by Zoe Wildau
“Thanks,” she said, grateful for anything to boost her confidence. Rubbing her damp palms together, she asked, “Got any more good advice?”
“I’m always full of good advice. For starters, I think you look too nice to wear this stupid hat,” he said, reaching in the back seat and dropping the camo Get-A-Grip ball cap in her lap.
She looked at it ruefully. “I said I would, and I will. I’m a woman of my word.”
Popping it on her head, she looked at him, pursing her lips.
“Gimme that!” Greg whipped it off her head and threw it in the back of the van.
“Seriously, they’re going to love your work,” he said.
Pulling up in front of the historic Culver hotel, Lilly got out as Greg came around to slide open the side door and hand her the portfolio. If it had only contained foam core boards, it wouldn’t have been a problem, but she had shoved a collapsible easel in the soft-sided case, not taking a chance that there wouldn’t be one in the meeting room. The lopsided weight made the large portfolio unwieldy.
Watching her teeter in her high heels, Greg said, “Why don’t you let me follow you in and put these in the meeting room? You’ll look even cooler if you have a lackey.”
Relieved, she handed it back to him. As he closed up the van, she said, “Wait a minute!” Leaning in, she grabbed the hat and put it on his head. Greg smiled at her.
“Good thinking!” he said brightly. Then, in his best Morgan Freeman Tennessee drawl, “Lead the way, Miss Daisy.”
They were ten minutes early. Monty Davidson had been holding meetings all day in the Harry Culver conference room behind closed doors. There was a secretary at a table set up in front of the room with a roster. She checked that Lilly was on the list and raised her eyebrow at Greg, asking his name.
“Greg Newsome, Get-A-Grip film supplies,” he said.
Tipping his hat and winking at Lilly, he handed the secretary a fistful of cards. The woman, who may or may not have been a hotel employee, took the cards with a polite smile, copied his name onto the roster and told them to have a seat, indicating a small seating area across the hall.
Sitting and waiting was not one of her strong suits. “If it’s okay, we’ll leave these things here and just walk down to the lobby and be back in, do you think, ten minutes?”
“I’m sure that’ll be fine,” she replied.
Greg leaned the portfolio up against the wall outside the Harry Culver room, and they headed back down the marble stairs to the lobby, which was an ultra-sophisticated, old world lounge complete with live piano. Lilly waited by the door for Greg, who stepped out to move the van. When he reappeared, the two of them stood side by side at the entrance, surveying the elegant scene.
“Let’s grab a drink here after your meeting, and you can debrief me,” said Greg.
“I’m working on so little sleep I’d probably have one gimlet and pass out.”
Giving her a leer, Greg teased, “That’s why I like you. Cheap and easy.”
She scoffed, “Think again, buster. Only Old Raj gimlets for me. Popping for a drink here is going to put you back at least twenty bucks. I may be easy, but I’m never cheap.”
“Lilly?” She whirled in surprise at Sir Phillip’s rich voice right behind her, standing in the hotel entrance. Behind him stood Jake Durant, looking from her to Greg, one imperious brow raised. He looked all frosty, like the Jake she first met at the Campanile, not the playful Jake from the casting session a month ago. He looked different, too. Slimmer, she registered vaguely.
“Oh, hi!” she piped, moving out of the way so that they could get in the door.
Feeling flustered and trying not to let it show, she gestured toward Greg and said, “Phillip Greer, Jake Durant, may I introduce my….” My friend, ack they might think she just let him tag along for a star encounter. My driver, no, no. “This is Greg Newsome. He helped me out today by carting over a few things for our meeting.”
Greg tipped his hat at the two men, prompting Phillip to ask, “You’re with Get-A-Grip?”
“Yes. I own it.” Greg, ever ready with the cards, pulled a couple out of his pocket and handed them to Phillip and Jake. “Give me a call if you ever need anything. That’s the store number on there. Lilly’s got my cell. Call any hour, if you find yourself in a pinch. If it can be gotten in this biz, I can get it.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” said Phillip.
“I’m glad our name’s out there,” said Greg. Lilly couldn’t help smiling at Greg’s obvious pleasure upon hearing that Phillip Greer knew about his business.
“A man worth knowing,” said Jake, his tone bordering on sarcastic, as he made a show of stowing Greg’s card in his wallet. Then, looking at his watch, he said, “We’d better get up there, Phil.”
“Ms. Rose.” Jake extended his arm toward the stairs to indicate that Lilly should precede them. Greg was clearly dismissed.
Not appreciating Jake’s rude treatment of Greg she stood right where she was, effectively barring Jake’s path to the stairs. Greg was like family and nobody, big stars included, disrespected her family.
Refusing to rush off, she turned to Greg, touched his arm and said, “Thank you again for all of your help. I’ll call you in bit when we’re done here and we’ll have that drink. But I’m buying,” she insisted.
Looking only at Phillip, she said, “I’m glad the two of you had a chance to meet,” and then turned and headed back up to the conference room.
Emboldened by her irritation, Lilly thought she just might make it through the meeting without having an attack of knocking knees which tended to happen when she was nervous. The door to the Harry Culver room was open and the aide was no longer at her post.
“Well, where is she then?” thundered a voice that could be heard from the top of the stairs. Blanching, her bravado deserting her, she scurried into the conference room, not bothering to pick up the portfolio outside.
She recognized the hefty figure of Monty Davidson from his interview on James Lipton’s “Inside the Actors’ Studio,” which she had watched a few days before to prepare. He was on the phone, the aide standing nearby waving the day’s roster in front of him.
Snatching it from her, he said, “She was supposed to be here at one. Where the hell is she?”
One o’clock? What? Surely she hadn’t screwed up the meeting time.
Looking up, the director saw her but kept talking until Jake and Phillip came in behind her. Lowering his voice, he seethed to the poor sot on the other end of the line before hanging up, “Figure out where Maya is and make sure this wasn’t our fuck up.”
Oh, thank God. He wasn’t talking about her. He was talking about Maya Trent who had been cast in the female lead role. Maya, not Lilly, had failed to show for her time slot.
“Jake, my man,” the director boomed, glad-handing him. Then he grabbed Phillip by the shoulder and pulled him in for a half man-hug, patting him soundly on the back.
“Phil, thanks for getting him to sign on to this little project,” Monty laughed, emphasizing “little”. Alison had made it abundantly clear at the last crew meeting that this film had the largest “above the line” the studio sported this year. Bryce, translating for her, had explained that “above the line” meant the money budgeted for creative talent, such as actors, writers and directors.
Lilly stood quietly, waiting for the men to acknowledge the lone below the line talent in the room. It was taking so long, she wondered if maybe she was supposed to step outside and wait until she was called.
As she stood there watching their conversation, she appraised Jake. He did look different. With dawning horror she realized why. He’d lost at least thirty pounds. He was as sleek as a fashion model. He was attractive before, but now he was finely tuned and cut, ultra-slim for filming. How could she have been so stupid? She should have asked him about any plans to change his appearance for the role. And she should have done that a month ago.
She’d have to start all over with the m
ajor molds, she thought, surveying him closely. She could probably salvage the completed work on his hands and feet, which were simple tendon and nail appliances, but she’d have to make another lifecast of his face and chest. Her mind was racing, trying to calculate how much time she had, what she could save of her current materials and what absolutely had to be redone. As she stared at the new Jake, she mentally tape measured his shoulders, chest and waist.
She’d spent so much time with his plaster cast, she could well imagine, even with his shirt on, how different he looked underneath. His muscles would be sinewy and long, his pectorals flat plates instead of rounded mounds. His abs would stand out like a metal washboard.
Everything about him was starkly angular, including his cheekbones, jaw and brow. As she mentally registered the changes in his physical appearance, Lilly had a rush of a much better vision of him artistically.
The concept she had worked on so hard was based on a much bulkier Jake, and most of the elements of the design played up his muscle mass. Bulkier Jake had inspired a design that amplified physical aggression. In her new vision, she would take full advantage of the cutting angles to create a much more refined and sinister character, more in tune with Nolan’s esoteric screenplay.
However, it was going to take some major adjustments, and the boards she’d so proudly showed off last night to Greg, currently leaning against the wall outside the conference room, were all wrong.
She was so focused on the work cut out for her that she almost didn’t hear when Phillip finally decided to introduce her to Monty.
“Mr. Davidson, it’s a real pleasure,” she said, extending her hand, which was tiny and swallowed in the director’s beefy grasp. “I’m honored to be working on this project, and grateful to Mr. Greer for recommending me.”
She should probably say something complimentary about Jake Durant, but she just couldn’t think of anything nice to say about him at the moment. Maybe it wasn’t his fault that her presentation was completely wrecked, but it was hard not to feel resentful that he didn’t think to tell her what he planned. What did he think she was going to do with all those molds of him? Go home and play Playdoh?
She had come prepared to present her concepts at this meeting, but now they didn’t convey at all her new, supremely better, vision of this character. Getting out of the meeting without having to show her design was going to be tricky.
Lilly ended up being saved by the errant Maya who, shadowed by the young woman from the table outside, showed up ten minutes later. Lilly had spent the ten minutes lobbing softballs at Monty about his past work and his vision for this film, making sure he kept talking so that she wouldn’t have to.
Jake said little as she repeatedly diverted the conversation each time it threatened to come back to her special effects concepts for his character. When Maya showed up, Monty looked at Lilly apologetically. She hopped out of her chair like a jack-in-the-box and picked up her purse, signaling that she understood that Maya took precedence and that it was no inconvenience for a below liner like herself to reschedule. Nobody bothered to introduce her to Maya Trent as she made her way out the door.
However, once in the hall, Lilly stopped short. She couldn’t leave yet. She couldn’t delay even an afternoon rescheduling the lifecast session with Jake. The two people she needed to do that, Phillip and Jake, were virtually impossible to reach by phone, but they were sitting right behind the now closed conference room door.
Admitting what had happened was going to make her appear inexperienced and unprofessional in Jake’s eyes, but she saw no other choice but to wait for him to come out and ask to speak with him. It’s not like she could hit him over the head and cast him while he lay unconscious, as appealing as the thought was.
She sat down to wait and texted Greg that it could be a while. “Going good?” was his reply. Lilly, who felt sick to her stomach, didn’t respond, knowing he’d think that she couldn’t because she was still in the meeting.
Surprisingly, the door opened in under thirty minutes. If Monty was still put out with Maya Trent, it didn’t show. He was all smiles when he turned to the table girl and commanded, “Shut it down, we’re done for the day.”
Monty, Maya and Phillip were talking about a drink in the lounge and headed toward the stairs, with Jake a few paces behind.
For a moment, Lilly just watched him. Something about Jake’s whole being compelled attention. His stride was consistently fluid, each movement tied to the next. If you were to freeze-frame him at any given point for a candid shot, he would still look as elegant as if he’d posed for a portrait.
Now or never, she thought, standing up from her perch on the edge of the settee in the little seating area across from the conference room. Her knees were knocking in earnest now.
“Mr. Durant?” Lilly called softly, trying not to attract Monty’s attention. Jake looked back, then raised his brows in surprise when he saw who had called his name. He redirected his path toward her. The other three were at the stairs before they realized Jake had peeled off. At Phillip’s look, Jake waved him on, saying he’d be down in five minutes.
Turning back to her, Jake gave her a hard stare and cut right to the chase, “You’ve had a month. How far along are you?” The attitude he projected was not of an actor slash client. Jake owned the controlling interest in Mjicon, which had contracted with her for this film. His tone and his choice of words made it clear that he was speaking to her as her boss’s boss.
Lilly stood her ground. “You might have mentioned during the three hours I spent making casts of you that you were going to drop thirty pounds. None of the concepts I designed work with the new you,” she said, gesturing to all of him.
When he placed his hands on his hips to scoff at her, she rushed on, trying for a more conciliatory tone, “I’m not complaining. This is better. It’s going to be much better.”
Exciting, too, she thought, a fact that she had realized as she cooled her heels the last half hour. The unsettling disconnect that had troubled her while working up the design for this character had drained away. In her mind she could see how ultra-cool the minimalist applications were going to look on him. He was going to be fabulous.
Thinking of Becky’s “creepy sexy” comment, she would revise it to five percent creepy, ninety-five percent art house sexy. Beckham meets Bowie sexy.
“Can we go in the conference room for a few minutes? I know you told Phillip five minutes, but can you give me ten and just let me make some notes?”
Without further ado, Jake pulled out his phone and texted. “You’ve got fifteen,” he told her.
Lilly walked to the portfolio she had left unopened just outside the conference room door, hoisted the strap over her shoulder and headed into the room. Jake followed and shut the door behind them.
Setting the case against the wall, she turned to Jake and asked without preliminaries, “Would you mind terribly taking your shirt off?”
Without questioning her, he walked to stand by the conference room table and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged it off and laid it over the chair he’d been sitting in earlier.
“Um…” she bit her lip, looking at his undershirt, “T-shirt, too?”
In a languorous, mesmerizing move, Jake pulled the undershirt over his head and draped it next to his dress shirt.
“Pants, too?” he asked with an ironic twist of his mouth.
For a moment, her mind simply blanked. She blinked twice, willing away the sudden fogginess in her brain. “No, no, this is fine. Thanks.”
Lilly stepped closer to study Jake’s torso, striving for dispassionate professionalism. Thinking of all the times she’d run her hands over his plaster torso in her studio at home, she had to press her fingernails into her palms to keep from reaching for him now.
Groaning silently inside, it dawned on her that the last few weeks obsessing over him might have been prompted by more than just a good work ethic.
Hastily, she turned away and unzipped the large bla
ck portfolio case. She pulled out the collapsible easel and one of the boards – the one with the full frontal of Jake in his prior incantation – setting it on the easel so that the artwork faced away from him, toward her. Standing behind the foam board where Jake couldn’t see her face, she let out a silent puff of air and breathed in deeply to settle herself. Then she bent down to the case and pulled out several charcoal pencils from an inside pocket. Straightening and peering around the board at Jake like he was a model at an artist’s studio, Lilly began defacing her hard work.
She worked in a fury of long strokes, short strokes and smudges, pausing often to peer at Jake and occasionally licking her pencil tip to darken it for added definition on some of the bolder elements. Jake moved to lounge against the tabletop and pulled out his phone to scroll through texts and emails while Lilly intermittently paused to appraise his half naked body. He seemed utterly insouciant.
When her flurry of drawing slowed and she became more focused on her canvas than him, he pushed off the table and came to stand beside her. Jake opened his mouth to speak, but she shushed him as she made the last few changes.
She talked as she sketched, “It’s rough, I know, but I just wanted to get the outlines down. You can see how detailed my original was… well, you could if I hadn’t drawn all over it. The final will look that finished.
“When you looked more like a normal, albeit hunky, male,” she said, with a disparaging sidelong look at his silky slim torso, “I thought my design should exaggerate male violence. I’m afraid I’ll need to make new molds of your chest, back and face. I can work with some of what I have, but some of it….” She turned to Jake, who was frowning down at her intently, “Well, I think I’ve got enough to get started,” she tapered off.
“Is something wrong?” she asked when he remained silent.
Not sure she wanted to hear the answer but compelled to ask, “You don’t like it?”