The Liar, The Bitch and the Wardrobe Page 6

  Hobbling like a penguin toward the set was nearly impossible. I had to work extra hard because the flippers kept getting stuck in the sand. Liz and Roman just about fell over laughing when they saw me. Stefano was equally as amused. “Dun nun . . . dun nun . . . da nun da nun da nun . . .” He sang out the Jaws theme over a megaphone and everyone on set burst into hysterics.

  Once Roman was able to collect himself, he justified, “Don’t worry about being recognized, Luce. We are adding a real shark digitally.”

  They were adding a real shark digitally? What the hell was I doing in this suit?

  “We need someone to stand in as the shark so the models know where to direct their fear . . .”

  Okay, understandable. That made sense . . . But why the fucking suit?

  “And Stefano thought it would be . . . inspiring, for you to, you know, wear the suit.”

  So basically, all I had to do was swim back and forth in the waves while the bikini-clad babes bolted from the sea. Seemed easy enough. I mean really, how bad could it be?

  I pushed the mask tightly against my face and popped the snorkel into my mouth before hopping into the water. I pulled at the latex to let some of the cool ocean trickle in. I heard several voices go “Ohhhh man . . .” and just as I turned my whole body to look up—since I couldn’t move my damn head—a giant wave surged over me and I spun and tumbled around and around until my enormous fin stopped me in the shallow sand. I coughed and spit the frothy salt out of my nose and mouth. A few lighting techs came over to help me to my feet . . . er, flippers.

  “Take five!” Thank goodness Stefano needed a break because I needed oxygen. I hobbled over to my messenger bag and flipped open my phone. Go figure, I had missed the one call that I was waiting for. I put the voice mail on speaker since my ears were inaccessible.

  “This message is for Lucy Butler. I am calling from Eberly Properties to let you know that you have been approved for the studio apartment on Fountain Avenue. Congratulations! Please let us know when you can come in to sign the lease.”

  My own apartment! This was amazing news! “Woooo-hoooo!” I screamed as I bounced up and down unapologetically, the shark nose bonking my head with each bounce. I had never lived alone before, but it seemed only natural that I would get my own place. I was, after all, Stefano Lepres’ first assistant, progressively making my way into the studio and making a small but decent salary. I could barely afford the tiny first floor studio apartment but it would represent my becoming an independent young woman, aspiring photographer, assistant extraordinaire! Now was the obvious time to make this move since, beyond a doubt, my schedule would only get zanier as I gained responsibilities at work. I hadn’t even told Sebastian or Julie that I had applied for the apartment because I wasn’t sure if I would even qualify. Of course, their initial reaction was bound to be sour since we were now splitting the rent three ways, but it was never meant to be a permanent arrangement anyway. Besides, since I’ve been working so much, they’ve really bonded and probably won’t even mind me moving out. Not that I was jealous or anything. Whatever, I was not going to let my worries about their reactions throw shade over this happy occasion. I tossed my phone back into my bag and happily belly flopped back into the sea.

  “And . . . action!”

  I threw my whole body up and down, side to side, getting from one side of the shot to the next. I could hear the models screaming as they pretended to be terrified of me. I began to recognize the difference of an authentic scream and a forced one—the real ones came right before a giant wave. When I heard those kind of yelps, I braced myself for the crushing waters that barrel-rolled me over and over and dumped me back to land. The last one was particularly harsh. I told the lighting techs to leave me for just a minute. I lay on my super-padded back, my eyes burning from salt, my face stinging from sand. Like a dark cloud, Stefano’s shadow came over me.

  “I want to have a party at Hidden tonight. Ten thirty.”

  I put all of my energy into rolling over and crawling back to my messenger bag. I managed to release an arm from the rubber death trap.

  “Yes. I am calling on behalf of Stefano Lepres. He’d like to reserve the VIP room for a private party tonight at ten thirty . . . Sure, I can hold . . . Perfect.” I paused a moment before I asked, “And could you also check availability for next Thursday?” Sebastian and Julie had been dying to get into Hidden for months. It was the hottest club in LA. I bit my salty lip, wondering if I could pull off getting my friends onto the most exclusive guest list in Tinseltown. Surely it would sweeten the news that I would soon be moving out. I had wanted to do something extraordinary for my friends because they were always seeing me reap various perks from my job, and this would be a great way to involve them in my new world. “Fabulous! If you could put the room under Julie Kaplan’s name? It’s her birthday, so we want to be sure it’s extra special . . . Uh-huh. I can hold.” I covered the mouthpiece, wickedly giggling. I wasn’t totally lying. When I said “we,” I meant Sebastian and I. The hostess was only assuming that I meant Stefano, I rationalized. “Wonderful. Thank you!” I couldn’t wait to tell them! My friends were going to freak out!

  Just as I hung up on the hostess, my phone began ringing. James Braves. He had been calling and calling and never at the right time. As if there ever was a right time for me. I decided to answer but keep it brief since any minute now they’d be calling me back to set.

  “Hi, James!” Even though he couldn’t see me, I was embarrassed to be dragging a tail fin from behind my ass.

  “Hey, Luce! I’m so glad to have caught you!” Little did he know he’d just punned. “Did you get the apples?” Julie told me that a delivery of Washington apples had arrived without a card—we’d been snacking on them all week without knowing if they were poisoned or not.

  “That was so thoughtful of you! Thank you! I’m sorry that I haven’t called—things have been so busy. I’m actually at work right now.”

  “That’s great! Are you kidding? Don’t apologize! What are you working on?”

  I swung my fin from side to side. “Oh . . . this beach shoot . . . hard to put into words.”

  “Nice! At least one of us is getting a tan . . . So, listen—I am thinking of coming down to LA next week and I wanted to see if you were going to be around?”

  “Actually—I just booked my best friend’s birthday party at Hidden for Thursday night. Will you be here?”

  “I sure will! I am only there for the weekend, so make some time for me, okay?”

  I jumped up and down, letting my tail thump against the sand. James Braves wanted to hang out with me! “Of course!”

  We bid adieu and I unabashedly did a happy shark dance.

  My excitement was halted when I heard Stefano calling out my name over the megaphone. I steadily leaned down to put the phone into my bag and slowly rose back up, pulled the mask off my forehead and pushed it over my eyes. I let out a little whine of frustration before popping the snorkel back into my mouth. “I will get to work on the set . . . I will get to work on the set . . . I will get to work on the set . . .” My voice sounded like Darth Vader as I repeated my mantras into the hollow tube.

  chapter eight

  The Extra with Extras

  As I drove Stefano to the studio, I tried to imagine what type of duties I’d be assigned to perform on the shoot today. He was set to photograph Ky Zavala, teenage heartthrob superstar. Ky burst onto the scene about two years ago when he landed the starring role on a Disney show. Soon after came two platinum albums, a bestselling memoir, several blockbuster hits, a clothing line and hundreds of collectible items coveted by all of his cultlike fans. Stefano inserted his latest CD, 2Cool, into the player and turned up the volume. Ky’s unmistakable prepubescent voice crooned on about lost loves and late homework. It was adorable. Even Stef grinned when the kid sang out, “Girl, pass me back that note . . . Are you crushin’ on me too? . . . Circle yes or noooo . . .”

  I was about to pull into Stefano’s re
served spot when a yellow Lamborghini cut me off and jerked back and forth before stalling out in the space. Stefano and I couldn’t wait to see who the asshole was who had such audacity.

  Out hops little Ky Zavala, who yells out to me in passing, “Sorry, babe! Just got my permit and not quite ready to handle the parallel parking, if you know what I mean!” He then twisted his yellow and purple Lakers hat to the side and flashed a peace sign.

  “Kyle! Wait just . . . two seconds!” A slightly frantic woman exited the passenger side and dashed to my window. “I’m so sorry. His driving tutor has yet to explain the right of way, apparently!” She squinted her eyes and caught on that Stefano was in the car. “Oh—hi! Hello! I am Deena, Ky’s manager. We are just so thrilled to be working with . . .”

  “Mom! The door is locked! It’s so freakin’ hot out here!” Ky yanked off his Margiela motorcycle jacket and slammed it on the sidewalk.

  She took a deep breath and gripped the diamond-encrusted cross that lay over her shirt. “Deena Zavala—manager and mother. Depends who you’re asking, really.” She said through a forced smile while bolting to her son’s side.

  Stefano exhaled. “Fucking mom-agers. Lucy, you have one job and one job only on this shoot: Keep that little shit away from me. Understood?” I nodded my head and drove forward into another spot. So much for getting to actually work on the set today.

  The studio was busy prepping for the shot. The set was designed to look like a teenage girl’s bedroom. The baby pink bedding, white eyelet dust ruffles and exaggerated curtains were accented with fluffy pom-poms, ceramic horses and snow globes. The art director decorated the room to look like a super-fan lived there by covering the walls with dozens of overlapping posters of Ky. She also accessorized the shelves with propped-up dolls and had decks of playing cards spilling out of the drawers of a vanity next to the bed. These and all other types of items were all emblazoned with Ky Zavala’s likeness. It was overkill and it was on purpose, to showcase the mania caused by the little man.

  “This is gay! This is so gay!” Ky shrieked when he saw the setup. Everyone on set heard him. I guessed that 70 percent of them were probably gay.

  Roman responded, “Look, honey, it’s not gay if it’s you. Think about it . . .”

  Ky jokingly punched him in the arm and playfully called him a homo.

  “What did I say about those words, Kyle? I’m so sorry everyone. He had a late performance last night and we’re all a bit tired. Ky, this shoot is for that contest where you show up to a fan’s house—remember? And this is supposed to be her bedroom, yes?” Deena Zavala directed the question to Roman.

  “Right . . . Her—or his bedroom,” Roman said matter-of-factly.

  “Eeeeewww, gross!” Ky fled to the dressing room. Roman grinned.

  “I’m sorry—again. His assistant is being dropped off here any minute now and things will be a lot easier once he’s here.” Deena hurried back to the dressing room.

  Stefano was in the farthest corner of the studio, discussing the shot with a lighting assistant. I contemplated tending to him, to see if he needed anything, versus checking on Liz in the office, to see if there was any assisting I could do for the production team.

  “Girl, if you want to keep our Rottweiler calm, keep the yappy Yorkie in its kennel . . . I mean it,” Roman warned. “We are ready to shoot in twenty minutes. Go . . .” He turned me by my shoulders to face the dressing room and pushed me forward.

  I knocked on the dressing room door and was told to come in. Ky sat in the makeup chair, deeply involved with a portable game player while a groomer powdered his face. A stylist steamed a crisp, white Dior shirt before hanging it on a rolling rack, next to the other options. His mom-ager sat in the adjacent makeup chair. She had her cell phone nudged between her ear and shoulder while she clicked away on a laptop. She looked worn out.

  “Can I get anything for anyone?” I asked quietly.

  Deena held up a steaming mug and requested, “I am okay with this tea but I didn’t see any sweetener out there . . .”

  “Let me see what I can find!” I quickly left and returned with a brand-new box of Sweet’N Low found hidden in the office. “Stefano has a strong distaste for sweetener, and we don’t usually have it out—so I’ll leave it in here.” I set the box down next to the multitasking mom. I felt awkward just standing there, so I left the room and guarded the door. I wasn’t exactly sure who I was guarding, Stefano or Ky. I hoped that once Ky’s assistant arrived I wouldn’t have to babysit and instead I’d be able to do something—anything—photo related.

  On the set, Stefano and his photo assistants were adjusting the shot, and when they were ready, Roman gave me “the look.” Again, I knocked on the door this time to let Ky and his mother know that they were ready for him. An art director instructed Ky to do various poses. For the first shot, he sat on the edge of the bed with his guitar, grinning into the camera. After a few shots, they removed the guitar and had him leaning forward, then reclining back. Once he got comfortable shooting he even jumped on the bed and high kicked midair. As much as I was annoyed with the kid, I had to admit, he was kind of cute.

  “What’s up, dick face?” Ky yelled out. He bounced off the bed and ran over to another teen boy leaning against a wall beyond the lights. The two of them took off for the dressing room. Stefano usually took at least fifty shots per look and Ky disappeared after somewhere around twenty.

  “Kyle! Ryan! Get back here . . . please . . . ?” Deena chased after them. Stefano tightened his jaw and cracked his neck. I could tell that he was extremely irritated but holding back. I caught up to Deena and asked where this miracle assistant was. “He’s here. That’s Ry, Ky’s assistant.” I didn’t know how to respond. The boy looked about fourteen years old. “And also his brother. His brother is his assistant.”

  “Oh . . . okay,” I stuttered out. That kid is supposed to wrangle his not-much-bigger brother into submission? I didn’t see it happening.

  Roman was losing his patience as well. “Lucy, make sure that ADHD poster child is back here ASAP. We need to get through this shoot quickly—for everyone’s sake.” He motioned with his head toward Stefano, who was visibly trying to keep himself calm by closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. “Lushy is picking up coffee for the crew—you want anything?” Roman asked. I was touched that he asked me. It made me feel like I was becoming part of the crew.

  “Thank you, but I’m okay.” I dashed to the dressing room, which was pure chaos. The brothers were throwing cups and open bags of chips and anything else that they could get their hands on while Ky changed into his second outfit. I closed the door and snuck to the office to see if I could be of use to anyone else. Stefano was decompressing while the crew discussed Ky’s antics.

  I heard a lighting tech reason, “Yeah, man, he’s just a kid in an adult world. He’s got to get his fun in too.”

  Ky, Ry and Deena returned to the set and we all followed suit. Ky assumed his first position on the bed, now wearing a gold metallic DSquared jacket, his guitar in hand. Stefano walked around the giant lights and over to the camera. He pulled out his stool and plopped down into place.

  “PHHHHAAAAAAAAARRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP.” A vibrating, echoing fart sound boomed from Stefano’s seat. The entire crew looked at him while Ky and Ry fell over in hysterics. Stefano stood up and pulled out from under him a flattened whoopee cushion. It was nearly impossible not to laugh! I turned away from the group and pinched my arm hard to keep from laughing out loud. Tears were building up in Roman’s eyes because he was holding back so much laughter. And he wasn’t the only one. It felt as if the room was about to explode. Stefano, however, did not find it very funny. He quickly snapped approximately fifteen shots before storming off into the office and slamming the door. It was then that I realized that had I been watching Ky like I was supposed to, this would not have happened. I wondered if I would be to blame. Once the office door was closed, everyone instantaneously fell apart into laughter. Just as Ky and R
y were about to high-five, their mother/manager grabbed them by their wrists and dragged the boys into the dressing room, slamming the door once inside.

  Liz’s Aussie drawl echoed across the studio. “What’s with all the ruckus?” She set two crates of coffees down on a table. “Is he in the office?” She picked up a venti cup marked “SL” and was immediately stopped by Roman.

  “Give him a few minutes. It could be deadly in there!” He removed the cup from her hand and set it back down. They walked away from the crew and Liz started cackling while Roman described what had transpired. Members of the crew picked over the beverages and took what was theirs. I thought to write “Do Not Touch” on a Post-it and placed it on the lid of Stefano’s coffee to avoid anyone mistaking it for their own. The office door swung open and Stefano’s voice boomed, “Roman!” Roman scurried into the office. After less than a minute, my name was called as well. I swiftly made my way to the office. Stefano was pacing the room while running his hands through his hair. Once he noticed me, he stopped and dramatically held his shaking hands out like he was strangling a ghost or something. If I had been a few steps closer, he would have been choking me.

  “Lucy . . . Our discussion earlier . . .” Terrified, I nervously nodded my head. “Your only fucking job today: Keep that kid away from me. I hate children. I hate teenagers. I hate little people. I hate Ky Zavala.” His face was red and his hair was a mess. Veins protruded from his temples. Again, all that I could do was nod. Stefano sat down on a sofa and I took that as my cue to get the hell out of there.

  Roman skipped after me. “Was that not Nick Nolte’s mug shot come to life? Okay, you know what to do—make sure the kid stays out of trouble and I’ll take care of the big guy. We have one shot—just one left! And actually, Stefano is doing pretty stellar, if you ask me . . .” I gave him a look that said, Really?