days on a boat in the Gulf of Mexico, and losing his cell phone somewhere en route—and thereby my number, which he hadn’t memorized and wasn’t listed—he couldn’t reach me, even if he had the time, which he didn’t. This was, of course, music to my ears. He soon showed up at my door with a bouquet of flowers and a massage table. We’d been together every weekend since.
“Seriously, Danny is driving me nuts. Everyone’s gaga over him because he’s Mr. Cheery Pants, which is fine, except when you have a job to do,” I said. “Hire him as a staff comedian, but don’t make him my supervisor!”
“Brutal,” Grant sympathized. “Sounds like you need out.”
“Plus, Karl doesn’t want to pay me for the weekend days I’ve worked. I’ve only asked for three hundred per. That’s fair, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” Grant said. “And what does Naomi say about all this?”
“I guess she’s sided with Karl. She makes all final money decisions. I don’t know, Grant. I love Naomi, but I’ve got to cut the cord one of these days. I need a new gig! I need something that’s more me! I need Ricky Dean!”
“I don’t know about him,” Grant said dismissively. “But just today, I recommended you to a friend of mine producing a documentary on lowland gorillas in Uganda. A month of filming in Africa and three months of prep in LA—I thought it was right up your alley. Plus, I’d be DP’ing. He’s still waiting for funding, but I’m pretty sure he’ll get it.”
“Are there any Dannys on staff?”
“No. I promise,” he laughed. “It still cracks me up that he was your assistant less than a year ago. Only in Hollywood!”
“Ha, ha, I’m not laughing.” I pretend-sulked, comforted by the sound of his voice.
“Hey,” he said, “how about I take you out for a late dinner tonight? Cheer you up. I’ve never been there before, but I hear the Ivy on the Shore is great.”
“The Ivy!” I said, brimming with delight.
Then I thought of Craig, and the difference between Grant and Craig, and how funny it was that Grant, who was born and raised in LA, had never been to the Ivy, and that he could not have cared less that it was a celebrity hangout, and probably wouldn’t want to go there if he knew it was.
“How about something a little less. . . I don’t know. . . garish,” I said, hoping to please him. “Like that Indian place near the Promenade.”
“Jane,” I heard Danny whine from the distance. “CWT’s here to film us filming Sally for tomorrow’s film, I mean. . . show. . . you know, their celebrity news-feed thingy. Whatever. It’ll air tomorrow night. And CBS News is here too. Anyhoo, let’s roll.”
“Oh, brother.” I hung up with Grant and rounded the corner to the infamous water park to meet up with Sally and her photographer. It was basically a pool/Jacuzzi/waterfall embedded in a rock façade, with little tunnels that housed exotic birds, private baths, and cheesy 70’s mood lighting.
“This place has seen a lot of bodies,” the groundskeeper had confided to me earlier. “Orgy Central. You might want to wear gloves.” He laughed in a creepy old man voice. “But that was years ago.”
“You the producer?” the blonde rake from CWT asked.
I gasped. It was Dagmar. . . again. And she didn’t recognize me—again! Too busy being fawned over by her make-up girl and puppy-dog producer. She held her microphone distastefully, as if anything work-related, even for a cushy CWT job, was meant for plebeians.
“OhmyGod,” Sally said, running her words together. “Dagmar!” she screamed, brushing past me and my cameraman as if we were bugs.
“Hey, former assistant of mine, isn’t this fun?” Dagmar said. “It’ll totally hype your show, me interviewing you about the wedding that I should have had.” They both giggled.
Beneath a silk kimono, Sally wore a pair of clear-glass stilettos with six-inch heels, a string around her crotch, and nothing more. Her hair had been backcombed into a big, brownish helmet that no mid-grade tornado could undo. I was embarrassed, for all of us. Sally was being mentored by Miss Spring Kitten, who was busy showing her how to simultaneously arch her back, tilt her chin, hold a dreamy gaze, slide one hand across her privates, and stand on one leg, all while resting on a rocky outcrop. For this, and maybe ten more equally intricate poses, Sally got fifty grand. After a second glance at her shoes, I