“Of course I’m right. Just don’t mess this up. You get this weird, malfunctioning robot thing when you get nervous.”
If I wasn’t worried before, I was now. “I am not a robot.”
“Not a well-functioning one. You’re like one of those robots with loose wires that shocks people all the time.”
I saw Vaughn turn a corner and wave to me. “I have to go, Vaughn’s here.”
“Ooh, what’s he wearing?” Camille also doesn’t know when to quit. Which is probably why she’s still with Donnie.
I couldn’t have answered her even if I wanted to, as Vaughn was now right in front of me. I really wanted to get off the phone before he accidentally overheard Camille barking questions or, worse, advice. “Gotta go,” I said again.
“Call me later!” I heard these words as I pulled the phone away from my ear and shut it.
“Hi,” Vaughn said, smiling. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone looked so happy to see me—and that included my cat. “Glad you made it. Any trouble finding the studio?”
“Not at all,” I told him, standing up.
He leaned in for a hug and I was momentarily caught off guard. I must not hug that many people. As he pulled me close, I caught a whiff of what was either aftershave or a very appealing natural musk. I could feel myself getting nervous again, perhaps owing to how few dates I’d been on in the last several years.
“Let’s get inside before all the good seats are taken!” Much to my surprise, Vaughn grabbed my hand and lightly pulled me into the building. Maybe it was a date, after all.
• • •
The movie was only two hours, but it took so long to check in everyone’s cell phones and tablets (the movie had just opened to the public that day), it was nearly ten o’clock before we finally escaped back into the open air.
“Are you hungry?” Vaughn asked me.
“You didn’t see me gnawing on my arm during the twenty-minute balcony fight sequence?”
Vaughn laughed out loud. “How about dinner?”
About twenty-five minutes later, I was having an X-rated love affair with the pulled pork at SmithHouse on Santa Monica Boulevard. I’d been there a couple of times before, and it was a great restaurant with fairly good food and a small price tag given its tony Century City address. I was no less terribly nervous and fluttery with Vaughn, but when I’m hungry, I’ll step over grandmothers and adorable little children to get to my meal. Camille still thinks I’m making this up, but I swear that when my stomach is empty, my hearing is dulled considerably. It wasn’t until I’d wolfed down several bites of barbecue that I finally noticed Vaughn was jabbering away about something.
“I’ve never really understood that fixation. I mean, I like his movies, but I don’t get the hype. You know?” He looked at me inquisitively, waiting for my opinion.
I had no idea how long he’d been talking, but I’d missed everything. I thought about lying my way out of this, but that’s not my style. Instead, I shrugged and offered him a sheepish smile. “Ummm . . . I’m sorry, who are you talking about? I was a little busy making eyes at my food.”
I thought he might be upset or at least offended, but Vaughn laughed. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I wondered if I should leave you two alone. I felt a little voyeuristic.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I assured him. “It’s an open relationship.”
“Speaking of relationships . . .” he said, trailing off.
My head snapped up so fast I think it almost detached from my neck.
“You’re not . . . you know . . .” Vaughn looked at me expectantly. “Pregnant, are you?”
Of course. “Not unless I’ve been abducted and impregnated by aliens. Or really rude fertility specialists.” I should have known he’d heard the rumor. Not only did he work closely with the Dixsons, but if part of his job was controlling Daisy’s image with the public, he must have been aware of all of their press releases.
“I didn’t think so,” he said. I may have misinterpreted the expression, but it looked like relief to me. “Though why Jamie didn’t come up with a simpler explanation, like you’re diabetic and had low blood sugar, I don’t know. He’s always making things needlessly complicated.”
“Wow, that is a better explanation,” I agreed. “And closer to the truth. We just hadn’t eaten all day and they strapped me into a dress that was way too small.”
“Did Jamie make you wear one of Daisy’s dresses?” Vaughn asked.
I stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if he was kidding or just really clueless about weight and clothing. I’m five-ten and wear a size 8; Daisy is five feet even and swims in a size 0. I was starting to think she shopped in the children’s section or appropriated doll clothes into her wardrobe. I’m pretty sure adult human beings aren’t supposed to be that size, and I had trouble believing Vaughn couldn’t see that.
“I think I could maybe fit my arm into one of Daisy’s pant legs,” I finally answered, a little dumbfounded. “She’s like a sluttier version of Tinker Bell.”
“She is way too skinny,” Vaughn agreed. “I hate that little girls watch our show and think that’s how they’re supposed to look. It’s not normal.”
“To be fair, that idea didn’t come from actresses, it came from producers. If you look back at the seventies and eighties, women on TV weren’t nearly as skeletal as they are now,” I pointed out. “So some of the fault lies with your job, not hers.”
Vaughn speared a piece of brisket and held it up proudly. “Do you really think I advocate eating nothing but tomatoes and onions? I think frozen pizza is its own food group.”
“Oh, how I wish that were true,” I replied. “After a particularly bad breakup, I decided that only frozen burritos and Klondike bars would heal my pain. I gained ten pounds, but I was never more excited to eat dinner.”
Vaughn laughed out loud and nearly choked on his brisket. “Then you know the miracle of food. So don’t even tell me that you’re going to let Daisy warp you into not experiencing the best Italian cuisine in the world next week,” he continued, playfully staring me down. “I won’t have it. I’ll stuff you full of lasagna and tiramisu myself if I have to.”
I’d had that conversation with Faith maybe five hours ago. How did Vaughn already know about my decision? “So you know I’m going to Rome,” I said.
“Faith called me as soon as she hung up with you. She said she needed my approval to have you along during filming.”
I didn’t believe that for a second. Faith said that Vaughn had been asking her all week if I was accompanying Daisy overseas. So I doubted that she suddenly felt the need to ask his permission. Not to mention that the Dixsons weren’t the type of people who sought approval for any one of their harebrained decisions. But if Vaughn didn’t want to admit to pestering Faith about me, I would be nice and not call him on it. Though it was difficult.
“Thank you for letting me tag along, then. I’m sure it will be an interesting week.”
“Have you ever been there?” Vaughn asked.
I raised an eyebrow and shook my head. “I’ve never been anywhere.”
“But you do have a passport, right? If not, it’s probably a little too late to get one.”
“I do. I’ve just never had to use it before.”
Vaughn studied me thoughtfully. “For someone about to take their first trip to Europe—and an unexpected, first-class trip at that—you don’t look too excited.”
“Miami didn’t end so well,” I said. “And Jamie still hasn’t paid me back for the hotel or the car.”
“Shocker,” Vaughn replied. “We have a ten percent overage written into the budget for all of the ‘expenses’ Jamie never gets around to covering.”
Suddenly, shoveling all of that pulled pork into my mouth didn’t seem like such a good idea. I hoped I wasn’t about to vomit all over
Vaughn’s dinner. “He doesn’t pay his bills?”
Vaughn’s expression went sour, and I knew he regretted his words. “Listen, I’m sure he’ll pay you.” He paused, probably trying to choose words that would soothe my mind without having to tell a lie. “You just need to keep on him about it. If I were you, I wouldn’t do any more work for them until the check clears.”
I appreciated that he was trying to make me feel better, but that was a stupid thing to say. It’s easier said than done to simply refuse to do work; it was essentially a strike or work stoppage, and it would very likely result in my immediate dismissal. Not to mention, I was about to fly six thousand miles to a foreign country with these people. Nothing like being stranded in a strange land and pissing off the people who feed and house you.
Then I realized Faith hadn’t called me back with any details of the trip, and the last thing I wanted was another 6:00 A.M. wake-up call. My heart had had enough shocks in these last few weeks.
“I’ll get the money out of him, don’t worry,” I said, feigning confidence. I was practicing for my direct dealings with Jamie. “Do you know when we’re leaving? Faith said she’d make the arrangements but didn’t get back to me with specifics.” It was an increasing wonder to me that these people ever ended up where they were supposed to be at any given time.
Vaughn’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re kidding me, right? The travel office didn’t call you?”
There’s a travel office?
“No one has told me anything.”
Vaughn shook his head, still seeming remarkably astonished for someone who had worked with the Dixsons for so long. “Tomorrow night.” He laughed. “We’ve had the show’s tickets booked for months. Actually, when you called to ask for Faith’s number, I thought you were going to back out of tonight so you could pack.” He turned a little red and added, “I was really glad when you didn’t.”
I’m sure my own face went red. I liked the thought that he was a little nervous around me, too. It made me feel better about being a malfunctioning robot with exposed wires. A large part of me was now thrilled with the thought of spending a week in Italy alongside Vaughn, but the worrywart part of my brain said that I should stay home writing and watching HGTV on my couch. Voluntarily putting myself in the hands of the Dixsons was an invitation for all sorts of disasters.
“You have access to all of the travel details, right?” I asked, choosing to leave my neurosis inside my head.
“Everything.” He nodded. “I get e-mail updates with all new info, including yours. I knew five minutes after the travel office booked your ticket.”
“Then can you forward me what I need to know?” I asked. “And I probably should get home. I’ve got to pack, find someone to watch my cat, and manage to pay my rent before tomorrow night.”
“You never told me your cat’s name,” Vaughn said as he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through e-mails. “I feel like I should know it, since I’ve heard all about him and his hatred of gardeners and mail carriers.”
“Smitty.” I nodded. “He is kind of an asshole. But I think that’s what I like about him.”
“Smitty?” Vaughn laughed, briefly glancing up from his phone. “Where’d you get that name?”
I was a little embarrassed to admit this, especially to a man. “Um . . . well, I’ve never really liked cats, but when I found Smitty, he was just a few days old and curled up outside my building, practically starving to death. I only meant to take care of him for a couple of weeks and then find him a home, but by then I was smitten.”
Vaughn had stopped playing with his phone and was eyeing me strangely. He looked a little disturbed by my story, though for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. He remained silent for far longer than I was comfortable with before quietly saying, “He’s the smitten kitten?”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’m the smitten kitten.”
Vaughn continued to watch me with that disconcerted expression for another second or two before he snapped back to reality and resumed reading through his e-mail. He typed a few things, then nodded toward me.
“You should have everything on your phone in just a minute,” he told me, his voice huskier than normal.
“Oh, my phone doesn’t get e-mail. It barely makes calls, and texts sometimes take a whole day to show up.”
“We need to work on that,” Vaughn said. “You work for teen royalty, you have to be available twenty-four hours a day. In the meantime, all of the info should be in your e-mail. Let me know if it’s not.”
“How do you know my e-mail address?” I asked.
“I have my ways.”
I wondered if it had been given to him by Faith or someone else on staff or if he’d deliberately sought out that information. But I didn’t ask.
“You just know everything, don’t you?”
“No,” he replied. “Sometimes I think I know surprisingly little.”
• • •
We had driven over from the Fox lot separately, so I didn’t expect much to happen on the walk out of the restaurant. Vaughn headed for the valet stand.
“I’m parked on the street,” I said. What I didn’t tell him was why I was parked out on the street. I get a lot of strange looks from parking attendants when they see my car, as though it might contaminate the nicer cars in the garage.
“I’m sorry, I should have mentioned the valet.”
This wasn’t my first time at SmithHouse; I was perfectly aware of the valet. But I didn’t say that. “It’s fine. I’m right around the corner.”
“Okay, then,” Vaughn said, leaning in and hugging me again. “Good night. I’ll see you at the airport?”
I don’t know that I expected a kiss, necessarily, but I did at least think he’d offer to walk me to my car. I had the whole scenario worked out in my head; he’d offer and I’d politely refuse—twice. I wasn’t sure what to do when no offer was made. I was even more unsettled when he simply waved and walked away from me after the hug.
I waited a few more seconds—for what, I don’t know—and then turned and headed down the street toward my car. I still wasn’t sure if this was a date or not.
• • •
Since my last trip had been sprung on me with three hours’ notice, a full day seemed luxurious and decadent. I was able to pack thoughtfully, and Camille offered to watch Smitty and take me to the airport. The only truly nerve-racking part was that when I wrote my rent check and slipped it under the manager’s door, I was acutely aware that I was heading to Europe with exactly three hundred dollars to my name. It was less money than I’d had when Jamie first called. Considering that the euro was worth so much more than the U.S. dollar, I figured I could buy a few meals and maybe a souvenir bag of pasta. Anything more than that and I’d return to Los Angeles to find my Goodwill couch on the front lawn, the new hangout spot for the neighborhood’s feral animals.
Camille begged me to take a few hundred from her, but I just couldn’t. I hate being in debt to anyone, and I also hate starting out any paycheck already in the hole. If I had to buy a giant pepperoni and slowly eat it over the course of the next eight days, so be it.
The length of the trip was also a revelation to me. I was surprised a kids’ show was spending so much time and money on a two-part episode, but Camille claimed it wasn’t that unusual. She even thought they must have been shooting some of the script back in the studio, because eight days of travel time wasn’t nearly enough to film two episodes. I was starting to think the film industry was just a constant bloodletting of cash.
“I can’t believe you’re going without that check.” She’d threatened to lock me in her bathroom when I told her I still hadn’t been paid.
“I’ll get it,” I exclaimed, again trying to show more confidence than I felt. “I just haven’t seen Jamie in the last couple of days. But he’ll be in Italy wi
th the rest of us. He can’t avoid me there.”
“At which time he’ll give you a check you can’t possibly cash until you get back.”
I hadn’t really thought of that. Apparently, I did not have a head for business. I suppose that’s why I still lived on Diablorado Street.
“Your mother’s really worried about you. We talked for an hour this morning.”
“Does it strike you as odd that you talk to my mother more than I do?” I didn’t really mind. In fact, I found the whole thing amusing.
Camille didn’t answer my question. “You didn’t even call and tell her about the trip to Italy.”
This was true. And entirely my fault. I tried to talk to my mother once a week, but things had just been moving so fast lately that I’d forgotten to check in with her. “I’m sure you’ll talk to her tomorrow, so tell her I’ll call her from Rome.”
“You’d better. I don’t want to hear it if you don’t.” Camille turned in to the LAX departure queue, which crawled along at a snail’s pace. The airport is always a bit of a nightmare, but it never bothers me; I can understand why everyone is so desperate to get out of Los Angeles. I’m just fine waiting patiently for my turn.
“And at least I’ll get the check, even if I can’t cash it right away,” I pointed out. We were both quiet for a bit until we reached the individual terminals. “Tom Bradley,” I told her, referring to the legendary international terminal that looks more like a stock trading floor than an airport. It’s a wondrous hangar-like building packed twenty-four hours a day with people shouting in a hundred different languages. I like to think of it as the terminal of Babel. “Right past number three.”
“Got it,” she said, clearly still not pleased with my decision making.
“Come on, don’t be like this,” I groaned. “I don’t want to spend this entire trip thinking you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just worried about you.”
“And that’s very sweet,” I told her. “But I’ll be fine.”
Absolutely True Lies Page 14