“Part of your job is to make my life easier.”
She nodded.
“That means handling personal tasks, too, like my dry cleaning. Arranging for the barber to come here. I get my hair styled every three weeks. Put that on the calendar. His name is Mario. You’ll find him in the directory.”
“You get your hair cut here in the office?”
“Saves time.”
“Isn’t that expensive?”
“A necessary expense. Call him and make arrangements.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t call me ‘sir.’ You’re not my servant.”
“Sorry.”
Gunther made a face. He drew out his wallet and peeled off five hundred-dollar bills. Crossing the room, he put them in her hand. “Here. Go get a decent suit and shirt, or blouse, or whatever you call it. I can’t stand to look at that one.”
She blushed. Her eyes watered.
Idiot. I overdid it. Dorrie will kill me if I mess up with this girl, too. “I don’t mean to be insulting, but Erica, come on. Did you look in the mirror?”
“Not everyone can afford good clothes, Mr…Gunther,” she said, her voice shaking. She rose from her seat and headed toward the door. In his panther-like way, he moved quickly and cut her off.
“I get being poor. I wasn’t always rich. But you need to look a certain way to work here. And that’s not it. Gunther Quill Productions must look successful. Everyone involved has to dress like it. That’s a loan. You can pay it back…whenever. Consider it like giving you the money for a uniform.”
He hoped his words would calm her down. She wiped a couple of tears from her cheeks. Oh, God, no! Don’t cry. I can’t take the waterworks!
“Why don’t you finish up and take the rest of the day off? Go shopping.”
She folded the bills in half and met his gaze.
“That’s a good girl. I’ve got a dinner date.” He left her standing up as he began to unbutton his shirt. He chuckled at the startled look on her face. He took her hand and led her toward the window, stopping at the other door. He opened it to reveal a clothes rack on the left and another door on the right, which opened into a huge bathroom, complete with a large stall shower.
“I often wash up after a workday. Evening meetings, premieres, and parties mean a tux. Thus, the shower and change of clothes. I wasn’t making a pass at you.”
The look of relief on her face made him smile. Not all women would be relieved. Guess I’m not her type. Really? I’m every woman’s type.
“Sorry, Mr…Gunther. I’m new.”
“I can imagine what Amy told you.”
Again, she colored.
“Don’t worry. You’re not my type, anyway…no offense,” he said. She sucked in air, drawing his gaze. But if I popped those buttons, would two perfect breasts spill out?
“No offense taken. I think we’ll work fine together. That’s the point, right?”
Does she look disappointed? Or am I dreaming?
She nodded, making her way out. Gunther pulled off his shirt and threw it in the hamper he kept in the closet. After hanging up his pants and jacket, he stripped off his underwear and stepped into the shower.
The girl’s smart. Should be, with her fancy, rich-bitch education. Hardworking, so far. She’s already left Amy in the dust. This babe remembers what to do, writes everything down. She might be a good partner. She got me that date with Webster. He hates my guts because of Grace Brewster. I’m gonna fix that. I have plans for you, Max. And Gracie, too.
Pleased with himself for hiring an efficient assistant and looking forward to seeing Dorrie, even if her spouse was going to be there, he whistled a favorite tune as he dried off. When he was dressed and ready for dinner, Erica was still hard at work at her desk.
“Is it all right if I take a script home?”
“Sure. As long as you don’t tell anyone about it, what you’re reading. Everything in this office is strictly confidential. If I find out you’re blabbing about what I’m doing, you’ll be fired. Understood?” He pointed at her as he spoke.
“Of course. I understand. I’d never leak your business.”
“Good. Can’t you finish that in the morning?”
“I suppose.”
“Go shopping. Buy yourself a decent dinner, too,” he said, dropping two twenty-dollar bills on the table before he turned and was out the door.
* * * *
Gunther wasn’t gone more than two minutes before Erica burst into tears. She tucked the forty dollars into her purse and pulled out a tissue. Humiliation at his criticism of her clothing burned in her chest. His offer to pay for a new outfit and dinner because he could see how poor she was shamed her.
The money she made modeling wasn’t bad, but the work wasn’t regular, and she had been sending cash home. Her father had remarried after her mother had died. He and his new wife had two kids and a rapidly expanding gambling habit. Erica refused to give funds to her father or his wife, but she couldn’t refuse her half-brother, Billy, and half-sister, who she called Chickie.
They never asked, but she knew that new clothes were out of reach and sometimes food was in short supply. So, Erica simply sent whatever she could after each job. She’d tape twenty-dollar bills into a book and ship it to Billy so that her father wouldn’t find it. Billy was thirteen, Chickie was only eleven.
As she was packing up to leave, an email came in from Whitmarsh Eddy, the famous acting coach. She opened it.
Gunther –
I’m having tryouts tonight for a scholarship to my acting studio. I’m offering 25 sessions free to someone of great talent. Know anyone you want to send along? The more the merrier. 8 pm at my studio on Hollywood Boulevard. Thanks.
Whit
Erica sat back in her chair. A scholarship! Maybe I can win this. My first chance from working for Gunther. Hope that hadn’t existed in her heart in a long time blossomed, like a thirsty rose bush in a soaking rain. She had five hundred dollars for clothes and forty bucks for dinner, which could translate to eating fast food and buying gas for her ancient, compact car. She turned off the computer and locked her desk, putting the key in her purse.
Being thrifty from habit, Erica stopped at a lower-priced store and bought two suits and two low-cut blouses for the five hundred dollars, instead of one. I can’t worry he’s going to make a pass at me. He seems on the up-and-up so far.
Then, she returned home to change for the tryout.
Amy was sitting on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine. She smirked when Erica entered.
“So, did the dragon burn you to bits with his flaming tongue?”
“Nope.”
“How many times did he insult you?”
“None, really. Just wanted me to dress better.”
“I knew it! See. Told ya,” Amy said, refreshing her drink.
“He’s right—this stuff doesn’t fit. But the new suits will.”
“New clothes? I thought you were broke.”
“Gunther gave me some money for clothes,” Erica said, then waved the two twenty-dollar bills in front of Amy. “And forty bucks for a decent dinner.”
“What? He never did anything like that for me.”
Erica shrugged and peeled off the huge suit jacket.
“Did you sleep with him?”
“How can you ask that?”
“So, did you?”
“No!” Anger bubbled up inside Erica. Just because I did a better job than you. Some nerve. He was right to fire you. You weren’t very good.
“Don’t know why women are falling all over themselves for him. I don’t think he’s very attractive. Must be he’s a big producer, and they think he’ll hire them or something.”
Gunther Quill is the most attractive man I’ve met in years. Maybe ever. “He has a certain…something.”
“Yeah, bad disposition and a poison tongue.” Amy sulked and took a gulp of her wine.
Love to get closer to that poison tongue. Erica sensed heat in her che
eks at her own sexy thoughts about Gunther.
Amy narrowed her eyes as she stared at her friend. “You find him attractive, don’t you?”
Erica turned away to hide her embarrassment.
“You do. And you’d sleep with him given half a chance, wouldn’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to. I can see it all over your face. Stay away from him, Erica. He’s a snake. He chews up sweet little girls like you.”
“I’m not a sweet little girl, Amy. I’m a grown woman. I’m thirty. I’ve been on my own for years. I can take care of myself.”
“Against Gunther Quill? You’re joking. Trust me. He’s a spider.”
Erica took her packages into her room and closed the door. She donned a pair of tight jeans and a tank top. Pulling the band out of her hair, she let her shoulder-length, golden locks fall free. Combing with her fingers would have to suffice. She applied makeup to her eyes and a dab of perfume between her breasts before leaving the apartment.
Whitmarsh Eddy’s studio was one big room, with a small desk in the corner and about two dozen folding chairs scattered around. Attractive young men and women milled about. She overheard some refer to the master actor as “Whit” and assumed they were already in his class.
Then, she spied a few who looked as nervous as she was. They must be trying out, too.
She stood next to a young man of medium height with broad shoulders and hair and eyes the same color as hers. We could be brother and sister. The idea soothed her.
“Are you trying out today?”
She nodded. “Erica,” she said, extending her hand.
“Sam. Sam Rawlings.”
A last name. Can’t call myself Wheeler. Gunther might find out. I probably won’t get it, but it’s best to be safe. She glanced around, her eyes lighting on a large, round rock acting as a paperweight on the desk. “Erica Stone.”
Sam nodded at her, his eyes glancing down then up quickly before meeting hers. Men practice that look so they can check out our body parts. They think we don’t notice. She chuckled to herself.
“What’s so funny? I don’t know about you, but I’m scared to death.”
“I don’t have a chance, so I’m not worried. Everyone here looks way more experienced than I am. You might as well relax. Being too nervous can’t help.”
He laced his fingers with hers. “Maybe if I held your hand, I’d calm down.”
“Nice pick-up line, Sam.”
He chuckled and cast his gaze to the floor. “I thought so.”
Before Erica could reply, Whitmarsh Eddy, all five foot nine inches, two hundred and fifty pounds of him, stood up and walked to the center of the room. He held his hands high in the air and conversation stopped.
“I see we have quite a turnout for the tryouts tonight. Will my students please sit on the left and the ladies and gents trying out on the right?”
Sam and Erica took seats together. A sudden flutter in her chest made her want to run out the door. I’m doing this. If he only selects one, then I won’t be the only one who didn’t win tonight. There will be at least fifteen more like me. Calm down!
The drama coach explained that he had selected four passages, two for men and two for women. He took the sign-up sheet and called names then gave them their choice of passage to read and five minutes to prepare. Some of the performers were pretty bad, showing their lack of understanding of the speeches from classic American plays.
Sam went before Erica. She squeezed his hand and wished him luck. He was the best of the lot, in Erica’s opinion. She was impressed by his interpretation of a speech by the main character in Death of a Salesman.
She noticed Mr. Eddy staring at her a couple of times as she sat listening to each actor. When Sam sat down, she leaned over to whisper to him, “You were the best.” Suddenly, a large figure loomed in front of her, and she glanced up to see Whitmarsh Eddy standing before her with a piece of paper in his hand.
“You should read this one.”
Erica glanced down to see a famous monologue by Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire. Her breath caught in her throat and tears stung the back of her eyes for a moment. Blanche is so vulnerable. Does he see that when he looks at me? Her gaze connected with his sympathetic brown ones. She nodded. “Good choice,” she muttered, reading over the words.
When her turn came, the words became real for Erica. The breathtaking sadness of the character’s situation penetrated her heart. All her years of being alone, struggling to succeed or just keep her head above water, came rushing back. The pain, the anger, the resentment toward her father made her brave, even jaunty, haughty, and superior. It was perfect, the best reading she’d ever done in theater class, on a summer stock stage, anywhere. There was a round of applause when she finished.
The emotion of the performance drove her into the ladies room to splash cold water on her face. I have to calm down. I’m not Blanche. I have options. I’m going to get a break. When she returned, Sam gave her an admiring stare and patted her hand. “Not bad, for a beginner.”
I was good, but was I good enough to beat Sam? Probably not.
At the end of tryouts, the coach asked the performers to step outside while he conferred with his class. Sam leaned against the wall and pulled her next to him. “You were good, Erica.”
“Not nearly as good as you were. You’re a professional, aren’t you?”
“If you mean a paid actor, yeah. I’ve done some TV, a few commercials, and a little summer stock. You?”
“Summer stock, that’s all.”
“Maybe this will be your lucky break.”
Before they could continue their conversation, one of the acting students appeared and called everyone in. Sam took Erica’s hand in between his and sat down. Whitmarsh gave a short speech about how great everyone was. Erica knew he was lying. Then, they awarded the full scholarship to Sam. Erica clapped hard, hiding her disappointment behind a smile.
The coach raised his hands again, and the room quieted down “This year, I’ve decided to do something different. While Sam Rawlings was clearly the most polished actor in the group, there was one other outstanding, though not as professional, performance that grabbed me. I’m going to award a second scholarship to Miss Erica Stone, for the most heartfelt performance of Blanche DuBois I’ve ever seen.”
Erica couldn’t believe her ears. Tears clouded her eyes as she covered her mouth with her hands. Sam grinned at her and applauded along with the rest.
Whit dismissed the contestants and motioned for Sam and Erica to join the students. “Your first class will begin tomorrow. We meet twice a week from eight to eleven. Don’t be late. Introduce yourselves to everyone.”
One female student set out sweet refreshments while another poured coffee. Erica was starving. She bit into a sugared donut. “Too many of those will ruin your figure,” Sam warned.
“Don’t you worry about my figure.”
“I’d like to get to know it better…much better.”
“You win the award for the worst pick-up lines ever,” Erica said between bites.
Sam laughed. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
“Hire a writer.”
Sam and Erica agreed to meet at Buns and Burgers before the next class then went their separate ways. Erica couldn’t stop smiling as she drove her rust bucket home. Amy was in her pajamas, waiting up for her friend. She smiled when Erica told her the news.
“See! I told you working for Gunther would pay off. Your first day and already you’ve made a connection.”
Erica hugged her friend. “You’re right. I’m the luckiest girl ever. This is going to be a great experience.”
“Won’t Gunther just die when he finds out?”
“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” Erica put her hand on her roommate’s arm.
“No way. Someday, you’ll leave him for a juicy part, and he’ll be so pissed, he won’t know what to do.”
“No one’s
irreplaceable, Amy.” Erica sat back on the sofa and put her feet up.
“Gunther hates to lose, in anything. It’ll kill him. And I’ll be in the wings, laughing.”
Erica pulled a wad of paper out of her bag and began to thumb through to the first page.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading a script. He asked me to.”
“He asked me, too, but I never had time. I’ll be damned if I was going to bring his work home. Geez. It was enough I had to deal with him during the day. Besides, I have Garth. Rather spend my time in bed with him than doing a favor for the dragon.”
“I don’t have a Garth. Besides, this is my field. I like doing it.”
“You’re a sucker. Gunther got much more than he deserves in you,” Amy sniffed.
Just then, a male voice called out from the bedroom. “Amy! You coming?”
“Garth?” Erica asked.
“Certainly not Gunther Quill! I love it when Garth misses me.”
“Goodnight,” Erica said, not paying much attention, as she was already immersed in the story on her lap.
Chapter Two
Thursday morning, Gunther rolled into the office at eight thirty, surprised to find Erica at her desk. Amy didn’t come in until ten. He checked out her cleavage. She pulled her glasses down on her nose and looked over the rims at him.
“The contracts are on your desk. There are three treatments there I want you to read. I’ve sent polite emails to the writers of seven more scripts that are unacceptable. Here are three phone messages that came in last night after you left. Oh, I’ve answered some emails for you. They’re awaiting your approval. The three actresses are coming in tomorrow. I’ve scheduled them an hour and a half apart, as you requested. And lunch today with Max Webster—I changed the restaurant.”
“Why? The Satin Club is my place. I’m known there. I’ll get the best service and impress the hell out of him.”
“From what I’ve read about him…and you…” She paused to stare hard at him. “Max isn’t thrilled with this lunch. In fact, I picked that up on the phone from his assistant. But he’s a businessman, so he’s meeting you. Besides, I promised you’d behave.”
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