," he, said, noticing my outfit. "Looks like Mr. Thorne’s been giving you some pointers about dressing well."
"Don't really have much use for anything nice when you're just fetching coffee," I said, settling in my seat and feeling immediately uncomfortable.
"I took the liberty of ordering you a salad," he said. "I would've waited for you to show, but you girls always end up just getting salads anyway."
"Oh, thank you," I said.
Something struck me as a little sexist about his comment, but I couldn't lie- a salad did sound nice. I guess he had me pegged…or that I wasn't the first girl he'd asked out to a lunch like this.
"So," he said, drumming his thick fingers on the white tablecloth, "tell me what you've been up to, dear. How's the production been going?"
I filled him in as best I could, while being vague when I felt it was expedient. I found myself wishing that I'd been able to talk with Liam before this meeting, since I had no idea how much of the issues with the director and the lead actress I should talk about. So, I sort of just, um, glided over the situation, saying some vague nothings about "occasional tensions on the set." Samuel raised an eyebrow at this, and I think he got what I was saying.
"Very good, very good," he said when I was done.
"Sounds like you've been keeping a careful eye on things; just what I've been hoping you'd do."
"Glad to be of help," I said, still feeling a little nervous.
"Well," he said, taking a sip of his drink, "if you really want to be of help, let's get to what I was hoping to talk to you about."
There's more to this? I thought, confused.
Samuel sat back in his seat, the chair groaning under his shifting bulk. He looked away for a second, his thick brow knotted as though he was trying to figure out the best way to say something. Before he could start, the waitress arrived and placed a colorful salad in front of me and a sandwich in front of Samuel. He thanked the waitress, giving her a flirtatious wink as she stepped away.
"Don't let me stop you," he said. "Dig in."
Samuel grabbed his sandwich with two hands, taking a massive bite out of it. The thin, pink meat oozed out of the back, and when he set the sandwich back down, his big, pink lips were sheened with grease. I found my appetite somewhat diminished, and poked listlessly at my salad, spearing a small piece of pear into my mouth when I finally felt like eating.
Finally, he sat back once again, now ready to talk.
"As you know, Thorne Pictures is one of the hottest companies in the New York film scene," he said, weaving his fingers together and resting his hands on his large, round belly. "I want to know why."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"There's something to Mr. Thorne…something that Bronzeplate doesn't have. I know he's young and hungry and willing to take risks on pictures that others won't, but there's something more to it than that. And I want to know what it is."
I sat still, saying nothing.
"So, I want you to pay very close attention to how Mr. Thorne runs things. Very close. In fact, if you happen to come across some information on his computer pertaining to exact numbers and figures, well, I wouldn't upset if you somehow managed to take a picture of this and get it to me."
Was he…asking me to spy on Liam?
"Don't go out of your way to attract attention, but if you find anything relating to finances, upcoming pictures, current negotiations with talent…well, let's just say that it would behoove your career at Bronzeplate if you were to assist us in this manner."
I poked at my salad listlessly, whatever appetite that I had fading fast.
"But enough business," he said. "Tell me how you're liking the industry so far."
"Um," I said, looking down and clearing my throat, "it's good."
"Just good?" asked Simon, his eyebrows raised over his watery eyes.
"Great," I corrected myself. "I love it. It's been excellent working so closely with Mr. Thorne; I'm learning a lot from him about the behind-the-scenes process."
"Great, good, grand, wonderful," said Simon, grabbing a wad of greasy meat that'd fallen out of the back of his sandwich, wadding it up, and popping it into his mouth like a gumball.
"Precisely what I was hoping for," he said, the meat turning into pink sludge in his mouth as he chewed it.
He swallowed hard, washing the whole thing down with a long sip of his drink.
"I've had my eye on you for some time, young lady," he said, drumming his fingers on the table once more. "If you've been succeeding in this new role as much as I'm getting the hint you are, well, I think it might speak volumes about your future at Bronzeplate. I wouldn't mind
taking a new assistant under my wing, for example. I do prefer to work…very closely with my underlings."
My eyes shot to the table, and I saw that his hand had moved across it. Not super close to me, but close enough to where he was making it clear that he was in my personal space.
Was he suggesting what I think he was?
No, I thought. There's no way he would so bold as to suggest that I work with him…like that.
"Um, that would be great," I said, suddenly feeling very trapped.
I turned my attention my back to my salad, eating it as quickly as I could. Thankfully, only a little more time passed before I got a text from Liam, asking if I could come back to the apartment to help him go over some scheduling issues. Nothing life-or-death…but Mr. Whittaker didn't need to know that.
"Duty calls?" he asked, polishing off his drink.
"Kind of," I said. "Mr. Thorne's a real ball-buster."
Another grin spread across Mr. Whittaker's face.
"Go on," he said. "I won't keep you."
"Thanks for the lunch," I said, getting up as quickly as I could without drawing attention to just how fast I wanted to get the hell out of there.
"Think nothing of it," he said.
But as I turned to leave, he placed his hand on mine.
"Think about what I said," he said. "I think you could go far in this industry. If you make the right connections, that is."
I nodded in acknowledgment, flashing one last strained smile before hurrying out of the restaurant, my mind racing from what had just taken place.
15
The next few weeks were...quite something. Now that Mia and I had acted on the attraction that was clearly still there, our relationship took on a slightly different tenor. She began to feel less to me like a live-in assistant and more like, well, something much more than that. We did our best to keep things somewhat distant –we did our best to make sure that we slept in separate beds for Olivia's sake- but aside from that, we found one another slowly slipping back into our old relationship. After all, we didn't break up on strictly bad terms- what was wrong with revisiting what was, for the most part, a good thing?
And to be honest, I was eager to have a woman like her at my side. My career had been going rather successfully, sure, but it didn't leave much time for relationships that were more than superficial dalliances with actresses or crew women. It takes a certain type of person to succeed in this industry, and one of the traits of that type of person is that relationships are understood as something of a luxury, something that you can indulge in between projects, or when you and your lover's schedules make such a thing otherwise convenient.
So, to have someone like Mia, someone who I already had a history with, was exactly what I was looking for. We spent our days –and some nights, when necessary- on set together plugging away at the production. Our free time, however, was spent together. I was more than glad to have someone I could share my wealth with, and it was wonderful to be able to show someone like her the city of the city that tends to find itself off-limits to those who aren't as financially secure as men like myself. We went to the trendiest restaurants, we saw shows, and we took longs strolls through Central Park.
Her relationship with Olivia grew as well. Olivia's mother was, well, the flighty type, to put it lightly- your standard actress more concerned with herself than others. Make no mistake, she cared for our little girl, but the ego of a star tended not to leave much room for others, as I'd painfully learned during those difficult few months when our relationship deteriorated. Mia, on the other hand, adored the girl. She was happy to spend hours with her in the city or watching movies, and before I knew it, they were thick as thieves. I couldn't begin to describe just how pleased I was that my little girl now had something of a stable female figure in her life.
And, it goes without saying, we made love nearly constantly. I savored every moment of our intimate time together. We knew one another's body so well, and once we were able to move past our initial awkwardness, we found that we fit one another as easily as an old glove. I couldn't believe that I'd forgotten just how beautiful Mia was, and being with her in this way again after so many years was almost like a gift- one that I didn't want to take for granted this time around.
I often found myself wondering just how much different I look in Mia's eyes. The reason we broke up before was that she felt that I wasn't serious, that I would do nothing but drag her down. Sure, I had a modestly successful career going now, but aside from my brief marriage to Olivia's mother, I realized that I hadn't really changed my ways. I dated around, kept irregular hours, and lived a life that wasn't all that different from how I lived when we dated before. Olivia kept me grounded when she was around, but aside from those times, I was still the same man in many ways. I found myself worrying that it was only a matter of time until Mia saw through the flashy exterior that I'd managed to build up over the last few years and realized that not much had really changed. And when she did, she'd be gone for good.
"Action!" shouted Michael, the director of the project.
The scene snapped to life, and I found myself watching Michael more than the action unfolding in the middle of the sectioned-off street in Queens where we were currently filming. Michael had made some improvements to his wielding of his authority, but he still had a long way to go. Mia was nearby, watching him just as carefully. Thankfully, the Emmanuelle wasn't a part of this scene, so things could go much more smoothly.
And just as the thought of Emmanuelle entered my mind, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I slipped it out, and sure enough, it was from her.
Finding work less interesting without me? ;)
Emmanuelle had, in the last few weeks since our "meeting" in her trailer, been making her interest in me about as clear as could be. I'm not going to lie- she was making it very difficult to be professional.
I sighed, and against my better judgment, typed up a response.
It's definitely calmer; that's for sure.
The response came before I could put my phone away.
Sounds painfully boring.
I shook my head and smiled; it was hard to accept just how much these artist-types thrived off of drama.
Boring's good when you're the one in charge.
I flicked my attention back to the set, and then to Mia, who was currently standing near Michael, keeping an eye on him and making sure that he was able to keep control of the set. I was being furtive in my behavior, as though I were doing something that I shouldn't be.
Spoken like someone who needs some excitement in his life.
In spite of myself, I couldn't help but feel a little intrigued. Sometimes it felt like the more I tried to keep my professional façade intact, the more the passions that I kept in check wanted to break out. I typed up my response, my fingers seeming to move on their own.
And what kind of excitement are you suggesting?
I regretted sending the text as soon as I hit the button. Behavior like this led to nothing but trouble, as I'd learned time and time again. But I just couldn't seem to help myself.
The response came about a minute later.
Something like this, it said.
And attached was a picture of Emmanuelle wearing, well, very little. The shot was of her from the mouth down, her full red lips curved into a sensual, mischievous smile. Below that, her body was nearly on full display. She was wearing nothing but very lacy, very skimpy sky-blue underwear that showed off about as much of her winsome, porcelain-colored body as I cared to see. Her fire red hair snaked into the top of the picture like thick vines.
It was something else.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket, realizing that nothing good would come from continuing this conversation. And on top of that, the feeling of guilt began to build. I don't know why, since Mia and I weren't involved in anything even resembling a committed relationship. But still, I couldn't help but feel as though I was doing something seriously wrong.
"What'd you think
of that take?"
Mia's voice behind me startled me somewhat; I felt as though I'd been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
"To be honest," I said, turning to face her, "I was a little distracted."
Mia smirked and playfully jabbed me on the shoulder.
"You better be careful," she said. "I might just steal this job out from under you."
She turned back to the set just as my phone buzzed in my pocket once again. I slipped it out, and sure enough, it was another message from Emmanuelle. Or, I should say, another picture and a message.
No response? I'm hurt.
Below was a picture of her in the same underwear in a similar pose, this time her hand on her bra, pulling down one cup just enough to expose a very pink, very hard nipple. My heart began to race, and part of me wanted to call in a damn private helicopter to airlift me over to Emmanuelle's place so that I could give her what she clearly wanted.
Instead, I typed up a quick message.
Very nice, but duty calls.
Moments later another picture arrived. This one was…well, let say it was far, far more revealing than the other two, and quite definitively settled the question of whether or not Emmanuelle was a natural redhead.
Too bad- I was in the mood for some fun.
I turned my phone to silent and shoved it into my pocket. This was the last thing I needed to be distracting myself with, especially with production happening at this very moment. My phone dealt with, I headed over to where Mia stood watching the shooting intently. I watched Michael order the actors around, but noted that he was still having trouble asserting himself.
This is no good, I thought. What's he going to do when Emmanuelle's here and Mia and I are off? She'll eat him alive, and cost me money in the process. I put these thoughts aside, already ready to go home for the day.
"You want to grab a bite after this?" I asked Mia after checking my watch and seeing we were about at the end of the time we'd been allotted for street shooting.
"Definitely, but if we don't get a good take out of today I think I might flip my shit," she said, her eyes locked onto the actors.
