VANCE: A Movie Star Romance

by Lucy Lambert

  People wandered by, too, so it wasn’t like I was alone either.

  Vance still hadn’t really bothered to clarify what my role as his assistant really meant, but I didn’t let that get in my way.

  I pored over the shooting schedule, his own personal itinerary, and other random events. I looked for conflicts.

  I realized then that I missed being on the set, missed watching the movie come together around me and - at least in very small part - because of me.

  The WiFi was pretty decent on the lot, so I took a break a couple hours in for some quick catching up with the world.

  Not Facebook or Twitter. I tried avoiding those when I could. Facebook to stay away from friends and family trying so desperately to make their lives look and sound picture perfect. Twitter to avoid the various snarky, brief rants and jabs from one celebrity to another.

  Just the news, thanks.

  If I’d avoided the Yahoo homepage, I might have lived on another half hour or so in bliss before someone else spotted me and told me what was up.

  Doom and gloom articles. Feel-good pieces. Something about another big car recall. Celebrity fluff.

  My eyes started glazing over until I saw the picture of Vance scroll by. Vance and the words, Vance Tracker’s New Girl?

  What new girl? I thought, ignoring the quick spite of jealousy in my gut.

  I had an intuition. And not a good one.

  I scrolled back. The picture in the article teaser didn’t show said new girl. Of course it didn’t. They wanted you to click on the link to get their ad revenue or something.

  Vance was shirtless in the photo. A black and white piece from an underwear or cologne ad or something.

  I thought about not clicking. If he was with a new girl, I’d hear about it from him soon enough probably.

  Though I wondered when he found the time, between shooting the movie and taking me out.

  I should have figured it out sooner. I blame it on not having enough coffee that morning. And maybe on those silly dreams for occupying that space just behind my thoughts.

  Then again, as his assistant, shouldn’t I know all this stuff?

  I clicked the link.

  The new girl was me.

  I suddenly knew why people sometimes used the word mortified to describe their extreme embarrassment.

  It was because you went so stiff all over, that you could potentially be mistaken as having died from of shock.

  What?

  I wasn’t certain if I thought it, said it out loud, or both. My eyes couldn’t leave the picture.

  It was from last night. From that bar on top of the Ace Hotel.

  It depicted Vance and me sitting at the table. I handed him my drink, the green whiskey sour. The photographer captured that moment when our fingers overlapped and that electricity sparked between us.

  Hey, I don’t look so bad at all. That dress was a good choice.

  Then I came back to reality and scanned the article. My one bit of hope was that they still hadn’t figured out who I was.

  That hope pulled a Hindenburg, exploding and crashing in spectacular fashion as I read.

  Vance Tracker pictured here with the woman he’d rescued on the set of his new film. Anonymous sources have identified Vance’s new dark-haired cutie as UCLA senior and production assistant Erin Paige, who got a spot on the crew of the new flick to complete some credits for her program. It looks like she’s getting a lot more than class credit now, however.

  Was it love at first sight for Vance? She isn’t his usual type, we admit. But maybe after what happened between him and fellow film star Sandra Livingston last year he needs something, someone, different. Is this the start of something fresh for Vance? He certainly seems ready to make a comeback…

  The article continued on in that vein, speculating on the nature of our relationship, on whether his agent might return their call for comment, all that.

  I sat back against the bolstering of the executive chair when I got to the end of the article, where a suite of other photos waited for eager readers.

  Vance and me talking. Vance and me laughing. Vance and me walking from the table, my hand in his.

  I even recognized the angle of the pictures. That guy at the bar. The one who kept raising his phone up.

  I am such an idiot, I thought. They knew my name. They knew where I went to school. For all I knew, they also found out that my third grade teacher was a nice lady named Mrs. Bray.

  I looked at the pictures again. Dark-haired cutie. Don’t they look good together?

  The start of something new?

  All the captions kept echoing in my thoughts.

  I experienced a brief moment of panicked vanity. Something I never thought possible. I reached up and touched my hair. Dark hair. I tugged at a lock, straightening out a curl for a moment before letting it go. The curl reappeared, bouncing back into place.

  Then I glanced around. The fourth wall of the conference room was glass. A couple men in suits passed by in the hallway without looking my way.

  If I’ve seen this, everyone else probably already has, or will soon enough.

  I thought maybe it might be better to move to a slightly more private space. I wished then that I’d decided to stay in Vance’s trailer after all.

  I stood, started packing up. Another thought struck me.

  They know who I am. What if they start calling all my friends? What if they try and get in touch with my parents to find out what they think?

  My dad would think it was a joke. At first, anyway. He knew who Vance Tracker was from watching some of his action movies. He knew I had a crush on Vance from before, but that in the end he wasn’t really my type.

  My mom, on the other hand…before I left Lincoln, back in Maine, she’d sat me down and told me she hoped I would stay a “good girl” out there in California, that land of hedonists and degenerates.

  Actually, thinking about it, I thought it might be funny to see her reaction.

  Not to hear her screaming at me on the phone, mind you. But the rest of it? Hilarious.

  I closed my laptop, the screen still displaying those damning pictures, and shoved it into my messenger bag beside the big lump of the script to Warhawk.

  I reached the glass door and grabbed the brushed steel handle. Then Mitch appeared in front of me, grabbing the handle on the opposite side of the door.

  I stepped back so he could step in. I leaned against the oval table, clutching the strap of my messenger bag with both hands.

  “You’ve seen?” I asked. I didn’t need to specify what.

  He nodded.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  I could have hugged Mitch then. I thought the only thing anyone would want to know was what it was like to be out with Vance. Some of the more forward or immature people might want to know more.

  But Mitch, surrogate father to all the PAs involved in the shoot, just wanted to know how I was.

  It was nice, but also a little patronizing.

  “Good,” I said. “Just thought I might get out of here for a bit.” I hiked the messenger bag strap up my shoulder, hoped he got the hint.

  Mitch grabbed the back of one of the executive chairs, squeezed his fingers against the foam padding.

  “This is just the start of it all, you know,” he said.

  “I think so.”

  “I don’t think you do,” he said. “It’s hard to live with your entire life under constant microscopes and spotlights. Some people crack under all that pressure.”

  I thought of coming out of that parking garage and that couple in matching track suits recognizing Vance. Talking about him like he wasn’t there, whipping out their phones for some quick pictures without even asking.

  I thought about that guy at the bar who’d grabbed our pictures and then sold them to whoever wrote that article.

  But there was something else. A touch of annoyance. I didn’t like this overprotectiveness. It felt like it implied that I was still just a
silly little girl, unable to take care of herself, unable to understand her place in the world.

  And I admitted readily to my lack of experience. But I could, and wanted to, take care of myself.

  “I know that, too,” I said, “I do have access to this thing called the Internet. I see it all. I really should get going…”

  I started past him. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. Just for a moment, just to stop me.

  “Yeah, I know you know that, Erin. Thing is, now you’re living it. There’s something else, too,” he said.

  “What’s that?” I knew I wasn’t getting out of there until he said his piece, so I let him.

  Besides, beneath the sudden irritation and annoyance, I still liked Mitch a lot. He worked all the PAs hard, but he was also fair about it.

  “All of this happened pretty quickly. The media exposure, I mean. Things do happen fast now, but there’s fast and then there’s fast. Have you thought about the why of it all? Why you, why now?” Mitch asked.

  “You’re saying maybe he has reasons for this other than just liking me?” I asked.

  I guess he didn’t catch the dangerous tint in my voice.

  “Exactly that,” he said.

  “Because a big time movie star couldn’t like, how’d that article put it…? Right, a dark-haired cutie like me who’s not his usual type. Because of that there has to be an ulterior motive. Is that what you’re saying? Because I’m not Ingrid Bergman, and I think I’d know if someone was gaslighting me.”

  I guess it all was just a little too much for me. I could hear the words coming out of my mouth, but not quite understand their origin. Or why I hurled them at Mitch like that.

  His lips parted a little, and he raised his hands off the chair in a gesture of surrender. “Erin, I’m sorry, don’t take it the wrong way, kid. I just don’t want to see you hurt. Especially if it’s for the wrong reasons.”

  This time when I walked past him he didn’t stop me.

  I stopped at the door when I pulled it open. “I know.”

  I didn’t know if he heard me or not. But by then I just needed out of there.

  As I stormed down the hall, I knew why I lashed out at him like that. I was upset and scared and it all needed to come out somewhere. He was the only person around.

  Also because I didn’t want him to be right about any of this. Because part of me really liked the thought of someone like Vance noticing someone like me.

  Just for me, too. Not for some reasons I didn’t yet understand. Although that article suggested some interesting things. Vance making a fresh start. Making a comeback.

  But how could I possibly help with anything like that? I wasn’t a publicist, a journalist, or even a blogger.

  I didn’t want to be inside anymore. So I hitched the messenger bag strap up my shoulder again, and pushed through the exit door to find myself outside in the sunlight.

  Just feeling the world open up around me like that helped. Inside that office I felt trapped. Mitch had cornered me pretty easily.

  I need to talk to Vance, I thought. I wanted to understand this, understand why it happened.

  I started for his trailer. I knew his schedule, so he wouldn’t be there yet. But he would be sometime, and no one else was allowed in there.

  No one had the key but the two of us, as far as I knew.

  I kept glancing around. A bunch of tourists passed by on one of those extended golf carts and I turned away, hoping no one saw me.

  Groups of extras loitered about outside a few of the studios, waiting for their call. I looked down at the asphalt when I passed them.

  My heart thumped in my ears. I kept darting glances around.

  This is ridiculous, I thought after a few minutes. Maybe no one really cares. Maybe no one even really saw yet.

  I wondered about that last part. Maybe only a few of the people in higher positions knew. Almost everyone under a certain level couldn’t bring their phones onto the sets. Too much of a risk someone might snap some pictures or videos and leak it online.

  I went by another group of extras, these ones dressed in rags. Many of them leaned against the corrugated steel wall, hands in pockets or crossed over their chests.

  So many people these days didn’t have a clue what to do if they couldn’t just whip their phones out at any given opportunity. I found it freeing. I guess other people found it boring.

  I recognized the next intersection, knew I was only a couple minutes away from the trailer. I reached down and touched the impression the key made inside my pants pocket.

  I’m going to make it.

  “Erin? Erin Paige?”

  I should’ve kept walking when I didn’t recognize the voice. Pretended I didn’t hear.

  I stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

  It was a tall, thin guy I didn’t recognize. He looked like a tourist with his sunglasses and an untucked polo shirt over a pair of jeans. A tour pass on a lanyard hung around his neck.

  I realized what happened. He came in for a tour and then snuck away from his group.

  He pulled something out of his front pocket. I stiffened, freezing, wondering if he had a knife.

  It wasn’t a knife. Perhaps something equally dangerous, though, depending on its use.

  It was a slim digital camera.

  Before I could say anything he lifted it up and took my picture.

  “You are cute, aren’t you?” he said.

  He didn’t look at me. Rather, he looked at the image of me on his camera. I was just a thing to him, I knew. Something to be photographed, considered, analyzed.

  “Who are you?” I said, finding my voice again.

  “Oh, my name’s not important. I’m not the one dating a movie star. I work for… well, I work for whoever’ll pay me the most for the story and the pics. That reminds me, I have some questions. How did you bag Vance Tracker? Was that whole ladder gag a setup? Come on, you can tell me.”

  I realized then he wasn’t just taking pictures, but recording video.

  “I… have to go. Please leave me alone.”

  I turned and walked away, quickly. Except he caught up. My cheeks burned. All of me burned, actually.

  Is this really happening?

  He shoved that camera in my face. I swatted at him, but he just danced back, grinning.

  “Come on, Erin. Give me something, anything. Hey, you guys done it yet? How was it?” He made an obscene clucking sound with his tongue, and he winked.

  I hunched my shoulders. “Please just leave.”

  I thought then about all the videos and articles online about celebrities freaking out, lashing out at paparazzi. How it just poured a whole ten-gallon can of gas on the fire.

  “What’s your angle? You got something on him?” the man demanded, still dancing around me. He went down to a crouch a few feet ahead, trying to get a shot of my face. I weaved around him.

  The trailer isn’t far. Just get to the trailer.

  I wished then I hadn’t stormed out on Mitch. I should’ve asked him for help. And where was security when you needed them?

  “Come on, sweetie. You can be my dark-haired cutie, too. Just give me a good shot. Answer a couple questions. I’ll leave you alone. Promise.” He smiled like a snake.

  Don’t say anything, just don’t say anything. Get to the trailer!

  I could even see it from where I walked. I went quickly. He shuffled backwards, hurling more questions at me, shoving that camera of his at my face.

  Then he looked back and saw where I meant to go.

  He got up in my face like a basketball defense man, dancing and shifting from side to side so I couldn’t get around.

  “You gotta give me something, sweetie. Give me something good. I’ll let you past. I’ll let you go. Swear it.”

  I could actually feel my wits running low inside me. My heart sped up, my mouth went dry. Pressure throbbed behind my eyes.

  If I get out of this, I’m never looking at paparazzi pictures again.
>
  Except I didn’t know how. I knew then that when I reached the trailer he’d just stand on the stoop, keeping me away.

  Finding security seemed like a good idea, but who knew when I would? For all I knew, they’d all decided to go for coffee and donuts.

  I could hit him with my bag, I thought, if it came down to it. But he might just catch the whole thing on film.

  I saw the headlines in my mind, Vance’s New Chick Goes Berserk on Photographer.

  Besides, I had my laptop in there. I really couldn’t afford breaking it.

  “Tell ya what,” the slimeball said, “Give me the first topless shot and I’m outta your hair. For good. Good trade, I think.”

  I blanched. I just couldn’t believe this guy. “What is the matter with you? How can you live with yourself, preying on other people like this, and for what? Popularity?”

  “You’re even cuter when you’re angry! And it’s the money, of course,” he said. He tittered while he looked at his camera screen.

  The whole thing would’ve been an absurdist comedy if I wasn’t the one living through it.

  Then Vance showed up.

  “What’s going on here?”

  An intense relief flooded my stomach and chest. Though a little sliver of that same annoyance I felt with Mitch whispered through it all.

  I turned and saw him.

  The slimeball’s face lit up when he saw Vance approaching.

  He was still in costume. Belted slacks, an open-throated white button down dusty with dirt, and his hair in disarray like he’d just been in a winning fight.

  “Hey, Vance! Just introducing myself to your new chickie here. Got any comment on your relationship?”

  Vance stopped beside and slightly in front of me. He put his hands on his hips and regarded the slimeball with a look of derision.

  “Anything between Erin and me is that, between the two of us. Get out of here.”

  “Or you’ll what?” He came back.

  I noticed he did the same thing with Vance. He watched the whole thing on his camera screen. I wondered if his whole life came in filtered through a camera screen like that, always lagging a couple heartbeats behind reality.