Rules of Seduction

by Jenna Mullins

  Look outside your door.

  I whip my blankets off and run my finger through my hair as I jog to the front door, hoping to see Camden standing there. When I open it, there isn’t anybody on the stoop, but there is a giant bouquet of red roses wrapped in green tissue paper sitting on the welcome mat. I smile and bring them inside.

  He must have tracked down my address from the forms I filled out the first day of my internship. Or more likely, he had an assistant do it for him. I laugh at the image of Imogen going through files in the tiny office trying to locate my address just so Camden can send me surprise flowers.

  I take a big sniff of the petals and take out my phone to text him.

  Camden, you are so sweet! The roses are beautiful.

  Beautiful roses for a beautiful girl.

  The line is a little lame for my taste, but I’m smiling too much to care. No one has ever done anything so romantic for me. While I’m arranging them in a large pitcher Brit uses to make cucumber-lemon water, I think how lucky I am, and how Elise deserves to have someone who will send her flowers and whom she can trust completely. I feel a little better about testing Tate, and I fall asleep with the scent of sweet roses in the air.

  Rules of LA for Non-Los Angelians

  Almost everyone you meet will be from somewhere else.

  There is always someplace to eat that will remind you of home.

  Never take the beautiful weather for granted. Which means never forgetting the icy cold winters of the Midwest.

  You have not officially lived in LA until you’ve felt an earthquake. It’s a rite of passage.

  Yes, you will run into celebrities. Act like it happens all the time.

  Out-of-towners will want to do the touristiest things. It will be awful. Hollywood Boulevard and The Price Is Right are just an inevitable experience.

  You will become a wuss in cold weather after living in LA for three months. Below 60 is your new “winter.”

  Los Angeles is not only a city, it’s a way of life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Egg white omelet with steamed spinach and a side of fruit?”

  “That’s me,” Elise says brightly while gesturing for the waitress to put the plate down in front of her.

  “And here is your Nutella stuffed French toast with a double side of bacon, hash browns, and scrambled eggs with cheddar.”

  I swear the waitress is judging my order as she plops my overflowing plate on the table, but I am too hungry to care. She can judge what she wants, but I ordered the shit out of breakfast.

  Of course, next to Elise’s petite, healthy order, I’m basically a cow—but when you see French toast stuffed with Nutella on the menu, you order the French toast!

  “So,” Elise begins with a dainty bite of her strawberries. “I’m so happy we’re doing this. I feel like Vamp Camp has taken you prisoner. You’re never around! I mean, it’s great for you. But as your friend, I’m totally offended.”

  She smiles to show she’s mostly joking. I drown my French toast in syrup, grateful for the big breakfast before another long day.

  “I know. The show is really grinding along, hardcore,” I tell her. “Everyone is staying way past wrap times to prepare for the following day. But it keeps me busy.”

  Elise nods in acknowledgment, and we both eat in silence for a couple minutes. I’m seriously considering ordering more bacon when Elise taps her knife against her water glass, as if preparing a toast.

  “So, Dani. I’ve decided that it might be time to give up the seduction scheme.”

  I freeze, a fork full of food aimed at my mouth paused in midair.

  “What?”

  “I just think you’ve done enough and I think I’m ready to just trust Tate. Nothing has happened and we’ve been doing this for a while now. I think he’s proved himself.”

  I should be starting a conga line through the restaurant out of happiness, but all I can think about is that tall girl who was standing next to Tate at the concert. And what Camden said about Tate and how he just blindly follows his publicist’s demands. Even if he’s not a cheater, is Tate using Elise? I’m not sure we can trust him, and that must be the reason why I’m saying what I’m about to say.

  “Elise, I really think you should give me a little more time to get the scoop on Tate,” I say. She tilts her head like a puppy trying to figure out the moving pictures on a television screen.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I just don’t trust him. Not yet, at least.” No need to upset her without proof yet.

  “Did he do something?”

  “No, but I just want to make sure. For you.”

  I reconsider telling Elise about running into Keith, but this situation is messy enough on its own without Cheating Bastard coming into it.

  “Dani, are you sure? I had to twist your arm to agree to this and now you’re begging me to let you keep going?”

  “I’m not begging you. I’m just asking you to consider a longer seduction plan. Just a couple more days. A week max. Look, I even spent all night doing research on Tate so I could really get inside his head.”

  I reach into my backpack and pull out the book Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. I slide it across the table so Elise can read the cover.

  “I remember this movie. They made a book out of it?”

  “No, it was a book first,” I tell her, somehow resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Tate loves this author, according to an interview he did with People recently, so I thought if he saw me reading it . . .”

  “That you might get closer to him?”

  “Exactly!” I proclaim excitedly.

  Elise studies the book with an intense look of concentration on her face. She turns it over in her hands to read the back. She almost seems . . . suspicious. But there’s nothing to be suspicious about. I sigh.

  Because there’s really nothing to be suspicious of. I want to help Elise. I’m not exactly sure how flirting with Tate and seducing him will do that, but I’ll figure that out later. Elise hands the book back, still looking hesitant. “Look, Elise. Camden has been really sweet to me. He even sent flowers to my apartment last night. Out of the blue.”

  “Good for you,” Elise says, shrugging unhappily.

  “I’m not saying it to brag,” I insist. “I’m just saying I’m happy with Camden and I trust him. And I just want that for you, too. That’s all. So, just give me more time. Okay?”

  Elise toys with the end of her ponytail, deep in thought. I’m anticipating her dismissal of my new gung-ho attitude until she leans forward with her “I’m plotting something” smile. I know it well. I saw it weekly growing up with her.

  “You know, there’s an outdoor sports store just down the street from here?”

  “Um, cool?”

  “Tate loves rock-climbing. Like, he’s obsessed. He usually does that instead of working out. We should go buy a bunch of that rock-climbing crap and he’ll see you with that and the book! He’ll be totally hooked!”

  “Elise, you want me to go rock climbing with him? You know how much I hate heights. You’re joking, right? No. Nope. No.”

  “Dani, get a grip. It’s indoor rock-climbing gear. It’s not a real rock.”

  “Is it real heights?”

  Elise sighs, exasperated with me already.

  “You want to do this right? For real?” she grills me. I open my mouth to protest, but I know it will be no use. I snap my mouth shut.

  “Fine. How about a compromise? We’ll go to that store and I’ll buy a rocking climbing magazine. Those things exist, right? Rock Climbers Monthly? With articles like ‘12 Different Ways to Fall to Your Death from the Top of a Giant Rock?’ Sounds like a page turner!”

  Elise giggles at me and signals for the check. “You are so dramatic. No one ever died climbing rocks.”

  “You obviously have never seen 127 Hours,” I grumble. We pay the bill and walk a couple blocks to REI, an outdoor store that I never knew existed until I walked through the automatic do
ors. But based on the air-conditioning that blasts me in the face as I enter and the overly smiley employee who asks if I want to sample some teriyaki turkey jerky, I’m inclined to believe that it’s not my scene.

  “Here,” Elise says after we peruse the rack of magazines in the checkout line for a couple minutes. She shoves a glossy magazine at me. I look at it and see a smiling couple clinging to a rock beaming at me from the cover. “Climbing Magazine. Just read this in front of Tate, and I bet he’ll totally strike up a conversation.”

  “Okay, but I don’t actually have to rock climb, right?”

  “I don’t know, Dani. Maybe. What if he invites you to go rock climbing? You can’t say no!”

  “No, but I can say ‘hell no.’”

  “You’re ridiculous. Plus, you would get to make him feel manly, which is a rule. And you could probably show a little skin and have body contact! That’s three rules in one activity. Hm, maybe you should go rock climbing . . .”

  “Hey, you know I’m afraid of anything higher than a step up,” I snap. Elise hands the cashier a five as I check my phone. Crap. I’m supposed to be on set in seven minutes. I snatch the magazine off the counter and shove it into my backpack.

  “Elise, I gotta go. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  I don’t wait for her reply. I just brave the air-conditioning blast and book it out of the store.

  If I sprint the entire way, I’ll only be a couple minutes late. Unfortunately, I ate a huge breakfast and I’m in terrible shape. I’m convinced they moved the set farther down the street since yesterday, but eventually I reach the gates to the studio. I flash my badge to the guard and weave through golf carts, tour groups, and actors being rushed to different sets. Lexi appears in front of me coming out of the studio building where the executives keep their offices.

  “Dani! What did you do with my favorite hair tie?!” she demands like I had just stolen her car. “You know I need it before my big scenes. I gave it to you to hold yesterday and now it’s missing. How could you lose it?!”

  “Lexi. Miss Mack,” I reply calmly, “you told me to put it on the doorknob of your bathroom in your trailer, which is exactly what I did at the end of the day yesterday. I’m sure it’s still there. Would you like me to get it for you?”

  “No,” she huffs. “I wouldn’t want you to lose it like you did my coffee on your very first day! That is still missing, by the way!”

  I flip her off as she walks away from me and then begin jogging past the pack of Vamp Camp trailers on my way to Stage 14. In my exhausted state, I don’t see a person coming around the corner until I smack right into him. I immediately bounce off him and onto the ground.

  Damn it all to hell! If a day goes by where I’m not running into someone, I will be amazed.

  “Shit, Dani. Why are you running full speed like that?”

  And I suddenly know who it is without looking up. Tate.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I don’t even ask, I just stick my hand out and he helps me up without missing a beat.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m late,” I say as I reach for my backpack on the ground. In the crash, it came flying off my back and its contents are now strewn across the ground.

  “Here, let me help,” Tate says, because he’s the nicest guy in the freaking world and of course he needs to help me collect my stuff. Which isn’t my stuff at all.

  It’s my Tate bait.

  I don’t have time to congratulate myself on my clever rhyme, because Tate already has his hands on the copy of Never Let Me Go and the rock climbing magazine. I snatch them away from him, scoop my notebook off the ground, and scramble to get them all in my backpack as I try to speed walk away.

  “Thanks, Tate. Sorry. Thanks and sorry!” I yell over my shoulder, but I manage to drop everything out of the bag again, and I seriously consider just throwing everything onto the ground and walking directly into traffic.

  “So, what did you think?” Tate asks as he hands Never Let Me Go back to me. This is what I was dreading. I didn’t get a chance to read the book, and I don’t really feel like lying about it right now. Or ever.

  “Um, you know, I just started it so I don’t really have an opinion yet,” I tell him. “But I will soon.”

  “But the beginning is one of the best introductions ever. Don’t you agree?”

  “Sure. Obviously. His tone is so involved and rich. It’s like peeling back a layer of an onion and finding an apple.”

  What the hell am I talking about? I panic inside my own head. But apparently it sounded semi-sane, because Tate is smiling and nodding enthusiastically.

  “Wow, yeah. That’s exactly what he’s doing. I couldn’t have said it better myself. But to be honest, I’m not a huge Ishiguro fan.”

  I blink rapidly, trying to place the name. Tate taps the cover of the book in my hand.

  “That’s the author.”

  “Right. Yes, of course. Like I said, I just started reading it.” I hope I don’t look as stupid as I sound in my head. When I tackle a film project, whether it be writing a script or scouting locations, I like to do days of research. All I have on Tate and this book is that he mentioned it once in an interview. I should have found out more about his tastes, you know, beyond Google.

  I need to get to set, but Tate seems intent on starting a book club right outside his trailer.

  “Now, if you want to talk about contemporary Japanese authors, have you read Haruki Murakami?” Tate asks me. I perk up and look at Tate, who I’m just noticing is wearing a very tattered and bloody shirt. It’s not the blood that startles me (he’s been filming a scene all week where other vampires attack him); it’s the tattered shirt. I can once again see most of his torso, and it’s just as beautiful as I remember.

  What is it about his damn torso that totally wipes all thoughts from my mind? Well, I do have a couple thoughts on my mind, but none of them are fit to print.

  I force my eyes back up to his face (but not before I get a good look at his hip bones—thanks, low-riding jeans), and try to remember what we were talking about before my mind wandered.

  Right. Haruki. A name I actually recognize.

  “I haven’t read his books yet, but I’ve been meaning to,” I answer truthfully. “I read his short story in The New Yorker and I just fell in love with his style. What was the name of the story? Um, hold on, give me a minute . . .”

  “Tony Takitani?”

  “Yes! That was it. It was brilliant.” I can’t help but feel giddy over the fact that we have something legitimately in common. Who needs rock climbing?

  “You should read Hard Boiled Wonderland. It’s my favorite. Actually, I might have a copy in my trailer. Remind me to get it for you during lunch.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  We start walking toward set, but suddenly I’m not in a big hurry. Besides, Tate’s call time was probably ten minutes ago, and he’s not in a hurry, either. We just click, and I realize that Tate and I would probably be good friends if I weren’t trying to test his loyalty.

  Maybe I can still manage to build a friendship with Tate? I know that this seduction scheme will end after Tate proves that he’s happy with Elise. Then Elise and I can go back to normal, and Tate and I can actually be friends.

  But how will Elise feel if you’re BFFs with her boyfriend, a small voice whispers in the back of my mind.

  It’s an annoying reminder to have, but a necessary one. I want to prove myself to Elise after all these years apart, and she’s the one who got me this internship. She changed my life in Los Angeles from a hellish nightmare to a place I could actually call home. She deserves my loyalty.

  “So, what’s with the purple notebook you’re always carrying around?” Tate asks me suddenly. I instinctively check to make sure I have it in my possession. I feel its familiar edges in my backpack and breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, it’s just for collecting ideas I have,” I shrug. “I went to film school for directing, so I’m always looking for a stor
y or way to set a scene. One of my professors beat into our heads that inspiration is everywhere, but I didn’t believe it until I started carrying around a notebook. Now, I really do find ideas everywhere.”

  “Really? I do the same thing! Well, I’m not really into directing as much as I am into editing and writing. But I totally have my idea notebook.”

  I pause for a moment to really get a good look at Tate, trying to picture him sitting in front of an edit bay or typing away at a computer. But my mind seems to think he’s shirtless in all these scenarios, so I quickly wipe those thoughts away and focus back on him.

  “Really? An editor?”

  “Yeah, is that so hard to believe? I’m not just a meathead actor, Dani. Geez, I have a brain,” he teases. He starts knocking on his head and making caveman noises for effect, and I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

  “Well, that’s amazing. Usually actors want to be directors. I think editing is fascinating. I wasn’t very good at it in school, and I definitely need to brush up if I want to be a director.”

  “So, if you could describe your directing style in a couple words, what would it be?”

  I am so taken aback by both his thoughtful question and his interest in my career that I have to take a couple steps before answering.

  “Honest. Real. Entertaining. I think the best and hardest challenge is finding a way to make a story both convincing and actually enjoyable to watch. Or, what I like to do is find an entertaining story and draw out the realness in it. Like, even a story about zombies fighting robots can have roots in reality.”

  This time it’s Tate who stops in his tracks. He turns to face me and cocks his head slightly, as if he suddenly realizes I’ve been walking next to him this whole time. I duck my head self-consciously.

  “What? Did that sound pretentious?”