Chapter Three
Elly
The next morning, when I woke up, I lay in bed longer than I actually had time to. I was trying to convince myself that last night had been a dream and I had not gone to a sleazy bar and had practically anonymous sex in a filthy bathroom with Tristan Rogers. It was no use. I knew that it hadn’t been a dream. I’d gone to that bar with no more plan than to see him in person and hear him sing, but when he’d kissed me…everything I ever felt for him, even though it was all a million years ago, came rushing back. I lost myself in the fact that Tristan Rogers wanted me. I wasn’t a girl who gave it up easily, I wasn’t a slut. But that morning, I sure as hell woke up feeling like one.
Looking at the time and realizing I didn’t have all day to lie in bed and worry about it, I sighed and reluctantly forced myself up. As I rose from the bed, I caught sight of the framed photograph on my nightstand. His beautiful face was smiling as always, but I felt like there was a hint of accusation in his eyes. I knew it was my own guilt and anxiety talking, but I kissed my fingers and pressed it to the glass over his lips anyways and said, “I’m sorry.”
I made coffee and then headed for the shower. Today was kind of a big day for me. I should have stayed home last night and made sure I got plenty of rest and got up on time. I couldn’t be even a minute late if I wanted to make a good impression, and I did. This internship was really important to me and my career. I’d just finished up my film school classes in June. I was one summer class and a fall semester away from a BA in film and video production. After that, I was still planning on going to school for my master’s. I received financial aid, but a master’s degree was expensive, and what they gave me wasn’t going to cut it for another two years.
I was looking for a job when I saw the advertisement for the paid internship on a job board at the University. It said that Fresh Voices, the wildly popular reality show that made superstars out of everyday people, was looking for a production intern. A job like that would be a dream come true for me. The experience would be invaluable, and it could open up so many more doors. I applied, nervously went for the first interview, and then the second. After the third interview, I started thinking that maybe they weren’t even going to fill the position, just interview me to death. After the fourth interview, they finally offered me the job. Today was the first big meeting with the production supervisors, and even the actual producer was supposed to make an appearance. His name was Jake Gilley, and he was one of the biggest producers of pop music in the U.S. and the U.K.
I laid out the new suit I’d bought just for this occasion. I hadn’t gotten my first paycheck yet, so I didn’t have a lot of money. I’d found this suit on a Nordstrom’s Rack in Hollywood—less than a hundred dollars for the whole thing. It was a pretty, plum colored skirt suit with a collarless jacket that nipped in at the waist and had a pleated peplum that flounced over the hips. The skirt was A-line and ended just above the knees. Luckily, I had a nice pair of pumps in the same shade that I’d bought for my cousin’s wedding a few years back. They were hard to match, so I’d only worn them a few times and they were like brand new.
After my shower, I dressed in my outfit and straightened my hair so that it laid long and draped over my shoulders. I applied a minimal amount of make-up and threw on a few pieces of jewelry. I was satisfied as I looked in the mirror, feeling that I looked like a young Hollywood professional. As I gazed at myself, my mind wandered back to the night before. I hoped that no one in the business would ever find out that I screwed a washed up singer in the bathroom of a seedy bar.
It was one night, he and I were the only ones there, and he was so wasted I doubted if he’d remember me even if I walked up to him on the street. I needed to stop obsessing over it and get to work.
Our studio was in Burbank and I lived in West Hollywood. They’re only about ten miles apart, but in L.A. travel time, that means twenty minutes on a good day and an hour to an hour and a half on a bad one. I left an hour before I needed to be there, hoping that today was the former.
It was a good traffic day and I made it to the studio in time to run in Starbucks and grab myself a latte and still get to the meeting room with twenty minutes to spare. A couple of the other interns, Molly and Keith, were already there, so I sat next to them. Molly complimented my suit and then she said, “I’m so frickin’ excited about meeting Jake Gilly I can hardly stand it.”
I smiled and said, “Me too. On top of being ridiculously rich and famous, he’s pretty damned good–looking.”
“Yeah, you think he needs a mistress?” she asked.
“I’m sure he’s got them lined up,” I told her. “Either that, or he’s gay.”
“Hell, I’d jump the fence for Jake Gilley,” Keith said. We all laughed just as the rest of the production company was coming through the door.
“It’s nice to see my interns so happy,” Clint, the production supervisor, said.
“We’re thrilled to be here, sir,” Keith told him. Molly and I only nodded. I didn’t know about her, but I was still a little intimidated by Clint. He’d been nothing but nice, but he was a perfectionist, I was always so worried that I’d screw something up when he was around.
“Good to hear,” he said.
After everyone took their places at the table, Clint’s assistant passed out the agenda. The show would start in L.A. and then move across the country towards the East Coast for six weeks straight. Then, once all of the contestants were chosen, it would move back to L.A. again. None of us interns would be traveling with the crew. Clint had hired us only to help with production of the L.A. shows, so after the first round in L.A., I’d have about six weeks off and then I’d work for another eight weeks when they got back. When I’d told my mother this, she had worried and asked me why I hadn’t just looked for a permanent job to begin with. Then I told her first how good being a part of the Fresh Voices crew was going to look on my resume, and second, how much they were paying me. That satisfied her.
Clint talked about production issues, and, at the end of his spiel he said, “Before we begin shooting, I will need you all to sign a document that goes over all of the rules and regulations for the contest. I’ll let you read most of it for yourselves, but I’d like to make mention of a few of the really important items. First, you cannot be related to any of the contestants. If one of your relatives becomes a contestant, then you are to let us know right away so that you can be excused from production. You can’t have any close personal relationships with any of the contestants: no BFF’s, no old classmates, bosses, neighbors, lovers. Most importantly, you cannot start a new relationship with any of the contestants. No dating, no sexual encounters, nothing. If this happens and it’s discovered, you will be relieved of your duties here. The press watches this closely after the scandal we had last year when it was discovered one of the judges and a finalist were sleeping together. I’m sure you’ve all heard the details of that. If you haven’t, find it online and read up on it. He was a talented young man, but he was disqualified. She was a famous pop-singer, but she was fired and the press dragged her name through the mud for months afterwards. You don’t want to be in that position, nor do I want you to put this production company in that position. Are there any questions?”
There were mumbled “No’s” and head shakes all around. Clint moved on and after listening to him talk for over an hour, his assistant whispered something in his ear and he said, “I know a lot of you are looking forward to meeting Mr. Gilley. I just received word that he’s in the building. He should be here—”
Before he finished his sentence, the door was thrown open and Jake Gilley, in his drop-dead gorgeous glory, walked in. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and black jeans and boots. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing off his buff arms with plump veins running through them. He had dark blonde hair that was spiked up and a five-o-clock shadow that gave him a sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look.
He shook Clint and a few of the other crew’s
hands, then he smiled at the rest of us. His teeth were, of course, perfectly white and perfectly even. “Well, well, so this is my production crew?” he said in a super sexy English accent as he looked around and took in each one of our faces. When he stopped on mine, I felt like his dark-eyed gaze could see right through me. It was a strange sensation and it took me a few seconds to shake it off after he’d moved on.
Molly leaned in and said, “Dear Lord, we’re in the presence of a God.” I stifled a laugh. She was right, though, it was as if Adonis had just walked into the room. He gave us a welcome speech and then some spiel about the history of his company. I’m sure it was all very interesting, but if he wanted us to pay attention to what he said, he shouldn’t say it in such a sexy voice or look so damn good while he did it.
After his talk, he opened up the meeting for questions. Some of the questions people asked were legitimate, and some of them seemed like they were only desperate attempts at being able to talk to him. I couldn’t think of a question that wasn’t going to put me in the latter category, so I kept quiet.
When the meeting broke up, Jake stood at the door and shook hands with each member of the crew as they introduced themselves to him. When it was my turn, I had almost as may butterflies in my stomach as I had when I met Tristan the previous night. I smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Elly Rios. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gilley.”
He smiled broadly and said, “You didn’t say anything during the meeting, Elly. You didn’t have any questions for me?”
“Not so far,” I told him, wondering the same thing Molly had now that he was this close—Did he need a mistress?
Still holding my hand that he’d taken when I held it out for him to shake he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He tucked it into the hand he was holding and said, “My private number is on there. Call me if you think of anything.”
I’ll be damned...Jake Gilley had just hit on me!
Chapter Four
Tristan
“Damn! That’s some good fucking weed,” I said as I took a hit off the bong. The chick between my legs didn’t say anything, but in her defense, her mouth was full of my cock. I couldn’t remember her name…I thought it was Becky or Belinda…something with a “B.” It didn’t matter, I was about to blow my load in her mouth and she was not complaining about me not calling out her name. My balls tensed up and I was ready to cum when the fucking phone started ringing. I looked at it—my agent. Fuck that! This was the best blowjob I’d gotten since the bathroom at Huggys. Not that it came close to that, but it was definitely the best I’d gotten since.
I threw my head back as the naked blonde milked me dry with her mouth. I’d shot so much that she couldn’t swallow it all and she had some dripping down the sides of her mouth. It was as hot as some of the porn that I had watched. Fuck! The goddamn phone was ringing again. I picked it up this time and put it to my ear.
“What?” I yelled, scaring Betsy or Betty or whatever her name was. It was actually painful because she still had my cock in her mouth. I pulled it out and brushed her away, still waiting for Mitchell, my agent, to say something.
“Tristan, it’s Mitchell,”
“No shit, what the fuck is so important, Mitch? Is my apartment building on fire?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt whatever illegal or immoral activities you got going on today, Tristan, but I actually have work for you.”
“Another shithole bar?”
“No, Fresh Voices is doing first round auditions in L.A. this week.”
I laughed. I started to say something but what the hell was I going to say to that? I already had a CD that went gold and two that went silver. I wasn’t going to audition for some glorified talent show, where a bunch of washed up singers and producers critique you and eleven year old girls do all the voting. I just hung up.
Becky or Brenda climbed up on the bed next to me. She wiped her hand across her mouth and she was reaching for the bong. I handed it and the lighter to her and she took a hit before saying, "So you don't want to try out for a show that the winner gets a million dollars and record deal?"
“Nah, I don’t need that shit,” I told her.
Britney or Beth said, “Wow, that’s great that you don’t need a million dollars. I wish I could sing.”
Maybe Barbara had a point. I picked up the cut straw and did a line of coke off the mirror laid out on the bed. Maybe I would go. What the hell did I have to lose at that point? I looked around the crappy, one bedroom, studio apartment I lived in, comparing it to the penthouse that I had before I’d lost pretty much everything. A million bucks might be just what the doctor ordered.
Chapter Five
Elly
I arrived at the studio at six-thirty a.m. I was in my comfy jeans and a polo shirt with “Set PA Intern” stitched across the right breast and Fresh Voices printed across the back. I’d been assigned as a set PA because Clint said that, out of the three interns, my people skills were the best. I was flattered at first, but I realized that set PA’s are the first there and the last to leave. Since I was the intern, my day was even longer than the regulars’ were. This was our second day of production, and as early as it was when I came in, I saw that there were probably already over a hundred people lined up outside. The judges would only be seeing about fifty of them today and the rest would lay over until the next day. There was no way they’d all be seen by the time it was a wrap on Friday—a classic case of the early bird gets the worm.
I went to the production room and got my radio, and then I started the coffee and went about switching on all the lights and checking that the judge’s chairs were clean and their desks had any announcements that Clint or Jake wanted them to have for that day. Once the judges arrived, around eight, or nine, I’d start the job of wrangling the talent. I had to make sure they were all in their places when they needed to be. If you think that is a small task, you would be dead wrong. These artist types were flighty, and sometimes the emcee would be calling out for some guy named Herbert and a cheerleader from Des Moines would be next. They’d given me a headache the day before, I didn’t expect this day to be any different.
I went over to the door and looked out at the line that stretched across two parking lots and wound down the street. Keith was out there working the line, trying to get them all herded into the seating area. I felt lucky that I at least got to work inside; it was going to be a scorcher, probably close to ninety degrees.
“Elly!” I heard the accented voice and had to remind myself to breathe as I turned around. It was Jake.
“Mr. Gilley, hello.”
He smiled warmly and said, “Please, call me Jake. Good turnout today?”
“Yes, a great one,” I told him. “It’s L.A. and that means a lot of talent.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said glancing out the small window over my shoulder. “Elly, I’d really love to talk to you sometime when we’re not both so rushed. Clint has told me how much promise he’s seen in you and I’d like to get a feel for where your career is headed.”
My mouth went completely dry. Jake Gilley wanted to talk to me about my career? I was literally speechless. I nodded like an idiot and Jake chuckled.
“Good then, you have my card. Give me a call this weekend and maybe we can have coffee or lunch and talk.”
“Sure, thank you so much,” I told him. He took my hand again. He held it a little too long and looked into my eyes with his dark brown ones. I swore he was sucking information out of my head every time he did that.
“You’re very welcome, Elly,” he said. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
I watched him walk away, almost not hearing the announcement on my radio that the judges were in place and ready for the first contestant. Jake Gilley wanted to talk to me about my career.
“Elly, are you ready?” Keith had stuck his head in the door and brought me out of my reverie.
“Yes, I’m sorry. Send me the first three, okay?”
> Within a few minutes, Molly was walking in with two girls and a guy following her. All three looked really young, and so nervous that I was afraid they were going to puke. Molly gave me the sheet with their information on it and I attached it to my clipboard. Then, I did my best to put them at ease.
“Hi, I’m Elly,” I said, then looking down at the clipboard to make sure I remembered their names I asked, “And you are, Gary, Hannah, and Violet?”
They nodded and the girl named Hannah said, “I feel kind of sick.”
“Here, sit down,” I told her, moving a chair over close to her. “Lean forward and put your head down on your knees. I’ll get you some water. You’re third, by the time Gary and Violet finish, I’m sure you’ll be good to go.”
I got her the water and I explained to all three of them how this was going to work. They would go in and sing one song. The judges would stop them whenever they wanted, and they’d tell them either “Yay or Nay” right then and there. Then they would go out the other side where the show’s Emcee was waiting to interview them. When I said that, Violet gagged a little. I found a small trash can and sat it next to her as I ushered Greg through the curtain that separated us from the judges. I radioed Kevin and told him to send me another.
I had my back to the door and I heard Molly come in; she was speaking to someone quietly. I heard her telling them where to have a seat and that I’d be with them soon. I felt an arm brush against mine and I looked up to see an array of tattoos. I followed those up and I was suddenly looking into Tristan Roger’s face. He looked a lot cleaner and better groomed than he had the night at the bar. He grinned at me and in spite of myself I felt my stomach flip. He went and took the seat Molly had directed him to. Wow, was his career really this bad?
Dirty Maverick (The Maxwell Family) Page 70