Naomi hardly noticed when I squeaked through the door of the dining room 45 minutes late. She gave me a nod. “. . . and that is strictly classified, folks. You’ve all signed the confidentiality agreements. You all know the drill. Everyone on the show signed them.” She looked seriously at all five people sitting in the room except me.
Uh-oh. She’s pissed.
“Got it? What I just told you is confidential, for this group of people only. You five. One little leak could blow it.”
What did I miss?
“Okay,” Naomi continued, “could someone open the doors to let the crews in? We’ve got a lot to get through this morning.”
Naomi’s assistant opened the double doors as cameramen, audio mixers, assistants, light and grip, all flowed through— about eighty people in all. I waited for Naomi to acknowledge me, give me the wink, wink, I’ll fill you in later look. No dice.
“Some familiar faces. Great to see you all,” Naomi started. “We’ve got our work cut out for us. Dagmar and Dominic are a handful. And that’s the worst you’ll ever hear me say. These people have about four assistants each that follow them everywhere: make-up, hair, personal trainers, managers, people to scoop their dog’s poop, you name it, they have a slave for it. And those slaves talk. So, learn the lesson now. No gossip, anywhere, anytime. You will be fired for it. Sorry if that sounds harsh.”
Geez. Fired? It’s just a reality show! I wiggled in my chair. We’re not saving lives here! Are we?
“All right, everyone,” Naomi continued, “one thing I do promise you: If we do this right, this show will be a huge hit. Emmy material. Karl and I have assembled an amazing group of people to make that happen. You’re all great at what you do. Now let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves. State where you’re from and your title.”
Boom. Boom. Boom. My heart thumped as if it had suddenly been transplanted into an elephant. My face flushed purple.
Naomi pointed at me. “Let’s start with Jane,” she said.
Was this payback for being late? Yikes! Naomi smiled warmly.
“Uh, well, uh, I’m Jane. Kaufman. And uh, I’m from. . . I live in Santa Monica, but I’m uh,” my heart was banging like a gong. Medic! How embarrassing. “Originally from, uh, Canada. But I didn’t live in an igloo.”
I giggled nervously for effect. Nobody else did.
“And on this show I’m a producer. But I, well, like, a year ago, I was a broadcast journalist.” Then time stopped.
It was him. Surfer Boy. Sitting. Watching me. Was he laughing? Oh God.
“On air. But, uh, this is like my third show producing. But the second show doesn’t count because—”
“And thank you, Jane!” Naomi cut me off. “We’ll get your life story later at the bar.”
She winked at me half-sympathetically. The room broke into laughter. I laughed too. But I wanted to cry. Surfer Boy gave me a special smile. He felt sorry for me. Crap. No man wants a charity case.
The rest of the morning session, I barely heard him or anyone else speak. I was too flustered. Not only had I missed this morning’s private producer meeting; I missed the entire crew briefing. In fact, I walked away from a morning packed with crucial information about my new job with nothing more than “Dagmar and Dominic arrive tonight, so be ready,” and a severely bruised ego.
When I left the meeting, the castle grounds were teeming with men, which almost made up for this morning’s performance. Everywhere I looked, it was a testosterone-fest: lighting directors, cameramen, sound mixers, and set dec construction types with hip-belts swollen with weighty tools. Every time Craig entered my mind, another crew dude would pass by with a smile. Were there any women on this production?
“Hey, Jane!” Naomi called, as I walked under some pergola dripping with grape vines.
“Hi, Naomi. Sorry about this morning,” I said. “Jet lag—oh, and I didn’t get my call time until, like, minutes before. How are you, anyway? This is going to be an amazing show,” I said, swiftly changing the subject so she wouldn’t state the obvious: The call time was in your damn paperwork.
“No problem, Jane. When this is over, we’ll have a proper lunch together. No business. As for this morning—don’t let it happen again.” She smacked my shoulder and smiled. “I’ll fill you in later.” Naomi snatched a vibrating phone from her pocket. “And Jane, you’re on first.”