VANCE: A Movie Star Romance

by Lucy Lambert

  I had what must’ve been one of my fastest, most efficient showers ever. The water barely had time to get hot. I scrubbed, I shaved, I lathered. I wished I could rinse and repeat but I stuck with just the rinse part.

  The mirror over the sink had only just starting fogging around the edges when I hopped out, water dripping off my body all over the tiles when I leaned over them from my safe island on the square of carpet by the tub so that I could grab my towel.

  I tried my hair up. I tried my hair down. In a ponytail, then held back. I almost braided it, but knew I couldn’t waste the time.

  I decided down was the simplest. I had no idea where we were going so figured it was the safest. I resolved to throw a hair elastic in my pocket just in case I needed it for a quick and dirty up do.

  Makeup or no makeup? I thought next.

  With the way I kept blushing I didn’t think I needed much in the way of artificial color, but I put some on anyway, finishing with some lipstick that darkened my lips a bit more than natural.

  I wondered if Vance was at his home agonizing over what to wear or whether to put gel in his hair.

  I figured on a big NO to that. I bet he rolled out of bed looking gorgeous every morning.

  I opened the door and found Sam loitering in the hall. Her eyes went wide and she smiled when she saw me.

  “Date?” she asked.

  I found I wanted to tell her, but I couldn’t. Not yet.

  It was too bad, really. I’d been pretty close with all these girls I lived with before starting my PA position, but it sucked up so much of my time that I barely had anything left to give them.

  I winked and said, “tell you later. Sort of in a rush.”

  At least I already knew what to wear.

  In my room, I went straight to my closet, grabbing that staple item of every girl’s closet: the little black dress. It had straps and displayed what I thought of as a tasteful amount of skin. I paired it with some sheer stockings and then took a moment to catch my breath and look in the mirror.

  The sort of thing that would look good if something more than casual was required, and could even do in a pinch for formal stuff.

  Though what I liked best was the thin, almost invisible line of a small pocket on the left hip. It was slim, but good enough to put my driver’s license and a credit card into. Not that the card had much credit.

  I hated carrying a bag around outside of work. Not even a small clutch. I always felt like I’d drop it, or someone might snatch it and run.

  The only problem was there wasn’t enough room for my phone. Well, technically there was, but then there’d be this big bulge on my hip, ruining the lines of the dress.

  If only I had any clue what he wanted to do.

  Nerves continued flaring up in my stomach, and my mind kept coming up with ways of begging off.

  Oh, sorry, I can’t go because my roommate is sick.

  Sorry, can’t come; the wind’s blowing south-westerly instead of north-westerly.

  Sorry, I can’t go because I don’t think I should.

  I knew that I shouldn’t go. However, I found that I wanted to go. And there’s a wide chasm between should and want.

  I smoothed my hands down my nervous stomach, enjoying the feel of the dress against my palms.

  I look good, I thought.

  I didn’t have Linda Campion’s bust or hips, but I looked good.

  Should I wear a belt? I wondered.

  Good enough to go out with a movie star? I wasn’t sure I’d ever measure up to that, but for the time I had I thought I cleaned up pretty damn nice, and no one could tell me different.

  Then someone knocked on the apartment door.

  “I’ll get it!” Sam said.

  I heard her footsteps go down the hall, then the door creaked when it opened. A few muffled words.

  “Erin! There’s someone here for you!” Sam said.

  Oh God, is he here already? I haven’t even texted!

  I counted my blessings for getting ready so quickly and so well.

  Then I found Danny standing in the front hallway. His eyes went wide when he saw me.

  “Hello…?” I said. Self-conscious embarrassment slithered up and down my body in hot rings.

  I felt like he’d caught me shoplifting or something. I thought about rushing back into my room and slamming the door.

  But I wasn't twelve years old anymore. If only, it’d be easier.

  Sam also saw. She gave me a double thumbs up. “You clean up nice, Erin. That boy’s in for a treat!”

  “Thanks,” I said. I clasped my hands on my stomach, just below my navel, hoping for some composure, “Danny, I don’t mean to be rude, but… what are you doing here?”

  “Mitch told me you got transferred to Tracker’s staff, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I figured he’d have you sorting through his conditioners by moisture content or something,” Danny said.

  He kept checking me out. There was no other way to put it. He tried stopping, tried fixing his eyes on the framed picture of a cactus on the wall, on the shoe-rack with its many disorganized shoes, boots, and sandals.

  Those eyes always came back to me.

  “You look nice. Did she say date? Who with? Someone from work?”

  “Yeah,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. Suddenly those little nervous cracks in my stomach opened into wide fissures.

  I knew Danny liked me. I didn’t like him back, not in that way. He was sort of like the goofy brother you shook your head at, because what else were you supposed to do?

  I also didn’t want to hurt him.

  “Someone I know?” Danny said.

  “Not personally, but yes,” I said.

  I also realized then that I needed to text Vance.

  What’s the problem? Why can’t I tell him? I wondered. I knew the answer was guilt. For all the time leading up to starting the position I was pretty vocal in my dislike for Vance Tracker.

  During shooting, I joined in with the other PAs on our breaks in voicing how much of a jerk we thought he was.

  But now I worked for him. Now, he’d asked to take me out and I said yes.

  I am the biggest hypocrite ever! Not only to them, but to myself. Because I thought that perhaps there was more to Vance than he let on.

  And more to his breakup with Sandra than the world knew.

  “Oh,” Danny said. “Well, isn’t this awkward? Like when you ask for a bit of peanut butter on your communion wafer.”

  “I’m actually running a bit late,” I said, hoping he got the hint.

  He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and nodded. He looked at Sam, who offered him a tight smile. “Guess I’ll, uh, be going then. See you tomorrow maybe? Unless he wants you to follow him around with a mirror or something?”

  “Sure, maybe,” I said. Get out get out get out. He couldn’t have had worse timing even if he was a broken clock. At least they’re right twice a day.

  Or maybe I’m the broken clock?

  This wasn’t the time for deep introspection, so I shook off the question.

  He turned around, head down like a forlorn pauper turned away from the food line in a Dickens novel.

  “Thanks for coming by, Danny. It was sweet,” I said, feeling like I needed to say something.

  “Sure,” he replied. No comeback, no witticism, just a monosyllable. He just left, the door latch clicking behind him. Because of Vance.

  Vance! I thought. I rushed into my room and snatched my phone up off the nightstand. I sat on my bed, composing myself. As though he’d be able to tell through a text message.

  I sent him a single word: Ready. I watched the screen with nervous eyes and my heart drumming against my sternum, wondering if it wasn’t too late to send some excuse he might buy.

  My phone chirped and buzzed in my hands. I jolted in response.

  Coming, he replied.

  I checked the alarm clock on the nightstand. Just after seven in the evening. Sunset still more than an hour away. So
me of the rush hour traffic hopefully cleared out.

  Though God help him if he wanted to take the freeway.

  I waited. I wondered if this was sort of how a prisoner felt, sitting in the courtroom, waiting for the jury to deliver their verdict, waiting for the judge to hand out his sentence and slam his wooden gavel down on the whole affair.

  Except I was also excited. More excited than nervous, even. That worried me.

  I decided on waiting outside. I lived down a side street, so there wasn’t a lot of traffic in front of my apartment complex, which was a seven-floor affair painted a brownish-beige color slowly bleaching to bone white under the sun.

  A sun that made me remember in my haste that I’d forgotten to apply any sunscreen.

  Trying to look cooler than I felt, I leaned against a big concrete planter in front of the building currently filled with dead brown ferns.

  I wish I had my phone.

  It felt like I stood out there an hour. It was probably only ten minutes, if that.

  Then the car showed up.

  It was a sleek red sports-thing. I wasn’t sure what. Two doors, long nose, short trunk. And tinted glass all around.

  It looked new and expensive and dangerously fast. Exactly the sort of car I pictured Vance driving. I think I’d even seen him in something similar in one of his films.

  I took an uncertain step towards it.

  The passenger window rolled down. “Hey!” Vance said.

  I felt this paradoxical relief and worry. Relief that he showed up. Worry that… he showed up. I thought maybe he might text that the whole thing was a joke.

  Now that would have been a true relief. But nowhere near as exciting.

  “Hi,” I said.

  I started for the door, but Vance jumped out of the car. He wore a khaki blazer that emphasized his broad shoulders over an open-throated button down shirt, a pair of matching chinos and some shiny brown loafers. He looked good.

  Especially with that bit of stubble pebbling his cheeks and that perfect tousle to his dark hair.

  Good enough to photograph.

  I was relieved that he hadn’t shown up in a tux. Or in jeans and a white undershirt.

  Then he saw me, really saw me. He stopped, smiled. “You look nice. Really nice. Lovely.”

  “You, too. Not lovely, I mean, handsome. You know what I mean,” I said, fighting against a sudden attack of shyness.

  I thought he might say cute. There was something so condescending about a man calling a woman cute. Like she was just a girl or something.

  But lovely was different. I hadn’t been prepared for lovely.

  He came over and did that thing again. The one where he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me. Firm, but somehow gentle.

  He took me over to the shiny red beast of a car and opened the door for me.

  I sat down and buckled in while he closed the door. It was blessedly cool in the small cabin with the engine running and the air conditioning breathing out onto us.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  He threw the car into gear. I thought he might try and impress me by peeling out. I already had an eye roll prepared. I didn’t care much for cars.

  He didn’t, though. He gave it a bit of gas, enough for the engine to growl while we pulled away from the curb.

  Then he looked at me with that cocked grin. “Well, you’re going with me.”

  I raised my eyebrows, not impressed. “Okay, where are you going?”

  “You strike me as the sort of person who likes to know as much as possible ahead of time,” Vance said.

  I crossed my arms. In the small cabin of the car I could smell that cologne of his. Even with the A/C going, heat still settled into the core of my body, slowly working its warm fingers out from low in my stomach.

  “Is that so?” I said.

  “Yes. I think maybe some loosening up is what you need. Be a little spontaneous, a little more in touch.”

  That made me uncomfortable. It echoed rather closely some things my ex said to me in our final argument that resulted in our mutual breakup. Too focused on work, too focused on your schedule.

  “Hit a nerve?” Vance asked, giving me the sideways eye.

  “No,” I said.

  “I’m pretty good at reading faces,” Vance said, “All that acting stuff, you know? Showing emotion?”

  “If I’m so boring, then why am I here?” I said, still feeling defensive.

  “To have a good time, of course. You’ve got something in you. I’m not exactly sure what yet, but I find it fascinating.” We came to a red light and he turned right, still speaking.

  I hated driving in LA. Not that I got the chance very often. Mandi had a car, though, an old Tercel, and she let me borrow it so long as I put some money in the tank.

  People here drove crazily, like every commute was a life or death situation.

  It didn’t faze Vance in the slightest.

  We went downtown. The glass towers of the LA skyline glittered in the intensity of the evening sun.

  He eased the car in between the yellow lines of a spot in a parking garage. It was quiet in there, the sounds of the street muffled somewhat.

  “There’s a place I haven’t been to in a while,” Vance said. He didn’t just walk. He swaggered.

  It was infectious. I could feel my own gait starting to sway a bit in response.

  And then the first few pedestrians recognized us. Recognized him. We got out onto the street, stepping out into the warmth and the noise.

  A man and a woman in matching red track suits slowed when they saw him.

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” The woman said.

  “Yeah…” The man replied.

  They both whipped out their phones. I pretended not to notice. Little self-conscious prickles ran all over my skin. Had I applied my makeup well? Was anything crooked? The dress didn’t have sleeves so at least I didn’t have to worry about little crescent sweat stains.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Vance said, giving them a nod. It was like he didn’t even notice the cameras.

  I wondered if many celebrities just didn’t even notice them anymore. I felt like I’d always notice them, always be on the lookout in public places.

  Always feel the pressure to look my absolute best. Who wouldn’t, when every picture was analyzed for fashion faux pas, acne, cellulite, bad hair days?

  We went past the matching pair.

  “Who was that with him?” the woman asked.

  “Don’t know. Her face seems familiar though…” The man replied.

  They’d seen my picture on TMZ or Perez Hilton or something, I knew. The nameless PA saved by the movie star.

  I wondered if the photos they just took might end up somewhere online. All pictures did these days, it seemed.

  The nerves kicked in, then. I glanced around the street, looking for more cameras, watching for more stares, more whispered questions.

  “It’s okay,” Vance said.

  He moved a little closer to me. His hand pressed against the small of my back again, urging me on.

  “It’s not nearly as bad as some places,” Vance said.

  “What isn’t?”

  “The people, the attention. Angelinos are used to seeing famous people, especially downtown and at wherever’s hip for the moment. It’s mostly the tourists whose eyes turn into stars like they’re in a cartoon.”

  “Do you ever get used to it?” I asked.

  We continued on down the street, it seemed the deeper in we got the more people there were. Soon enough there’d be too many faces to recognize just one in the crowd.

  Safety in numbers, I suppose.

  Vance shrugged. “Some do, some don’t. Try filming in some small town in the Midwest or up in Canada. Then you get the crowds of people just stopping and staring. Go in here.”

  The doorman in his suit opened the door with a white-gloved hand, called Vince “Sir” and me “Ma'am.”

  It was the old Ace H
otel. Not really a hotel anymore, from what I understood. I’d actually had it on a list somewhere on my laptop for places to visit on the occasions I ventured downtown.

  We went through the lobby and I noticed the Art Deco feel of the place, like I’d somehow just stepped back into the 1920s.

  “All the fun happens on the roof,” Vance said, guiding me over to the elevators.

  He still had his hand on my back. It transferred heat to me like the element on a stovetop.

  I wondered when he might take it off me. I wondered if I wanted him to take it off me. It was nice.

  I wondered if maybe it was okay to have some fun.

  With the way things are going, some other crazy thing will happen on set, or Vance will come to his senses, or a huge earthquake will strike, knowing my luck.

  Maybe it was okay to have a bit of fun. Not everything had to be so career and goal-focused.

  Though that made me feel hypocritical. Hadn’t I told my ex that I couldn’t let anything, or anyone, stop me from finishing school and getting a job in the movies?

  The elevator let us off on the roof and I saw the bar there. A pavilion protected it from the relentless California sun. Tables, some rectangular and other discs, sat around the roof in the shade of their own umbrellas. Many of them were occupied, but we had no problem finding seats.

  The waiter came over, a young hipster with a whole tin of pomade in his hair and manicured mustache and asked what we wanted.

  At first I worried he might card me. A silly worry, given that I was twenty-one and had my ID on me. Still, I didn't want it to happen in front of Vance.

  But the waiter didn’t ask for my license. In fact, he hardly looked at me. I guess he figured if I was here with Vance Tracker I could have a drink.

  Vance got a whiskey with a splash. I thought about ordering the same thing, but asking him to hold the whiskey

  But then I saw Vance looking at me, waiting, a little smile traced on his lips.

  Let go. Be a little spontaneous, I heard him say in my memory.

  It was after seven, I knew. And it had been a while since I’d been indulgent.

  “Whiskey sour, please,” I said.

  I looked around at the tables, wondering if I might recognize anyone. I thought I read somewhere that Matt Damon liked this place.