Death threats are all in a day's work

          “So Iana, you got a twitter account? Facebook etc. etc. ad infinitum?”

Van was on his third cigarette and fourth coffee of the day and it wasn’t even 10am.

Was I allowed to comment on that? He was my boss, but surely as a PA I’m allowed to show concern? He chatted to me like a friend - or was I just reading too much into it? Was I seeing that because it was what I wanted? He was so friendly with everyone, so maybe I was. Would it be unprofessional to be friends, after all, I was currently the epitome of unprofessional. I was still getting along by the skin of my teeth or some other equally disgusting phrase.

          “Uh yeah, I don’t really use them though. No internet access in my building believe it or not, but then I don’t suppose meth dealers would set up a website announcing what they do.” I was nomming on carrot sticks.

I’m probably the only girl in Hollywood that eats them because I like them and not because I’m on a diet. I offered the box to Van and he took a couple, crunching away happily. He really didn’t look after himself properly as I was sure cigarettes and coffee weren’t in any food group I’d been taught about at school. He stole another handful of my sticks and asked me to text him my user names. Uh oh, this could end badly. I couldn’t remember what was on my profiles or what photos I’d used, what quotes, what rants I’d previously posted… Oh well, he had met me after all, he must be starting to notice the crazy.

          He held up his phone and pointed it at me. I gave his usual one fingered salute with one hand, holding a carrot stick like a cigarette in the other. All I needed was the cute beauty spot near his lip, a sex change, extensive surgery and I could be him. Kinda. Not.

          “So how many interviews today and who with?” He asked stubbing out the fag and pulling out another one.

I yanked it out of his mouth and replaced it with a carrot stick.

          “Five. Three with women’s mags, one with a movie review show and the last with a men’s magazine.”

          “You almost sounded like an actual PA then Mac, I’m impressed.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and shook my head. He alternated between Iana and Mac at the moment, no doubt next week I’d be George again. I found it flattering that he had nicknames for me, but again I was probably reading too much into it. He had this way of making people so comfortable around him that I sometimes almost forgot to be nervous or self-conscious. I didn’t think I’d ever had this kind of easy banter with anyone in my life. It was unreal. The weird thing that struck me was how shy he could be. Interviews made him uncomfortable, and my usually articulate boss tended to be at a loss for words. He would chew on his fingers, twitch a little and cross and uncross his legs. His eyes would often meet mine as though asking for help, and occasionally I would gesture something that he could talk about. My ‘charades’ were often undecipherable and would lead to him cracking up mid-sentence, but at least it would loosen him up a little. He said cigarettes and coffee helped him relax, so I could only imagine what he was like when he had neither. Caffeine was surely the worst thing for a twitchy person to have.

          He was successful, incredibly talented, beautiful, sweet, and yet shy. I knew that acting was a completely different thing to doing interviews because the words were provided for you. I found it endearing and did everything I could to bolster his confidence, or discuss thing beforehand that he could mention. He was coming to rely on me and I loved it.

          “That picture is going on Twitter. My followers love candid shots.”

          “Yeah, of you! Why would they want to see me?” I laughed, snagging another cigarette from between his lips and putting it back in the box which I placed back in his pocket.

          “Cause you’re so damn cute!” He said, squidging my cheek between his thumb and finger.

          “Let me take one of you for the fan girls.” I said.

Those fan girls would go for my throats if they could see how much time I spent with him. They loathed any female that even looked at him. I had no doubt they would be letting their opinion of me be felt as soon as my existence was discovered. A PA? Why would he need that when he has a thousand, million fan girls who want to have his babies and worship at his feet? Ok, I wanted to worship at his feet too, but that was neither here nor there. Or was in fact both here and there. I was in danger of falling hard and there would be no soft or easy landing.

He handed me the camera, looking self-conscious. The man had modeled for the biggest fashion houses in the world! What was this about? I supposed that was easier in the sense that they dressed him and dictated what he should do. I really needed to get the internet sorted so I could look up more of his previous work, solely for researching my job of course. Even I wasn’t convinced by that.

          “Strike a pose.” I said, snapping several shots of him goofing around. My photography skills were lacking, but a couple of them were pretty good. He looked gorgeous regardless though.

          “Tagging you as the camera man…I mean girl.”

I threw a carrot stick at him and checked the time.

          “We should be heading in. This magazine is focused mostly on affordable fashions so mentioning Prada or Gucci probably won’t be popular, think more mid-range stores. They have also run campaigns on banning airbrushing, so it might be worth discussing your view on that as they’ll snap it up. They’ll be using stock photos so you don’t have to worry too much about many being taken though they’ll want a couple of ‘natural’ ones of you chatting etc.”

          “What would I do without you?” His voice was an affection purr. I melted.

          “Not be constantly embarrassed, late, shown up or humiliated by my inability.” I grinned, fluttered my eyelashes and held the door for him.

I had almost sounded like a PA then. I was learning and even finding myself enjoying it. I had a job that challenged me, the company of this radiant creature that most females lusted after and most men wanted as a drinking buddy, I was keeping busy and didn’t have much room to think. I couldn’t really ask much more from a career, though going back to that shit hole at the end of the day always put a dampener on things.

          “Dinner, my place tonight. We’ll get take out as I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything you can eat. You like Chinese?”

          “Will they come in those little white boxes?” I was getting very excited. I’d seen them on TV a hundred times, but back home Chinese food came in foil container, not remotely exciting or cute.

          “Yup. I won’t accept no for an answer so once we’re done for the day I’ll drive us back to mine. Awesome, that was easy.” He said not giving me room to get a word in.

I had been preparing a thousand reasons why I couldn’t, starting with; ‘I’m disgusting and sweaty, I feel gross, look gross and am seriously freaked out about the idea of being in your home.’ Ok, it wasn’t his home, it was just a rented place for Pilot Season, but it was still somewhere that he lived in. New York was his stomping ground and I could only hope that there would be a place for me there when he left Hollywood. Hell, I’d follow him anywhere.

 

The interviews dragged and I could tell he was getting twitchy. I fed his caffeine habit by running to the coffee shop around the corner, but refused to buy him cigarettes when he ran out. He didn’t seem as mad about it as I had thought he would. I sweetened him up with a couple of cupcakes with sprinkles and sugar paper flowers. He laughed using the icing to stick one of the flowers to the tip of his nose. The interviewer’s photographer caught it and was snapping away like a mad man. Oops. He would not be happy with that being in print no doubt, but from what I’ve heard, magazines loved making him do weird photo shoots. I’d heard tales of one involving a wedding dress and another a bathtub and make up case. They were first on the list when I got internet access, that and getting a list of everything he’d been in so I could get copies to watch. It would be weird seeing him work in that capacity, as so far it had mostly been interviews and photo shoots. Would he want me around when he’s filming? I’d love to be on a set and see how it works, but there was the fear that I’d sneeze and ruin a take or something equally awful. If I did, he’d probably laugh it off, but I doubted the director and crew would. They’d probably have my head. I’d heard the horror stories about the psychos that worked in the film and TV industry and the screaming fits when things went wrong.

          I wasn’t remotely brave or confident, but the thought of someone shouting at Van made my hackles rise. I’d always had this stupid thing where I was a complete coward unless someone was in trouble, then I had these crazy reserves of balls or guts, or whatever you want to call it, and I turn into a mouthy cow. I like to think I’m a pretty loyal friend and will do whatever I have to for them…but then I don’t actually have any so it’s not a problem.

         

The last interview was wrapping up when the interviewer handed Van her card with a smile, a hair flick and a hand trailing down her neck to her cleavage. He barely even looked, but thanked her politely, shaking her hand and excusing himself. He is so awesome. She couldn’t hide her disappointment, and I quite honestly wanted to go over to her and say ‘Booyah!’ or something equally childish. I restrained myself and settled for doing it in my head instead. The photographer seemed quite happy to step in and comfort her. Ew.

          “My truck’s round the back, let’s go.” Van said, offering me his arm.

How old school Austen. I took it gladly and shook my head at him, laughing.

          “We need to stop off for some ciga…”

          “No we don’t.” I said, dragging him in the direction of his car.

He rolled his eyes and smiled. Since meeting me, he must at least have cut down on the amount he smoked. That had to be of some benefit to his health? Maybe hypnotherapy would help him quit? He had mentioned previously that he was worried about leaving his son fatherless to Cancer. Maybe I could look up some local ones for him? It was a plan.

          His car was completely him. The Ford pickup truck that did not fit in with the Porches and Mercs that were parked around it. I loved it. Big, black, different and very cool, a little beaten up, but it had character. I had to use the little step thing to get into it, but I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face for the whole journey back to his.

Of course he’d given me his address when I’d taken the job, but I’d never been there. I honestly wouldn’t even have known where to start because my new neighbourhood was a maze I hadn’t worked out yet, so trying to go outside of it was a bad idea. Nowhere was within walking distance here and that freaked me out. In my hometown, everything was (not that people walked much) or what I classed as walking distance. I thought nothing of walking for thirty minutes or an hour to get somewhere. It was good exercise and cheap. I couldn’t have afforded to run a car even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. Driving didn’t come naturally to me and I used to come out of lessons drenched in fear sweat. I had two perfectly good legs and I had every intention of using them to their full. Here was a completely different story though.

          The area he lived in was the polar opposite of mine. No one shouted or screamed, cars kept to the speed limits, were all brand new and all the people were immaculate and polite to each other. There were no fist fights or violence that I could see. I realised that that was weird to me now. That awful place I lived in was becoming normal. Not good.

He parked and waited for me to climb out. I was feeling very short in that car.

He struggled to take smaller steps to account for my short legs, grinning to himself at how quickly I had to walk to keep up. His Raybans hid the laughter in his eyes, but it was obvious from the way he would cough to cover it up.

          Dinner came in white boxes. I was way too excited about it and couldn’t have cared less about the food in them.

          “Can I keep one to send to my mum?” I asked.

Jack Daniels came out of his nose he was laughing so hard.

          “You’re so damned cute.” He said, reaching for napkins and wiping the table and his T-shirt.

I felt a bit like I was sat in the splash zone of a whale demonstration. No doubt there were girls out there who would love him to spray drinks out of his nose over them, but not me surprisingly.

          “Sorry.” He said, handing me a wad of tissue. “You say ‘mum’.” He laughed again.

          “I think what you fail to understand is that you supposedly speak English, which means I am the higher authority in everything related to the language. Don’t get me started on faucets. What the hell is that? It’s a tap!” I said, wiping my face and trying not to laugh at his expression. I would reign in the US rants if I could, he didn’t need to see all the crazy at once. I’d let it out a bit at a time.

He was so relaxed it was like being with a different person. I’d seen moments of it, but this was him in his environment, comfortable not to have to perform for anyone. I loved that he could be like that with me. God damn it I was falling.

          “While you’re here and due to the sucky place you live, did you want to check your email?”

          “That would be great thank you!”

He lead me over to his laptop and started it up, returning to the table to clear away the remains. He left the cleanest looking box out for me, grinning to himself as he did. He was adorable when he didn’t think anyone was watching.

          What a surprise! No emails apart from ones asking if I want to enlarge my penis, send someone in Africa a lot of money, or telling me that there were singles in the area that wanted to meet me. I reeled off a quick message to my mum, telling her about the takeaway boxes, before switching over to Twitter. I haven’t been on here much since I set up the account as I just didn’t really get it. Who wants to hear me say ‘I ate toast’ etc. all through the day. Sure it was useful for people like Van who could quickly let people know what was going on, but for us normal folk, it was redundant. That being said…I had 500 messages. Weird. Did you get penis enlargement tweets? Oh…I see.

          ‘@my username STAY AWAY FROM HIM! HE’S MINE YOU FUCKING BITCH!’

          ‘@my username GO FUCKING DIE WHORE!’

          ‘@my username You think you’re so cute don’t you, but he doesn’t want you! Go die.

          ‘@my username FUKKIN BITHC UGLY FREEK!’

Spelling clearly wasn’t some of their strong points. They continued on in this vane for pages. Awesome.

I was staring at the screen open mouthed when Van appeared behind me.

          “I have a fan club.” I said, tilting the screen so he could see.

          “What the fuck?” He breathed, his eyes scanning the messages before he cursed several more times. “Wow. That is…” He blinked as I had done, unsure of what to say.

If he was speechless, I was practically brain dead. My head could not fathom this hatred from a couple of photos he had posted earlier. I clicked on his profile and looked at the comments under the photos. He’d tagged me as the photographer in his and tagged me in the one of me obviously. The venom and hatred was startling, even though they were just words from people I had never met and probably never would. What had I done to them? Nothing! That’s what! How could people be like this? Oh yes, it’s because they can hide behind a computer screen. Maybe that was better, I couldn’t handle people screaming stuff at me in the street. As I read down the comments I felt physically sick and the vile insults about how ugly I was, what a whore, how I wasn’t good enough, how I was a disgusting piece of shit…it went on and on for pages. They’d been careful not to do it on his profile, but mine was on the verge of crashing from the sheer volume.

          “Jesus.” Van mumbled, reaching past me to scroll down the page.

The one, tiny mercy from this (and I thought I might vomit with anxiety from it) was the way Van’s head was an inch above my shoulder, his arm by mine as he used the mouse. So close! But no cigar it would seem.

His face was growing redder the further down he went, his mouth moving as he read each one.

          “I…I…” He stood up and shook his head in shock. “What is wrong with people!” He was blinking rapidly as I had done, as though that would erase what my eyes had just seen. I guess I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, not after complete strangers had been screaming out my insecurities over the world wide web. I was famous and not for any good reasons. I was a hate figure. Pedophiles and rapists probably got less abuse. I was dumbfounded that people would get so angry over a couple of innocent photos. I mean what would they have done if I really was his girlfriend like they thought? I’d probably wake up with a horse head in my bed or with some psycho hiding in my cupboard. I should be pretty safe though, anyone that came to get me would have to go through my neighbourhood. For the first time I was slightly pleased to live there.

          “This is disgusting!”

I had never seen Van anywhere near anger, but he was livid! Pacing around the room like an angry bull, there was practically smoke coming out of his ears.

          “Scoot. I’m going to address this.”

I got up with a sigh, hoping he wasn’t going to make things difficult for himself. If he lost fans because of me, that could affect his whole career. I didn’t want to be inadvertently responsible for that and it kinda went against the whole PA thing. I was supposed to make his life easier, not more messy and complex. He was typing away madly for a few minutes, before opening another page and doing the same there, then on to a third, a fourth….He had a lot of pages.

          “Hopefully that should put an end to it.” He said chewing on his nail.

It made me smile to see that gesture, he was clearly worried about this and that made me feel a little better. My anxiety was justified in this case. I didn’t think any of these people would actually hunt me down, but it was still unsettling.

          “You’re staying here tonight, just in case.” He said, tapping his fingers on the desk irritably.

          “I’ll be fine Van, they won’t get past my neighbours.”

          “Not risking it. As offensive as this might sound, you might actually fit into Luke’s clothes and I have a few of his things here from when he last stayed.”

          “Your 12 year old son’s clothes…” My mouth gaped. I already had the body of a pre-adolescent boy, now I would be dressing like one. Today was completely schizophrenic. I had been blissfully happy less than ten minutes ago, now I was seriously freaked out.

He was hiding his mouth behind his hand.

          “Seriously, I’ll be fine. I’m not wearing your poor son’s clothes. So you think I’m build like a twelve year old boy? That’s more offensive than the stuff I just read on there!” I crossed my arms across my chest and tried to look annoyed, but his smile was so disarming that I was giggling like an idiot after a couple of minutes.

          “I’ll drive you to yours to grab some things and we’ll come back. We’ll watch bad horror movies and eat junk. Just what we both need after that painfully long day.”

 

We were both slumped on the sofa channel surfing, chatting about nothing of consequence. I’d been given the spare room that his son used when he stayed, but the whole apartment was sparse of personal items. I supposed it was because he wasn’t staying, but it looked like a hotel room with its generic watercolours and lack of photos and personal artifacts.

          “Ok, let’s play ‘I have never‘ “ I said as he poured himself another JD.

The boy had a drinking problem by the looks of things, along with a caffeine addiction and being a nicotine whore, not that I’d say that to his face mind, it didn’t seem to be professional. But was sitting on his couch drinking JD professional? I think not. This was the most rock and roll I’d probably ever been in my life. I hadn’t even tasted JD before now. It was vile! But it does seem to be a ‘man’s’ drink. My drink of choice was Diet Coke with Vanilla, but they’d stopped making that in England, so I was still in mourning.

          “What’s that?” He asked.

          “Ok, it’s easy. The forfeit is a shot. You have to say; ‘I have never…followed by something you’ve never done, but you think the other person has so they lose.” I grinned.

This was going to be sooooooo easy. I didn’t have a life so wouldn’t have done any of the things he came up with, whereas I could say things like; ‘I’ve never had a son’, ‘been in a movie’ etc. Heh heh. He was going to be wasted before the hour was out.

          “Ok. I don’t think you can handle JD though. I have white wine…” He walked to the kitchen part and grabbed a glass and a bottle of white wine. It was probably some wildly expensive one, not that I could tell the difference between the cheap stuff and the extortionate. I remember once being invited to a wine tasting evening with my parents (they had a more impressive social life than I did.) and I would sip, swirl, spit and not have a word to say about any of them, smiling politely as I thought how disgusting they all were. Blergh. Give me apple juice any day. Wine is just not worth the expense.

          “Ladies first.” He said, pouring a glass of JD and one of wine.

          “Ok. I have never modeled.” I said with an evil grin, clapping my hands like a plank and doing my ‘evil genius’ laugh.

He shook his head and downed the contents of his glass. He refilled it.

          “I have never….” He looked skyward in thought. “…been a girl.”

          “How do you know?” I asked in all seriousness.

          “What?” He frowned at me in confusion.

          “Don’t you believe in reincarnation?”

          “But it’s impossible to prove either way, so we’ll stick to this lifetime shall we?” He pushed the wine towards me. I knocked it back and refilled it. Blergh, it was gross, but I hoped the more I drank, the less I would be able to taste it.

          “I have never been in a movie.” I said with a raised eyebrow. I was so going to win. When he was completely sloshed, I was going to film it and blackmail him with it tomorrow. Mwahahahahahahahahahha!

          “Touché.” He said, drinking and refilling.

It went on like this until everything began to sway and I could hear myself slurring. Not good. I was bad enough at my job as it was without having an awful hangover tomorrow. This was so, so bad! Crap! I needed to end this and distract him with something else.

After a delightful ‘I have never had a period’ I had to call time on it.

          “But it’s fun!” He said, clearly not remotely affected by the alcohol even though he must have gone through half the bottle of JD.

          “I’m no use to you on a good day, being hung over is going to make your life more difficult.”

          “More amusing more like.” He stuck his tongue out and refilled my glass.

          “Fine, last ones because I physically cannot put any more liquid in my body.” I said, barely coherent to myself, so I could only imagine what he was hearing.

          “I have never…” What could I do that was as awful as the period one? I was no good at being gross. “I have never…had a threesome.”

He didn’t drink. I was relieved if I was honest, the thought creeped me out a little. I liked to think that he was this little virginal boy who didn’t really smoke or drink and hadn’t been with a supermodel and slept with god knows how many women. It wasn’t an image that anyone could live up to, so placing it on his shoulders was unfair.

          “I have never…” He sucked on his teeth, looking around for inspiration. “been a Vegan.” He said, copying my evil laugh, but his was brilliant, mine was pretty pathetic.

I rolled my eyes and drank. He filled it again.

          “No more!” I said laughing.

          “Your turn.”

          “I have never taken drugs.”

He didn’t drink.

          “I have never paid for sex.” I said.

He didn’t drink.

          “I have never broken the law.” I hedged.

He didn’t drink.

          “I have never um…”

          “If you want to know this stuff, why not just ask? We’re both tipsy enough for it to be easy.” His eyes were swimming a little, but nowhere near as badly as I’m sure mine were. The whole room was rotating on a constantly shifting axis and I leaned back against the sofa like it might fix things. It didn’t, but having something solid under me helped a little.

I looked up at the ceiling as it was plain and looked less like it was moving.

          “Can we watch one of your movies?” I asked, getting excited.

I got to my feet, jumped up and down clapping my hands and fell over the coffee table. He made to rush over and help me up, but it was pretty sad to watch as he lurched and stumbled. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe, my leg somehow tangled up in the workings of the wooden legs to the point where I would be stuck here until morning. It was moving, how was I supposed to escape from a moving object? I found shaking my head from side to side really quickly was hilarious, so lay on the floor doing that whilst Van tried to work out how to use his legs again.

          “You think I have my movies? Nope.” He used the table as a crutch, pulling himself over to where I was and saving me from the demonic, flesh eating coffee table. It just made me laugh all the more, rolling back and forth on the floor and giggling like I was unhinged.

I crawled under the coffee table and curled up into a ball, suddenly feeling really tired and like I wanted to hide. I was a hedgehog under here.

He mumbled something incoherent and grabbed my leg, yanking me out from where I was hiding.

          “ZOMBIES! This calls for ZOMBIES!” He yelled, falling over his feet. He crawled over to the TV and rooted through the drawer underneath. Watching him trying to stay balanced was also the funniest thing in the world and I was hysterical again. I found my phone and tried to film, but I was leaning to the side, but not by choice. I think I got some great shots of the carpet.

He put a DVD on and pulled me to my feet, helping me to the sofa before he fell over the back of it, laughing his ass off.

          “I need a cigarette.” He said, snorting with laughter.

          “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I yelled, thinking I would never get away with making this much noise back in my own flat.

His head appeared above the back of the sofa, his hair in disarray and his eyes bleary. So cute. He threw himself over the back and collapsed in a heap on the seat, taking up the whole couch. I decided I’d sit on his ass as he was face down. I doubted it would be comfortable on account of how ridiculously toned it was, but there we are. I plonked myself down and he let out an oof. I was on the verge of falling asleep, my eyes rolling back in my skull and the lids closing of their own accord. I lay down on top of Van, not even thinking how inappropriate or uncomfortable it must be for him. He made a weird growling noise that was muffled by the cushions and turned himself over in one swift move. I was now face to face with him, but couldn’t enjoy it as I was asleep as soon as I realised.