Rules of Seduction

by Jenna Mullins

  “Look, I know the last minute change of plans sucks, but Thursday we are shooting until at least eight o’clock. So either I force you to a party after a long day, or you go tonight to a party that starts early. Make an appearance, smile at the studio heads, and then leave. Everyone must show up, no exceptions. If I find out you skipped, I will give your character an impromptu sex scene!”

  This makes the group laugh, but I see that a lot of the actors exchange worried looks. Most writers give an actor a heads up if they are writing a scene that shows their body so they have time to tan and drop five pounds. No one wants to be on camera looking pale or doughy, so Camden’s threat is definitely an actor’s worst nightmare.

  And that threat makes me like Camden that much more. I’ve read about other directors coddling their actors, making sure they are happy one hundred percent of the time and basically babying them to get the performance they need. Not Camden. He obviously doesn’t bow to the whims of stuck-up, high-maintenance people like Lexi. Maybe this is his way of keeping her in check.

  Camden releases them and the actors instantly whip out their phones. I overhear them talking to people about hiring drivers, booking hair and makeup appointments, and ordering assistants to pick up this dress or that suit from one designer or another. Tate is the only one not on the phone. Nope, he’s currently walking toward me.

  All I want to do is go home and recover from this day with some mindless Internet surfing, but it seems like Tate is almost definitely coming over to poke fun at me.

  I try to look super busy so Tate will get the hint to make this quick, but unfortunately, Imogen and I have finished everything we need to do. She’s taken off, so I can’t even pretend that she needs me for something else. I’m stuck.

  “Hi, Dani,” he greets politely. I narrow my eyes at him.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Camden said it when we were in the production office. Two minutes ago. Remember?”

  I feel like every sentence out of his mouth is tinged with sarcasm. It’s really starting to irk me.

  “Oh, no. I have the memory of a goldfish, so I can’t remember anything past thirty seconds ago. Who are you again?”

  It came out a bit nastier than I intended, and Tate blinks at me a couple times, startled. I’m about to stammer out an apology, but Tate suddenly starts laughing. His laugh is so melodic and almost soothing that I find my anger subsiding.

  “I’m sorry . . . it’s just been a long day,” I say and turn away to gather my belongings stashed under the table.

  “Well, I was just coming over to apologize for yesterday morning. I wasn’t very nice, and I was laughing at you when you were clearly in an uncomfortable situation, so I’m sorry about that.”

  Now it’s my turn to be stunned. This rich and famous actor wants to apologize to me? An intern? I stare at him for a couple of seconds, trying to decide if he’s being fake or not. I can’t get a handle on him, mostly because I keep getting distracted by his blue eyes. He locks his gaze on mine and I feel my face start to warm up again. He takes a step forward and I almost choke on my spit.

  Then he takes another step toward me, and another, until I can feel the heat of his chest. I can’t help but wonder—could Elise be right not to trust Tate?

  When he reaches his arm around my shoulder, my breath catches in my throat.

  “You have a Post-it on your back,” he tells me.

  “Huh?”

  “Someone stuck a sign on your back,” he says again. He spins his finger around, signaling me to turn my back on him again. I feel him peel something off my back. He hands me the Post-it, which has the word “NOOB” written on it in all caps with five exclamation marks. I grit my teeth and crumple it in my hand.

  “I wonder how long I’ve had that on my back,” I sigh, trying to hide any hint that I thought he was coming on to me. I toss the Post-it toward a garbage can, missing terribly, of course.

  “Probably since Imogen first put it on there,” he answers while easily shooting the piece of paper into the trash like a basketball player.

  “Yeah, she’s the one who gave me the wrong wardrobe to give to you.”

  “I figured. My buddy Paul was hired as a writer’s assistant at the beginning of the season, and she played pranks on him for months. It’s kind of like her test to see if noobs can stick it out.”

  “Well, I guess it’s better than being ignored. Did Paul quit or is he still around?”

  “He’s a staff writer now.”

  “And Imogen likes him more now?”

  “I’ll say. They’ve been dating for two months.”

  I smirk. “Got it. So what you’re saying is, if I survive this torture, I could be lucky enough to end up dating Imogen, too?”

  Tate laughs. “I’m afraid you aren’t her type.”

  “Ouch,” I say, playing along with my own joke but starting to feel awkward. This is one of the longest conversations I’ve ever had in Hollywood so far, and it’s with a famous actor who I’m supposed to be seducing for my best friend. Just as, ya know, a test.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “You’re definitely someone’s type.”

  It feels like I’ve lost the ability to manipulate my face muscles. Again, the thought surfaces. Is Tate . . . hitting on me?

  Could it be that he is the player Elise fears he might be?

  “Well, I’d better get home if I’m going to be presentable for this party. But I just wanted to come over and say it was, uh, nice to meet you, Dani.”

  “It was nice to meet you, too,” I reply just as Camden waltzes over. Tate gives him a little “what’s up?” head nod and disappears into the set shadows.

  “What did Lawrence want?” Camden asks me.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Lawrence?”

  “Oh, Tate,” I say. Camden sniffs a bit as if he just got a whiff of spoiled milk, which tells me there might be some bad blood between them. I want to ask, but decide it’s none of my business.

  “Yes, Tate. What did he want?”

  I’m not sure, I think to myself.

  “Um, just wanted to say it was nice meeting me,” I say.

  “That’s . . . nice. So how was your second day?” he asks.

  “Miserable,” I say honestly, feeling my shoulders slope with exhaustion.

  He raises his eyebrows above those cool glasses. “That bad?”

  I force a smile. “Well, better than my first day. But let’s just say if this were a show about zombies instead of vampires, I could be the star. Seriously, though, I’m really happy to be here. I know I’m lucky.”

  “That’s all that counts. Most people wouldn’t be able to say that at the end of the day you just had. One of the worst ones on record,” he jokes.

  “Well, when I do something, I do it in my own style.”

  We smile at each other and it feels really, really nice. Like, meet-cute nice. All of a sudden, I can’t help but wonder what he would think of my script. I feel like maybe he would get it. Maybe he gets me.

  “So, where are you from?” he asks.

  “Chicago. I just moved out here three days ago.”

  Camden’s eyebrows shoot right up into his hair, like he’s either seriously impressed with the speed in which I got a job or he’s so shocked that I’m such a business newbie.

  “You don’t waste time, do you?”

  “It’s not that cool once you hear the rest of the story.”

  “Tell me.”

  So I do. I tell him a very quick, very abridged version of my first day in Los Angeles. I leave out all the crying, the root beer floats, and of course, Elise’s seduction ploy. When I mention Morris Kensington and my crushed hope of working with him, Camden’s face lights up.

  “Morris? I’ve worked with him a few times.”

  My breath catches in my throat, and I force myself to keep my composure.

  “Really? When?”

  “Oh, a couple times over the past three years. I used to dabble
more in film before moving to TV,” he says nonchalantly, as if working with my dream director was just a normal, Tuesday-type of activity.

  “That’s incredible! I’ve wanted to work with him since I snuck into a theater and saw Silent Grove,” I gush.

  “Silent Grove? Wow. That’s a deep track.”

  “Yes, but I fell in love instantly. So, what’s it like working with him?” I ask eagerly.

  “Come to the party tonight, and I’ll tell you all about him.”

  “The party? I thought that was only for cast and senior crew members?”

  “The party is for whomever I want. And I want you there.”

  Camden’s definitely flirting with me. That’s the second attractive man today who’s been more than friendly toward me. Now I feel like those happy people I saw walking on the street my first day in LA: glowing from the inside out.

  I give him a smile I hope is kind of cute and not just crazed.

  “I’ll come, if you’re sure?”

  “Yes, absolutely. It’s the best way to become a part of this world. You mingle with the people, and pretty soon, you’ll be one of us.”

  “You make it sound like a cult,” I joke.

  “Oh, honey. Don’t you know this whole business is a cult?”

  I think he’s supposed to be kidding, but his words carry a somber tone. Camden even looks a bit sad, but in the next second, the gloom has lifted from his face.

  “Anyway, come drink the Kool-Aid tonight. It’s at Laurel Hardware on Santa Monica at eight o’clock. There’ll be good food and we’ll be drinking. A lot. Text me if you get lost. Wear something nice, okay?”

  Before I can be offended that he would assume I wouldn’t wear something nice, he’s already dialing his phone and walking away. I shout out a “Thanks!” to his retreating back, and he waves without turning around.

  I wait until I know I’m completely alone and do a little happy dance. Not only is the gorgeous and successful showrunner flirting with me, he’s invited me to a Hollywood party. And it’s only my third night in Los Angeles!

  I stop dancing when I realize he probably only invited me out of pity because of the shitty day I had, but I try and silence my Negative Nancy. She pops up at the worst times, like an emotional jack-in-the-box out to sabotage me. Maybe, I think, LA Dani doesn’t have a Negative Nancy.

  I text Elise as I walk toward the bus stop that will take me to the subway that will take me to the Metro rail that will take me to another bus that will drop me off ten minutes from my apartment. I feel ready to tackle Los Angeles public transportation this time.

  Hey, I got invited to some Vamp Camp party.

  Really? Shut up that’s amazzzzing! The one tonight?

  Yep.

  Awwwesome! Awesome. Congrats on getting in there, D! ☺☺ ;) ;) ;)

  That’s a lot of emoticons.

  Well, this situation calls for lots of smiley faces . . . . . . .

  I will take your word when it comes to situational based emoticons.

  lol ok do you want to meet somewhere before for pre-party drinks and plotting???

  That last text reminds me of what I’m supposed to be doing while at my internship, and it suddenly feels like I’m lugging a sack of bricks while I navigate the trains and buses to get home. She tells me when and where to meet, which means I only have about a half hour to shower and change before I make the trek back up to Hollywood. I really wanted to take some time to work on my script, but now I barely have time for a shower.

  I get why people stay in their own neighborhoods in Los Angeles now, I think grumpily as I unlock my apartment door. My body is screaming to just crawl into bed and fall asleep, but I know I have to network at this party. Oh, and that whole seduce-my-friend’s-boyfriend thing.

  What is my life right now?

  As I have that thought, I realize I’ve stumbled right into some kind of tantric yoga workshop, hosted by Brit. There are five people sitting cross-legged and breathing very, very deeply as Brit says things like: “relaxation,” “find your center,” and “take in the positive and let go of the negative.”

  Usually I would mock this endlessly in my head, but the soothing music, lit candles, and Brit’s gentle tone are just making me . . . very relaxed.

  Brit wraps up the yoga session and tells everyone she’ll see them next week. One woman, who has the most gorgeous head of black hair I’ve ever seen in my life, stays behind to talk to Brit. I linger in the kitchen as they chat, immediately guessing that this is the Hannah that Brit mentioned before. I’m not spying per se . . . Okay, I’m spying, which is kind of my thing now. And I immediately determine that they’d be really cute together. Brit is smiling so big that I know her cheeks will be sore later.

  “Okay, I’ll text you, and we’ll decide where to go eat before the movie,” Hannah says.

  Brit nods and walks her toward the door. Hannah smiles as she passes me. I’m so distracted by how beautiful that hair would look on camera that I don’t hear Brit come up behind me.

  “Hey! How was your second day?” she asks.

  I yelp in surprise, and once my heart rate goes back down to normal, I answer her. “It was fine. Was that Hannah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you guys going out on a date?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Brit! That’s so great!” I gush, waiting for her to join in, but for the first time since I’ve met her, Brit looks unhappy.

  “Well, it might just be a friends thing. I’m not sure. We’ll see. So, tell me about your second day!”

  Her abrupt subject change makes me pause, but I don’t say anything more about Hannah. I haven’t seen Brit act anything less than positively sunny, and I don’t like it. But I leave it alone. For now.

  Instead, I launch into all things Vamp Camp. When I get to the part where Camden invites me to tonight’s party, Brit’s eyes widen.

  “Who’s catering the event?” she asks.

  “What? Hell if I should know. I don’t even know where it’s at!”

  “Dang, I would love to cater an event like that. And if I hear that the food is terrible, I’m going to be so bummed because I know I can provide better eats. Can you taste all the food and tell me what it’s like?”

  “Eat all the food at a fancy Hollywood party? Hm, that’s a tall order,” I tease.

  Brit’s smile returns. “Thanks, Dani. I just want to know what my competition is like.”

  “I will be your food spy. Now, this spy has got to take a shower or no one will let her in the doors of this shindig.”

  In the past forty-eight hours, I’ve agreed to be a spy for two different people.

  Maybe I should get new friends.

  * * *

  I arrive at the bar where Elise told me to meet her, but it’s not a bar at all. It’s a salon.

  “Dani!” Elise squeals as I walk through the door. She throws her arms around me and air kisses me on both cheeks.

  “Hey, Elise. What’s going on here? I thought we were meeting for drinks?”

  “We are. There is champagne right there,” she replies, gesturing toward a bucket of ice with a bottle perched inside. But next to that bucket is a salon chair. And next to that salon chair is a woman with a cape and a curling iron, staring at me expectantly and smiling.

  I back slowly toward the door because what’s in front of me is my worst nightmare.

  A makeover.

  “Nope. Nope. Nope!” I cry as I bolt toward the door. Elise is faster and blocks the exit. She grabs both my arms and with surprising strength, pulls me toward the chair.

  “Dani—we’re not going to cut your hair or dye it a crazy color. We’re just touching you up,” she promises. I sit down in a huff and cross my arms. I left early to do this? I could have tackled at least five pages of Tower instead. Now I’m angry.

  “I don’t need a touch-up. I look fine,” I insist as I glance down at my pleather leggings, sheer, orange blouse, and open-toed flats. It’s what I like to call
my “fancy-casual outfit.”

  “That’s exactly how you look: fine. But you need to look more than fine if you’re going to attract Tate’s attention.”

  That sentence sounds completely morbid coming out of Elise’s mouth, considering she’s dating Tate, but I swallow my objections.

  “Okay, I guess I didn’t have that much time to get ready so, just . . . do whatever you want.”

  “That’s the spirit! A very begrudging spirit, but still a spirit! Monique, why don’t we give her some waves. Beachy. And how about a smoky eye with some cat eyeliner? And a beautiful, bold lip. Maybe ruby.”

  Elise just said a bunch of stuff that confuses me, but since she always looks gorgeous, I can only assume she knows what she’s talking about.

  “You get started on that, and I’ll work on the outfit,” she directs before walking toward the back of the salon.

  “Elise, nothing too revealing!” I shout at her while Monique starts roughly combing my hair. Elise shows no sign that she hears me, so I decide that this is a perfect time to start drinking champagne.

  Monique attacks my hair with a hot curling iron, and the heat of the metal near my ear along with the looming task of trying to charm the pants off Tate is making me sweat. I look at Elise who scrolls through something on her phone, and I try to catch her eye in the mirror.

  “Elise, how exactly am I supposed to woo your boyfriend?” I ask nervously. “I’m really not comfortable at all with this situation—”

  “But you said you’d help me!” she blurts out, launching herself out of her chair and coming to my side. I start to nod but Monique stops and steadies me with a palm to the top of my head.

  “No, I am. I want to, I mean . . . I’m just really nervous about what to do. Like . . . how do I . . . do . . . anything?” I ask lamely. I swear I spot Monique rolling her eyes, but I choose to ignore it. Elise grabs the champagne bottle and tops off my glass.

  “Dani, don’t worry about all that. Just talk to him and be your funny self. He’ll respond to that, I’m sure,” she says. “But if you find yourself struggling, there are a couple of rules you can fall back on.”