stock and munchies for everyone. I was shocked and pleased to see a fully stocked craft service table with fresh fruit, gummy bears, turkey jerky, string cheese, and chocolate yummies, all with the same mysterious label, Trader Joe’s.
“My new mission,” I whispered to Toni, “is to find this trader named Joe, and thank him for such amazingly creative snacks. Fortune cookies all flat and round like little coins? Brilliant!”
Toni laughed. “There’s one ‘round every corner.”
“Let’s roll, people!” Corinne shouted.
Corinne had Lucy start by stretching out over the rocks on her back, turning her head slowly to camera to blow a kiss. She then placed her in the pool and had Lucy do the famous Bo Derek climb to land, filmed six ways to Sunday. Following that, we did waterfall shots where Lucy, mouth open and sensuous, showered in the cold wet spray, cheating toward camera, basically naked except for the purple string around her privates.
Everyone amazed me with their infinite professionalism. Our camera crew didn’t bat an eyelash, as if they were used to seeing females with perfectly sculpted bodies that didn’t sag without underwire, and faces that looked equally gorgeous, soaking or dry. I imagined myself in a waterfall, choking and spitting, with water blasting out of my nose, eyeliner dripping to my kneecaps. Lucy had serious skill to make a water assault look Zen-sexy. But I was most impressed with Corinne. She handled Lucy expertly, knowing what to say, when to say it, and how to shoot just the right amount of sunshine where the sun don’t shine (rather, “don’t shine” for the majority of non-nude model folk). All this was to keep Lucy from tantrumming to Venus, which in my five short days I had come to learn was a fairly common occurrence and had me progressively more nerve-wracked.
Hence, my chosen spot was beside Corinne, shadowing her every move, hoping that whatever magic she had might somehow rub off on me. She was due to depart Sunday for a totally different show in New York and I would be taking over for her, directing and managing Lucy the rest of the season.
“I’m freezing,” Lucy squealed, climbing out of the pool.
“Coming!” In a nanosecond, Lucy’s hair and wardrobe entourage scuttled over, wrapping her in plush towels, then shuttling her inside for a hair/make-up do-over.
“Break for lunch!” Corinne called.
Toni stepped up for her part in the day’s duties, beginning with drinks. “Lemon water?”
“Here,” said Corinne.
“Diet Coke?”
“Here,” said Rose.
“Another lemon water?”
“Lucy’s,” said her assistant, snatching it up.
“Triple shot Americano, inch of cream, and three sugars?” Toni said unfazed.
“Right here,” I said. “Thank you. Sorry to be a pain in the ass.”
Corinne looked at me funny. “Whoa, girl, isn’t that your third coffee today?”
“I’ve lost count,” I said quietly, not wanting to draw attention to what clearly had turned into an addiction. “Haven’t slept in a week.”
“How come?” Corinne asked, delicately squeezing her lemon so its juice trickled through the ice cubes.
“An overnight move to a foreign country will do that,” I started.
“Not exactly foreign,” she said. “It’s just Canada.”
“I guess,” I said, trying to find the right words to please Corinne. “But it was still tiring. I drove pretty much non-stop from Vancouver last weekend. It took 22 hours. I pulled an all-nighter, and the only thing that got me through was about eight cups of coffee and a coupla packs of cigarettes. But who’s counting?” I giggled. “Anyway, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep all week. I don’t know why.”
“You drove?” Corinne nearly choked on her lemon water.
“Uh-huh,” I said nonchalantly, as if packing up my life and busting out to California was something I did every weekend.
“By yourself?” She looked aghast for the second time in only a few seconds.
“Of course. I didn’t know anyone else moving to LA.”
“Wow, you are so. . .” Corinne hesitated while she waited for the right word. . . “Canadian.”
She had a curious look on her face, as if I might balance a bone on my nose or juggle some back-bacon. From what I could tell, Corinne would never have driven 1,500 miles, let alone done it alone, let alone moved by herself. She would have hired professional movers, and had other pros unpack her dishes and hang her clothes. And her parents would have thrown her a theme party with palm tree-shaped balloons and a fabulous new beach wardrobe.
Then lunch arrived.
“Garden salad dressing on the side, no bread?”
“Mine,” answered Corinne.
“Burger and fries?”
“That would be me,” I said, again reluctant to