HollyWeird

To say I was ‘bricking it’ (i.e. from the delightful term to ‘shit bricks’) would be the understatement of the year. I couldn’t sleep so looked even more crappy than usual even after I’d put my suit on. It wasn’t a great one if I was honest, probably from a discount store, but it was clean and ironed. I was probably going to be unblocking toilets anyway. I’d at least make a good impression for the first five minutes until I was covered in coffee when the machine blows up, or dog hair from walking some famous person’s Shi-tzu. Worst comes to the worst, I’ll steal the dog and hold it ransom for a small fortune! Mwahahahahahahah! I had no idea of what to expect from today. I made bad tea and had no idea how to make coffee, so I may not make it through the first day!

          The pitiful amount of money I had was further diminished by the extortionate cab ride. It was the only way I could be sure of finding the place, even though it was within walking distance (about an hour’s walk, but that’s nothing to me, I walked everywhere back home) The taxi driver made the (now standard) comment about how ‘cute’ my accent was. I doubted they said that to English men, but I smiled politely and told him to keep the 50 cents change. Hey Big Spender! Welcome to Hollywood! He looked confused, probably never having had such a small denomination as a tip. I hopped out quickly in case he mugged me for more. Ha ha I don’t have any, so it would be a complete waste of your energy! Booyah! (I was way too old, uncool and white to say that.)

          I took a deep breath as I stood outside a HUGE studio lot, security at the gate, ID being checked, people being frisked… There might be someone really famous here! But that wasn’t a good thing. Spilling boiling hot coffee on a normal person was bad enough, but if they were Johnny Depp…I would be hunted down and gutted.

I gulped down the vomit that was trying to make its way up my trachea, and pretended I wasn’t a terrified little legal alien who had no business being there.

          “Name and ID.” The security guard barked at me from behind sunglasses, his tan a little too perfect, his nails clearly manicured. Had he ever even had to break a sweat in this job?

          “Uh…Georgiana MacManus, I’m here for the runner job…” I trailed off and cringed, expecting him to yell at me like the guy at the airport. America hated me.

          “Well don’t you have a cute accent!” He said, softened perceptively, a big smile lighting up his whole face. Even the security guards were a little too pretty and polished. He could have easily walked off the set himself, or a catwalk. Urgh.

I tried to smile, but was too nervous so settled for chewing my lip instead.

          “Don’t worry Darlin’, I don’t think you’re much of a threat.” He laughed to himself.

Just for that comment I wanted to kick him in the nuts, but I smiled as much as I could, keeping my lips together so my ‘normal’ coloured teeth wouldn’t be pitted against his ultraviolet ‘Ross-from-Friends’ glowing, clearly fake, teeth. I was clearly the only person who had fallen out of the ugly tree in this place.

So with my tail tucked firmly between my legs, my self-esteem twenty feet below the asphalt and my stomach churning like a bitch, I stepped under the gate-arm-thing he so very kindly lifted for me. Because I’m a tiny, tiny girl and couldn’t manage it myself. Hollywood clearly has a bad effect on me. I’m angry and aggressive. I think I like it, it’s certainly a change.

          Once past the gate, I had no idea of where I was supposed to going, or who to ask for. I turned back to the guard and played dumb, curling a strand of hair around my finger and tilting my head to the side. I tried puppy dog eyes, but not blinking hurt.

          “You lost little lady?” He said, clearly thinking he was a Sheriff in a Western. I was definitely going to stomp his balls if I got the chance.

          “Yes. I only spoke to the person on the phone briefly about the job, their name of Zac.”

          “I know him. Go straight ahead and go through the big blue doors on building 19. You can’t miss him, he has a Mohawk.” He laughed to himself.

I thanked him and trotted off, the churning in my stomach getting more and more violent as I took each step closer. They were going to eat me alive.

          I finally found the building and entered, peering through the door and startled at the crazy noise and activity that had been hidden from the outside world. I stepped in, ducking back as three women ran past me, all in a flurry about something for Zac. Great. If they were scared of him, he was probably horrible. And I was going to be on the very bottom rung of this hierarchy ladder. Awesome.

I tried my best to dodge all the people flying about as though their arses were on fire. It wasn’t easy as there were people everywhere, lighting and electrical cables to trip over, a weird plastic sheeting on the floor that wrinkled in places, and the various boxes of props that littered every available space. I weaved through the maze of set pieces, backdrops and standing props, looking for a Mohawk. The guard was right, you couldn’t miss him. Huge red Mohawk, rings through nose, lips, ears and brows, fluorescent clothing and a way of standing that made it evident that he was the king.

          I approached nervously, dodging more people running around, flinching against the shouts, cries and screams of busy people. This place was dangerous.

Zac was stood between the rows of makeup mirrors, the cliché movie star ones with the bulbs around them. I was slightly awed that they were real, until I realized Zac was staring at me with contempt and a raised eyebrow that just dared me to explain why I was in his presence.

          “Um…Hi, I came about the runner job…” I trailed off.

The makeup girls were laughing at me, speaking to each other behind their hands and shooting me bitchy looks. I don’t know why they bothered, it wasn’t like I was any kind of threat to them. Maybe it was the ‘cute’ accent. Maybe they were just bitches to everyone.

Zac cleared his throat and looked me over.

          “Tomorrow, don’t wear a suit, you will be getting dirty. Get coffee orders from everyone and go to the place on the corner. We have an account there, add it to the tab.” He grabbed a pen and notepad off a nearby table and threw them at me. I caught them, but only just. The girls began cackling again, their bleached hair and huge boobs just made them look like a family of clones. Evil bitch clones.

          “Every person here, or only specific ones?” I asked.

He looked at me in disgust.

          “Didn’t I just say ‘everyone’? Why are you still stood there?”

          “How would I carry all that back?” I asked.

          “I’m sure you’ll find a way.” He turned away and sauntered off.

I wanted to chase him and rip some of his piercings out. The bitchy girls were still laughing, openly making snotty comments about me at a volume I was meant to hear.

 

There were over 70 people working on the set (but what the set was for I had NO idea) and I’d almost filled the notebook. I had to ask some people three times because I’d never heard of skinny hazelnut soya mocha whatever’s. Each drink had about four different words in its name. This was going to be bad. I could run away. No one knew my name or had even bothered to ask, I could run and it wouldn’t even matter. Nope, that was the old me. I was going to somehow do this. Fuck.

          I found the coffee shop easily enough, feeling like crying as I read the list of drinks back to the guy behind the desk. He called a couple of people from out back and they all got to work, scribbling what they were on the cups. I stared as the counter was filling with so many of the damned things. I could probably carry two, maybe three. This was not funny. Was it some kind of test?

          “You’re new aren’t you?” The guy asked.

I nodded.

          “They do this to all the new people, it’s like a hazing to see if they can cope. I’ll send these two to help you carry and we’ll put them on trays.”

          “Thank you!” I said, letting out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. I might actually manage this. I found it slightly disgusting that they would do that to someone who clearly already had a rubbish job. A runner. There was no lower and yet they delighted in torturing them on their first day. Maybe I’d prove them wrong and they’d be so impressed that they’d give me a better job? I doubted it, but hope was the only thing stopping me from running away screaming.

          The trays fit about 15 cups on each. It would take a couple of trips, but with the help of the staff, I got all the drinks back and settled on the fold away table they had food set out upon. I thanked the staff profusely and started trying to work out what was what. One of the bitchy make up girls sashayed over and eyed up the table, knocking it with her hip as she walked past. It wobbled dangerously. I steadied it before anything had the chance to fall. She walked around the back of the table and without even being subtle or secretive about it, lifted the back of the table and pushed it over. I managed to jump back to avoid the scalding hot liquid from burning me, but some spattered the bare parts of my arms and face, stinging like a bitch. The makeup girl grinned at me like some kind of evil snake before trotting away when everyone came to see what had happened.

          Zac as there in an instant, disbelief on his face as her surveyed the damage; the liquid that was flowing in all directions, the massacre of paper cups that looked like the fallen of some epic battle and me, trying to clutch at the worst burns I had received with my hands. My shirt was spattered with coffee that would no doubt stain, my trousers too though it wasn’t so obvious. What I didn’t understand was why no one was helping me. My skin was burning and I was in a lot of pain, but no one did anything.

          “You’re fired, get the fuck out of here you useless piece of shit.” He yelled as everyone stood in a circle around the crime scene and stared at me like an alien life form. The pure venom in their eyes made no sense. Even if this had been an accident that I had caused, why were they all being so cruel?

I could feel tears stinging my eyes as I chewed at me lip.

          “Please could I have a first aid kit or something please. My skin is scalded.”

          “Fucking English.” Someone sneered behind me. “Trying to steal our jobs.”

My mouth hung open in disbelief as I looked from face to face pleading for help. The pain in my arms was a rapid pulse of throbbing that made me feel dizzy. Either that or the horror of what had happened.

          “What’s going on?” A strong, confident male voice called out from behind the crowd, people parting respectfully to allow him through. Even Zac seemed to look at the ground in deference. The crowd began to inch away as though they were children caught doing something bad by a parent.

The man who walked through the parted people like Moses and the Red Sea was… Holy crap he was unreal. I flinched as he strode across, looking at the mess, his eyes falling on Zac and blazing with anger.

          “What is going on? Why has no one gotten her help? What is wrong with you people!”

Everyone rushed away, desperate to be the one to curry favour with him and bring me what I needed. The very same bitch who caused the problem handed the man a green first aid case, smiling sweetly and asking if he needed any help. He wasn’t impressed by her act, though he thanked her politely, his voice had a cool, hard edge to it.

          “Could you grab a mop and help get this cleaned up?” He asked, his voice softening, suddenly sweeter than flowers dipped in honey. She was momentarily dazzled, but then realized what he had said.

She did not like that! JUSTICE! Whoever this man was, I loved him. I didn’t care if he took my around the corner and screamed bloody murder at me for the mess, he had gotten that cow to clean up HER mess. She stalked off, stomping her heels but not daring to refuse him. Was he the director? The owner of the lot? They all seemed to know him, but I was clueless.

          He gently took my arm and lead me over to a folding chair, kneeling before me and opening the case. He took out what was needed before examining my arms.

He ‘mmmmm’ed and ‘ahhhhh’ed as he turned them in the light. His touch was electric, but very scary. He had flipped from this scary badass into someone incredibly gentle with the warmest hands! And he was on his knees before me. He clearly didn’t have a stick up his arse like the rest of these people. I studied him, trying to search the decrepit memory banks of my brain to see if he was famous. Probably, I had no clue. I could see the crown of his head from where he was bent over my left arm, but not much else. His hair was a mixture of hues from sun bleached near white to sandier shades of blonde. There were even a few black and auburn strands from what I could see. The hair was short but long, and I was aware of how little sense that made. Pieces of it brushed his forehead and around his ears, curling a little at the nape of his neck. He was tall with incredibly strong, toned shoulders and back which was obvious from the sleeveless shirt he wore. His skin made me look translucently pale with its rich tan. The sun clearly loved him.

          I looked around to see every female in the building peering out from behind scenery to watch him work on me. They didn’t hide their contempt for me or the loathing soaked words they hissed to each other. One girl caught me looking and gave me the finger. I gave it right back. I don’t care if she is an A list Actress, I’m seriously pissed off with today. My arms hurt, I’ve been humiliated, fired and most of my money went on the bastard cab fare, plus I’d have to walk home in my wet, coffee stinking clothes. I’m not a fan of coffee.

          Cold cream was smeared on my skin before he bound it with gauze and bandages.

          “It’s going to hurt like hell for a few days, but I don’t think it will leave any marks. When you get home, hold it under a cold tap to ease the pain, or use ice, but other than that, there isn’t much else to do but wait for it to stop hurting.” He sighed deeply and packed away the things back into the case.

          “I want to apologise for those assholes.” He said slowly, not meeting my

eyes. “Helping each other is not in their vocabulary. It’s pretty cut throat here.”

          “Thank you.” I said, barely audibly from my body shaking with anger, pain and embarrassment.

          “You’re British?” He said, finally meeting my eyes and smiling.

I nodded, pulling my arms back and sitting on my hands to stop them twitching nervously.

          “I’m Van Murphy.” He extended a hand to me. I shook it carefully, the movement sending reverberations of pain through my arms.

          “Georgiana MacManus.” I said quietly, feeling myself grow hot from the weight of his gaze. His eyes were blue and so incredibly intense I felt that I should look away, but couldn’t. I just stared like a complete idiot, my mouth hanging open. He smiled again, and it was warm and friendly.

          “I am very pleased to meet you Georgiana. Did Zac fire you?”

I nodded, looking down at my feet which didn’t reach the floor on this seat. I felt like a tiny kid swinging my legs, too young, too inexperienced and playing at ‘grown ups’. I was losing this game.

He was deep in thought for a moment, chewing on the skin on his fingertips. There was something incredibly sweet and self-conscious about it, like a child being made to perform in front of an audience. He had been fine when he had had something to occupy his hands, but now he seemed to be drawing back into himself. God he was beautiful. So tall! So toned! And a random spattering of tattoos on his arm and hand. One was on the inside of his right arm, another on the fleshy part on the back of the hand between the thumb and first finger. I assumed it was a tattoo, it was too dark to be a freckle, but too small to decipher. He face (had I not encountered his kindness) was one that I would assume was full of anger, the natural set of it (or whilst in reverie) seemed to be a frown. Sandy coloured stubble traced a pattern around his chin to under his nose, but not in a pretentious goatee, it was there, but not obvious until you got closer. There was something so careless about his style that worked. Now I know nothing about fashion, but this boy (he must have been in his late thirties) was a walking clothes horse. He’d make a bin liner look good. With his hand at his mouth, it drew attention to the adorable Marilyn Monroe style beauty spot he had near the corner of his mouth. Despite his age, there was something incredibly vulnerable about him, shy, boyish.

 The question of who he was still niggled at me. From the way the girls were still watching, he must be important.

          “Mr. Murphy…sir…(Americans love their ‘Sirs’ and ‘Ma’ams’) are you a director? I haven’t been told anything about what’s happening here and as I won’t be coming back tomorrow…”

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. This was clearly new to him. I heard the sharp intake of air from several of the girls gasping. Apparently he was incredibly famous and I was being a dumb bunny.

          “They were (he heavily accentuated the ‘were’) shooting a commercial for a new clothing line. I’m one of the actors.” He said modestly.

I had half expected all actors here to puff out their chests, raise their chins and come out with some awful line such as; ‘No autographs or photos!’ or worse; ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ with such incredulous rage they’d be spitting pins.

My clueless expression must have clued him in to the fact that I was still none the wiser.

          “Don’t worry, I’m not particularly well known.” He said with a grin.

One of the girls snorted and we both turned to look at her. They all fled, trotting away on their heels and squealing.

He was hugely successful and I was a dumbass. Awesome. I would have to do some research when I got back to my shithole that was now (tentatively called ‘home’.

          “Now that you are not otherwise engaged employment wise…I’m looking for a PA if you’re interested.” His expression was earnest without a hint of mockery. What the hell!

          “Uh…I…” Good job G, stellar performance. You’ve only been talking for 27 or so years.

I braced myself, taking a deep breath and hoping words came out this time. He was smiling in such a warm, friendly way, I felt slightly better, though it did make a blush rise from my toes to my hairline.

          “I have absolutely no experience, no contacts and wouldn’t even know where to start. The fact that I don’t know who you are speaks volumes…” I chewed my lip and looked at my stupid short legs swinging under the chair nervously.

          “You are the first person I have met in this Hellhole that is sane, grounded, doesn’t trot around in useless shoes, flip her hair with every movement…” He stopped for breath, working himself into a full rant like I do. I bit back a smile.

          “You’re like a breath of fresh air. Besides, I’ve managed this long without a PA, so I’m sure you’ll have the chance to work it all out. I’m just as clueless, we can learn together.”

          “I could jeopardise your whole career!” My voice became a high pitched squeal as I thought madly for excuses to run away again.

Was it not bad enough that I had no clue who he was without destroying his career and doing a great job of making sure everyone else didn’t know either.

          “Georgiana, it’ll be fine. If you suck, I’ll just fire your ass.” He fluttered his eyelids and grinned.

I couldn’t help but return it with a nervous giggle.

He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a business card.

          “I hate these things, but my agent forces me to carry them around. My number, email etc. etc. are all on there. Think about it and give me a call, ok?”

I nodded once, desperate to both stay in his presence for ever and ever and ever amen, and get the hell out of there before I humiliated myself further.

          “I’ll call you a cab so you can go home and get cleaned up. But think about it, seriously. The pay will be good, the company is awesome (he rolled his eyes) and you don’t have to worry about a dental plan because you’re from Blighty.” He bit his bottom lip.

He extended a hand to help me to my feet, being careful of my arm. I realised that I had been too distracted to notice the pain, but now that I thought about it, it hurt like hell!

 

I trudged up the stairs to my flat, each step causing shockwaves of pain to shudder through my arms. There was a puddle outside my door that smelt suspiciously like urine. Awesome! Despite the pain and the piss, I was in a surprisingly good mood. A beautiful man had come to my rescue and offered me a job. I had two problems; I had no idea of what a PA actually did. There was also the fact that I would no doubt end up either ruining his career, or falling so head over heels in love with him that I would be useless.

          I unlocked my door and hopped over the puddle. I wasn’t cleaning it up, it might stop crazy bitch from upstairs from knocking on my door, though she might have been the one to do it. She seemed like the vindictive sort.

I made a cup of tea, took a shower (the water was -unsurprisingly- freezing cold, but blissful on my burned skin!) and collapsed on the bed, staring at the card he had given me.

          ‘Van Murphy. Actor. Model. Criminally Beautiful…’

Ok the last one wasn’t on there, but it should be. I could see why the girls fawned over him, though I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. I wasn’t sure if the imposing march to my rescue had been an act, or he was schizophrenic, either way it was appreciated. I didn’t think Zac would be asking me back in a hurry.

I wanted to look Van up on the net, but surprise, surprise, this building didn’t have access. In fact it didn’t have a lot of things it should have; heating, hot water, safety, internet, no urine puddles outside my door… Urgh. If I took the job with Van, I might be able to get out of here! Wouldn’t it be worth giving it a try just for that? Ok, I was lying to myself. I would be doing it because my heart did crazy backflips whenever I thought of how tenderly he had tended to my arms. He had the hands of a manly man; no manicure, calloused skin (no doubt from gnawing at it) and natural. I doubted he’d had work done, he looked too…real. No Botox- he had faint lines on his forehead (like a person is SUPPOSED to), his tan was uneven in places, so must be natural, his teeth were white, but not luminously so, his hair was tousled and I didn’t think he was wearing an iota of makeup. He was as men used to be, how they should be, before everyone went mental and ‘metrosexual’. Don’t get me wrong, if you’re wearing makeup by choice, go for it. I love a guy in eyeliner, but if you’re doing it to follow the flock, it’s just really sad. I was drifting off into school girl fantasies about Van with eyeliner and black nail polish ala Jared Leto in ‘The Kill’ video…

 

Once I’d cleaned up the drool from the Jared Leto/Van fantasies, I thought I would start researching my new potential boss. If he were that famous, he’d be in all those celeb magazines, probably being out-ed as an alien, or having a tail. Back to my favourite place!

          Shop dude narrowed his eyes at me as I walked in the door. I wasn’t sure if it was specifically for me, or all customers, but I kinda wanted to run away. I didn’t. I gave him a smile and headed for the magazine rack. Oh oblivion, thy name is George! He was on the cover of almost every. Single. One. I grabbed them all spending waaaaaaay more than I should have, and rushing back ‘home’ to see what the gutter press had to say about him.

          I’ve clearly been in a coma for the last five or so years. This man has been in tons of movies, TV shows, commercials and modelling campaigns. There were three ads for clothing in one mag alone that he starred in. He was so modest by listing himself as ‘one of the actors’. He was THE actor. The only one that Hollywood seemed to care about from the looks of things. I learned no end of things, but couldn’t be sure if they were true or not due to the magazines they were in. He didn’t have a tail from what I could garner, but he had a son called Luke whose mother was a ridiculously beautiful and successful supermodel. Awesome! I think I’ll be killing off any fantasies about the two of us ending up together then. I threw the magazine I was reading at a wall, not happy about the old picture of the two of them hand in hand looking blissfully happy. If he was perfect, she was the female version of it, she shouldn’t have been allowed out of the house due to the hit that every woman’s self-esteem in a ten mile radius would take just from knowing about her existence!

          I walked into the bathroom and studied myself in the mirror. I really wasn’t pretty, or even interesting. The only thing that could be said about me was ‘different’, and not in good ways. My blue eyes were ok, but my nose was too heavy, my hair was no colour (it used to be blonde and has since faded as I’ve gotten older), my skin is pretty awful as I have huge pores, a scar on my cheek (it’s tiny, but still there) from a childhood injury and I get spots as often as I did as a teen. My bottom teeth overlapped even after 6 years of braces and never seemed white enough no matter how much I scrubbed, flossed and mouth washed. I was pale, but not in a nice way like Dita Von Teese, just in a sickly way. I had a few freckles across the bridge of my nose, but they weren’t obvious amongst the huge pores. I was a wreck. I’d never had that ‘gorgeous’ phase that girls seem to go through in their twenties after the awkward teenage years pass and they grow into their features. I just looked like an old teenager with the fine lines across my forehead and the laughter lines at the corners of my eyes. I just wanted to punch the mirror in. The only positive I could find was the fact that I didn’t have to look at me, everyone else did. But I could see now why the girls at the studio had smirked and mocked me, they were gorgeous, I was fugly. Short of extensive surgery that I couldn’t afford, I would always stand out here, for all the wrong reasons.