Cigs, Coffee and Bitches

It had been such a completely insane day, I had left it all at the door to deal with later. I felt half-starved and set about making food as it kept my hands busy.

After the coffee shop, Van had driven me home (though I’d lied about where it was so he didn’t see the hell hole building) I’d given him my email, address, bank details etc. etc. ad infinitum, all the legal jazz had been discussed and we were ready to officially work together. I was still none the wiser as to what was actually required, but I’d deal with that later. I needed a couple of hours of chores and monotony to keep me sane.

          After dinner I braved the shop for supplies. Van had given me an ‘allowance’ (in actual cold, hard cash – he was way too trusting!) for supplies such as organisers etc. I’d have to go further afield to get some of the things I needed, but for now as long as I had pens and paper, I should be ok. The first thing I had done was to put a password on my phone so if anyone got hold of it, they couldn’t get his details from it. I knew there were people who could easily unlock and hack phones, but it would hopefully discourage one of his many fans. Maybe.

I needed internet access desperately for research and contact purposes and to keep up to date with his presence in the media. If I’m his PA, I will no doubt have to liaise with the press and media to ensure that his good name was being protected. I would need legal knowledge, or the ability to search legal issues. I didn’t even know the laws in England, god knows what they were like over here.

         

We had a late start the next day, so I headed to the centre of town to grab more things I would need. He’d given me money for more clothes after I had admitted how woefully empty my wardrobe was. He’d grinned as though it were something he had expected me to say, and we barely knew each other. Though to be honest, it was probably evident that I had no clue about clothing and didn’t own much. I met a Hollywood movie star in a second hand shirt. I for one wouldn’t care, but it’s not exactly the done thing.

          I wandered around feeling completely lost as tanned, toned, plastic goddesses strutted past me, several making no attempt to show their disapproval of my presence. A couple even shoved into me. Awesome. Apparently wearing bad clothes and not having a tan are as serious as murder out here. My esteem was taking blow after blow and I hated it. I hadn’t felt that great about myself to start with, but this had been the last place I should have come to. Did I regret it? Hell yes, but the ONE single, solitary reason to stay made up for all the other rubbish, and he wanted me to spend his hard earned cash on clothes. Urgh. I hate clothes shopping.

          I sent him a text checking he had eaten, he clearly needed reminding. He sent a photo back of a bowl of cereal he was hopefully eating. I replied asking if he’d gotten much sleep. He sent back a sad smiley face. All the caffeine was not helping, it was like a huge vicious circle, but I doubted they made caffeine free coffee. It would be something to look up.

          I found three shirts of varying colours that looked ok and didn’t cost the same amount as a brand new car. You could tell just from the window displays where you could afford if you lived on my budget. I was more Wal-Mart than Versace at the current time, and truthfully, I wanted to keep it that way. If I ever got to the point where I thought it was ok to spend £100 on a shirt, I would be shipping myself back to the UK. I found a couple of pairs of pinstripe trousers too, along with a suit jacket. I actually looked a bit like an adult with it all on in front of the mirror in the shop, and I didn’t like it one bit. It wasn’t remotely me. But we all have to grow up some time.

          I also grabbed folders and other filing crap that I would need. I would be stealing Van’s phone to get contact details of everyone I might need, and would probably need to send e-mails introducing myself. I ducked into a book shop (my home away from home. Books! *drool*) and lost myself briefly in excitement at the sheer size of it. Would they notice if I moved in? I then remembered I was there for a reason and grabbed a book on how to be a PA. They actually had a book on it. I was impressed. They also (thank the gods) had a book about laws in Hollywood concerning the media! This place had EVERYTHING! I was thrilled.

          After getting everything I needed and heading ‘home’ to change, I grabbed some fruit and veg, stuck it in a box and threw it in my bag along with the two books and filing junk I’d just bought. I was a little bit sad as I’d wanted to get the ‘Hello Kitty’ one, but didn’t think it would give the most professional image, so bought a boring plain one instead. This place, despite its colourful and plastic ways, was slowly making me dull and responsible. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

 

Van had sent me another address to meet him at, and thankfully it was within walking distance. I was lucky that I recognized the street name as otherwise I would have been completely screwed. He was sat in the bed of his Ford, looking thoroughly excited to be there. It was another interview and he was not looking forward to it. I handed him the coffee I’d bought along with an apple. He looked at it as though I had handed him rat poison, before shrugging and biting into it. I hopped up on the bed and sat next to him, being careful not to dirty my new trousers. He was wearing sunglasses even though we were parked in the shade, clearly a defense mechanism, which made my heart hurt a little. When he pulled a cigarette out of the packet, I snatched it from his hands and handed him a peach instead. He blinked, clearly not used to having someone look after him/boss him around.

          “I can still fire you, you know.” He said with a laugh, biting into the peach and rushing to catch the juice that ran down his chin.

I pulled a packet of tissues from my bag and handed them to him. He laughed at how I seemed to be carrying the whole world in my bag. A good girl scout is always prepared – not that I’d ever been a scout, but it was good advice regardless.

          “Is there anything you don’t have in there?” He asked, looking over the shades at me. My heart acted like its former teenage self and did little flips when he caught me in his gaze. I was glad to be sitting.

My usual response would have been something gross like; ‘I don’t have a double ended dildo in there’, but obviously he was my boss, and despite our weird relationship, I didn’t know him well enough to try that one on him.

          “Kitchen sink…” I said, borrowing the cliché. “Who is the interview with today? Do you know what it will be about and is there anything you want me to say ‘No Comment’ about?”

          “I just want you to ease yourself into the job as neither of us really know what it involves…”

I pulled out the book I’d bought and held it up for him.

          “Impressive.” And he did look impressed. At organisation, I was the Queen. It came from neurosis and anxiety, but if I could use it to my advantage, then it was all good.

He yawned and stretched again. I pulled a bottle of water from my bag and handed it to him.

          “With all the coffee, you’re probably dehydrated, so water will wake you up.” I cringed, thinking I might have over stepped the mark. I was mothering him too much and he was probably going to get mighty pissed off about it any time soon.

          “Thank you.” He said, cracking the seal and downing it in one.

A thin stream of water ran down his lips, his chin, his neck. I followed its progress with my eyes, envying it like the sad little fucker I am. I wanted to reach out and touch him, not only because it was HIM, but also because I was incredibly lonely and craved human contact.

          “Sorry.” I said sheepishly, fiddling with the straps on my bag.

          “Don’t be, it’s nice having someone care.”

          “Dictate more like.”

          “You’re taking the job seriously. I like that. I need someone to kick me up the ass on a daily basis.” He smiled gently.

A couple of snappish looking women approached the flatbed, eyeing me up in suspicion. The usual pleasantries were exchanged; I was ignored or given evil looks. We were shown inside where they had a foyer for the interview, and a separate mini studio for a photo shoot. Van clearly hadn’t expected that and cringed, sighing deeply. No one but me noticed. I took out my phone and sent him a text; ‘Ha ha sucks to be you.’ Yeah, I was overstepping the mark a little, but he seemed to have a sense of humour. He took his phone from his pocket, read the text and snorted out a laugh.

          “Mr. Murphy will be in hair and makeup for the next hour or so. Make yourself comfortable out here.” One of the women sniped, her hair pulled so tight her eyes were practically bulging out. I thanked her politely and took a seat, pulling out my book. I was going to be a PA extraordinaire, or at least I would try, he would get sick of me in a week and I’d be scrubbing toilets from then on out.

My phone beeped not long after Van and the women had disappeared into another room. It was a picture. Of Van’s heavily chewed middle finger. I giggled to myself, thankful no one was around.

          I managed to get through five chapters before a sheepish Van crept through the door. Damn him and his beautiful self. They’d clearly been doing ‘something’ to his hair, and he was manically fussing over it to get it back to normal. He had a wipe in the other hand, trying to get whatever make up off that they had assaulted him with. The two women followed, so severe in their immaculate suits that they could have been machines. I hadn’t seen either of them smile once.

          The interview got under way and I sat in silence, politely observing in an unobtrusive way. The clones clearly weren’t happy at my presence and kept aiming spiked comments at me.

          “So how long have you known…sorry, what was your name again?” Clone one said with a snake’s smile.

          “George.” I said with a serene smile that I didn’t feel at all.

          “Less than a week.” Van said. We looked at each other and both giggled nervously.

          “And what was it that made you choose ‘her’ (the word was said with disgust) and your PA?”

I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing. What was he supposed to say to that? ‘Someone tipped 70+ cups of coffee on the floor and blamed her for it’

          “She came highly recommended.” He said, shooting me a look that spoke of a private joke. The women clearly didn’t like it.

          “And who have you worked for previously Miss…sorry, what was your name again?” Clone one said.

          “Forgive me, but I’m of no interest to your readers, you’d be better off asking Van about himself, he’s fascinating.” I said diplomatically, opening my book again. It was the most ‘polite’ rude thing that I could do.

I snuck a look at Van, thinking he might be angry, but he just looked impressed. Heh heh, take that bitches.

I managed another three chapters, listening to the interview at the same time. It was pretty uninspiring with the questions. It was all about his love life, or lack of, what he was looking for in a woman, would he date a fan etc. etc. I could tell he was bored from the twitchy way he shifted I his seat like a kid. I felt the same, but at least I could distract myself.

I politely excused myself and ran (yes ran, like a giant flid) to the coffee shop for something that Van could use as a prop. I barely knew him, but he was incredibly easy to read in some ways. He hated this part of his work, it made him uncomfortable to have the focus on him all the time, and being asked about his private life… I would need to start with the ‘No Comments’ soon.

          I ran back with the coffee, managing not to scald myself (go me!) took a few seconds to catch my breath and sauntered into the building. I handed Van the paper cup, and he looked at me as though I had read his mind. I smiled and returned to my book, but his eyes lingered on me a little longer than would have been considered polite. I could feel the heat starting in my feet and knew I was headed for an epic blush. I lifted the book to cover my face, pretending I had forgotten my glasses or something equally rubbish.

 

Interview over, Van stretched and sighed as he stepped out into the sunlight.

          “How did you know I needed coffee?”

          “You’re incredibly easy to read Mr. Murphy.” I said shyly.

          “Van! Really? Most people say the opposite; they think it’s impossible to know what I’m thinking.” He was curious, fascinated and a little freaked out all at once.

          “Woman’s intuition.” I said, handing him another apple and biting into one myself. I never referred to myself as a woman. I didn’t feel like one, act like one or even look like one. I was a ‘girl’ or ‘female’.

He crunched it happily, just looking relieved to be out of there.

We spent the afternoon exchanging contacts in another coffee shop. I made him eat something -which made me smile- and we sat working out schedules and appointments. Dealing with business was easy as I needed this info and had no shortage of questions, but once that was done, I felt naked and vulnerable again. I fussed over my tea again, folding a napkin into an origami butterfly. It wouldn’t hold the folds and fell apart, but Van watched, looking more alert than this time yesterday.

          We parted ways. The second he was out of reaching distance he lit a cigarette and used it to salute me, sticking his tongue out and grinning in an impish way. Men. I shook my head and said goodbye, watching as he walked back to his truck. I was heading back into town to use the internet, which was a short walk. I had so much research to do it wasn’t funny.

 

And by research, I meant cyber stalking.

I know why the internet was invented, and it wasn’t for sharing information, or surprisingly porn, it was so weirdoes like me could stalk people without them knowing. Oh yes, I had crossed that line, but I was telling myself it was so I could learn more to help me with my job. That’s why I was looking at topless photos of Van, or the ones of him modeling underwear… It was all for work!

          The cyber café I had found was like Heaven. It was Vegan, the girl behind the counter a cliché hippy Vegan called Sage (I’m sure she made this up), her neck thick with peace symbols on chains. She had a spaced out way of speaking, and I hoped she was an actress doing it for effect, and that when she went home at night, she would take off a dreadlock wig, put on some non-tie dyed clothes and not hate the Man. I on the other hand, loved the Man, though it was a specific man who was never going to look at me in the way I wanted.

          Sage brought over my tea with Soya and a Vegan cupcake (Holy Fuck, I’m moving in here! Vegan cupcakes FTW!) she looked over my shoulder and smiled.

          “He’s a hippy at heart.” She said dreamily, her eyes glazing over as most women’s did when they looked at my beautiful boss.

          “Yeah?”

          “He does tons of charity work and is really into art. He’s done exhibits and everything. That’s one of his!” She pointed to a canvas that had pride of place behind the counter. I got to my feet to inspect it, taking a photo on my phone and sending it to Van with the caption ‘I heard a rumour that you might know the creator of this awesome painting…’

And it was awesome. Admittedly, I had no clue as to what it meant or represented, but the use of colour made me giddy. I’m the kind of girl that goes into DIY stores and stares at all the paint colour cards in excitement. Colour is such a powerful thing in the way it can affect our moods. This one seemed slightly melancholy with the indigos and blues, swirling into one another in a myriad of shapes. Sage looked on proudly, quite clearly as big a fan of Van as I was.

          “That is amazing.” I said breathlessly.

          “He has an old soul, but the mannerisms of a child.” She said simply, returning to clearing tables. It was something I had thought myself.

I returned to the computer, but couldn’t stop looking at the painting. I searched for more of his work and found pages and pages. They summoned quite good prices and all the money were to Oxfam! There were no end of photos of him with his beautiful son, and the pride and love in his eyes made my heart clench. I don’t want kids, and don’t particularly like them, but I will admit that my ovaries were close to exploding at the idea of him being such a devoted, loving father. They still held hands when they walked! Luke was 10ish (my memory is appalling) and they walked down the street hand in hand. I loved it, he wasn’t the typical ‘Don’t show affection because I’m a man!’ Alpha male bollocks. That just pissed me off.

My phone beeped. Van; ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. ;p’

He was so damned cute. I wondered what he did in his free time, I doubted he had the room for a studio to paint in here, as he had mentioned he just rented a flat. Maybe he put tarps down and threw paint everywhere, that would be very, very cool. I could imagine him with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, a beer bottle in hand, a huge canvas hung on the wall, paint being thrown, him covered in it…

He was way too deep for me. I liked ‘Hello Kitty’ and bright colours, cheesy 80s Pop music, bad comedies, Japanese Horror and anything fluffy. Van painted, got lost in his thoughts and was just so adult in comparison, I felt a little lost.

          Sage kept the tea coming. The benefit of Hollywood is that nothing ever closes. I could have stayed all night if I wanted as she was 24 hours, but I didn’t fancy walking home through the dodgy area I lived in too late. 11.30pm came around and I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I took my empty mug to the counter, thanked Sage and left.