The Producer, page 5
“Okay, Miss I-know-everything, I’ll take a look, but now let’s go to the checkout. This cart is getting heavy to push.”
She looks at me with wide eyes.
“Do you really want to buy me all these books? I just wanted to piss you off for firing Caleb.”
“Who?”
“The pool guy.” She glances at me in disappointment at not knowing the name of my employees.
Just hearing his name, I feel anger boiling inside. “I don’t want to go through all the shelves in reverse to put the books back in place, so consider yourself lucky.”
“Okay, boss.” She smiles smugly as she looks at the loot in the cart.
“I’d tell you not to call me that, but technically, I’m your boss,” I reason out loud.
She winks at me, turns around, and strides toward the till.
I watch her as she walks away, and I find myself disoriented in front of one of the most surreal evenings of my life. Not so much because of the frankness of a young woman who treats me as a person and not a mythological entity to be venerated or feared, but because, for the first time in my life, I spent an evening as an average person, not like Aaron Steel, The Butcher.
“Cut!” the director shouts, and I can barely put my feet on the mattress that one of the assistants places beneath me fast enough to help me with the security ropes.
“We take a break, then repeat the scene. Dakota, go fix your makeup, then come back here. It was fine, but you must push yourself a little more with your legs to accentuate the jump and open your arms wider. You have to look like an angel flying into that building,” he continues as he approaches with a smile.
“Reset!” his assistant shouts, and everyone goes back into action to set up the scene for the next take.
I can barely nod to him, sweat runs from my forehead, and my breath chokes in my throat. I’ve always wanted to do my own stunts on set, at least those not dangerous enough to require professionals. Still, running with heels, squeezed inside a pair of leather pants, with a heavy tunic fastened at the waist by a leather belt, is not the easiest thing to do, especially inside a building that today has reached hellish temperatures.
“You were good.” Roland smiles. He is the assistant who helps me get in and out of the safety harnesses they put on me to jump from one fake building to another twenty feet high.
“Thank you. I must improve the jump, though, or I’ll have to repeat this scene endlessly, and I don’t know if I can do it. These boots are killing me.” I try to smile at him, but after eight hours inside this costume, trying to run, breathe, and act without looking like a cat hit by a car, I think it came out more like a grimace.
“You’ll see that the next one will be fine,” he reassures me as he accompanies me off the set and to the trailer where Sarah will have to do the miracle of making me presentable again. “Listen, I was wondering… would you like to get a drink with me tonight? There is a new place where you can build your own cocktail. They told me it’s fun,” he continues hesitantly.
Roland is a guy that the studio has assigned me for a few months to help me manage the equipment used during stunts. He’s about my age, cute, and has sweet green eyes, but, in all honesty, I see him more as a brother than a possible guy to date. We talk mainly about work, and we exchange a few jokes. He helps me stitch up the cuts I have on my feet after hours in these boots on the set. I could never date someone who saw and smelled my feet after twelve hours inside this leather trap.
“Thank you for asking, but tomorrow morning I must be here again at six, and I need to rest.” I decline the invitation with a bit of embarrassment since it is the umpteenth time that I’ve said no. I should be clear and tell him that I only see him as a friend, but I’m afraid the working relationship will become unbearable, and I don’t want to look like the diva who requires the change of the assistant on the set. Although the situation is getting harder and harder to ignore.
“Of course, of course, I understand. I don’t want to prevent you from sleeping,” he stammers hastily as, step by step, he walks away and disappears among the production trailers.
“Roland still hitting on you?” Serena’s mocking voice makes me turn around.
“What are you doing here?”
“I dropped your name at the entrance, and the doors opened magically.” Her mischievous smile annoys me.
I don’t like it when she uses my name to get into places she shouldn’t be. I work here while she spends her day eating for free from the trucks of the different studios and fucking extras in the hidden corners of the parking lots. I open the door of the makeup trailer, and when Sarah notices Serena climbing in behind me, her smile dies on her lips. She can’t stay in here. If she gets hurt or breaks something, the insurance doesn’t pay because she is not one of the employees, and we’ll all end up neck-deep in trouble. But the makeup artist will never make a scene by kicking her out because she fears I may complain to the studio and get her fired.
“You know you shouldn’t be in here, don’t you? If they catch you, you’ll get all of us in trouble.” I try to make Serena understand that she should leave the set, but the stern expression on her face kills the words in my throat.
“If you hadn’t stolen my starring role, I would have let you do whatever you want on this set. I probably would have found you a job as a co-star or something,” she reminds me harshly, awakening my guilt.
Serena and I met when we were both in the queue for the auditions for Hunters of Shadows for Sabry’s role, the protagonist. We spent hours under the scorching Los Angeles sun waiting for our turn. She never had a callback, while I, audition after audition, got the part. She has never resented me. In fact, she has become my friend, but I can’t help but feel guilty that I am succeeding while she continues to audition but never gets a part.
I look at the mirror and see Sarah imperceptibly roll her eyes. “You know I tried to ask, but the casting was closed,” I admit as I open the zippers on my boots and pull out my swollen feet.
I notice right away the bloodstain on the heel and toe of one of my socks. The patches I wore this morning didn’t stop the wounds from reopening after a week of stunts, almost making me cry. From the corner of my eye, I notice Sarah open a small fridge behind her and pull out an ice pack which she gives to me.
“Thank you.” I smile at her and place the cold wrap on my battered feet, breathing a sigh of relief when the pain begins to subside.
“Anyway…” The smile returns to Serena’s lips, and I am glad she has dropped a topic that always puts me in a bad mood. “I went to your house and found it empty. Where did you end up? You change houses, and you don’t tell me anything?” she asks with a bit of irritation in her voice.
The sense of guilt returns, overwhelming my chest. It’s been fifteen days since I moved in with Aaron, and although we chat daily, I never told her anything. I don’t know why I didn’t, maybe because I was afraid she would invite herself to his home and ask him for a job, embarrassing me in front of him.
It is strange the relationship I have with my boss. Although he intimidates me, most of the time, I tell him what I think without filters. After that first conversation, where nervousness led me to babble about what was going through my head without thinking, I noticed that he seemed almost relieved by my frankness. I don’t believe many people tell him to his face what they think, and the fact that he let me speak freely without scolding me or, worse, firing me led me to relax so much that sometimes I forget he is the big boss. Not that I’ve seen him much during these last few weeks, as we’re both busy with work.
“I had to change accommodation,” I vaguely reply although I know she will not give up until I confess the truth.
“Really? Where do you live?” The smile that appears on her face is halfway between curious and impatient.
“On the hills, but it’s something temporary. In six months, I’ll be back in my old apartment. There was a problem with the…pipes.” I’m an actress, I literally live repeating fake stories other people write, yet I can’t lie even if it was the only way to save my life. I’m hopeless.
I play with my belt buckle, wishing I could be swallowed up at this very moment. Sarah behind me is making a titanic effort not to interfere in the conversation. Usually, when it’s me and her alone, we spend time in a friendly conversation that we’ve had for over three years. The tension that you breathe when Serena is here with us is something that I have never been able to mitigate.
“Really? A problem with the pipes leads you to ask Aaron Steel for hospitality?” she asks with a smile on her face that I can’t read.
My heart hammers in my chest, and when I cross Sarah’s eyes through the mirror, I find them as big as saucers. Apart from Tracy and the PR office, no one knows about this accommodation, and I prefer it to remain so, to avoid uncomfortable rumors about why I ended up under the same roof as the big boss.
“How do you know?” I blurt out.
“Because I followed you off the set when I found your house empty. Imagine my surprise when my best friend didn’t tell me she lived in the boss’s house.” There’s a pain in her eyes, and I wonder if it was the right choice to keep it hidden from her.
Of course, Serena is impulsive, always over the top, but she is not stupid. Maybe if I had asked her to keep the secret, she would have understood and done it in the name of our friendship. In this way, I didn’t give her a choice. I didn’t trust her. What kind of friend am I if I can’t even trust her?
“Sorry. I was embarrassed and didn’t know how to tell you.” I tell her a half-lie.
Serena surprises me with a hug. “It doesn’t matter, don’t worry. I forgive you, as long as you let me use that pool when your boss is not there just once.”
If Aaron isn’t at home, he doesn’t know if I’ve invited a friend, right? “Okay.”
She kisses me on the cheek and stands up. “Now I’m going because Roland will need to be comforted after you dumped him for the millionth time.”
At the same speed she appeared, she also disappears and the air seems almost lighter now that it’s just Sarah and me.
“You know you got this part because you’re a better actress than her, don’t you? You didn’t steal anything from her,” Sarah tells me as she continues to dab my forehead to redo the makeup that sweat has ruined.
I look down at my battered feet because I don’t know how to answer. Maybe she’s right, but maybe Serena just flunked that audition and she’s better than me. The fact that she decided to be my friend, the only one I’ve had since I moved here, despite everything, doesn’t mitigate my guilt. In fact, seeing her struggle every day with auditions that fail one after the other makes me feel like a bad friend.
***
When the driver opens the door, I leave the car and rest my bare feet on the hot concrete. When I finally took off my boots after filming, I tried to put my regular shoes back on, but my feet were so swollen and sore that I couldn’t fit them in. I wave goodbye to the driver and offer a half-smile, and head toward the front door, trying to avoid stepping on the white marble with the bloody part of my foot. I limp upstairs until I close the bedroom door behind me and collapse on the bed. The only thing I dream of right now is a shower and a good night’s sleep until five tomorrow morning. It shouldn’t be difficult as the darkness and silence of this house is more like a grave when Aaron isn’t here. I wonder if that man lives under this roof or if this house is just a façade for his image.
The vibration of my cell phone pulls an exasperated moan from my throat. I would like to pretend not to have heard it, but if it is my mother and I don’t respond right away, she overwhelms me with phone calls.
Serena: I’m at your house. Let me in, so I can use your pool! I know Aaron is still in the office. I have my sources.
I let out an exasperated sigh. I guess it’s no coincidence that she showed up not even five minutes after I entered the house. She was waiting for me, and this attitude bothers me a bit.
Dakota: I want to go to sleep. Tomorrow morning I have to get up at five, can we do this another time?
Maybe she feels pity for me and decides to go home.
Serena: If you don’t open immediately, I will ring the bell until five tomorrow morning. You have time when you’re old to sleep.
I grab the pillow and let out an exasperated scream, then get up, put my battered feet into a pair of flip-flops and use the app that controls the doorbell cameras to open the main gate as I go down to the front entrance. When I open the door, my surprise soon turns into horror when I see about thirty people behind Serena. Some with crates of beer in hand, others with bottles of wine, most of them already drunk.
My friend makes her way into the house, and when I grab her wrist to make her turn, we are pushed by the people who make their way into the living room, laughing, joking, and admiring the mansion. They are all about our age, but I don’t know any of them. When I go out with her, it’s usually just the two of us. I had no idea she had so many friends. Some of them glimpse the pool, open the doors to the patio, and with a run, throw themselves into the water, splashing everywhere. The horror painted on my face must be evident because my friend bursts out laughing.
“You can’t stay here. If Aaron comes back, he’ll kill me.”
The anger I feel inside is so intense it makes me tremble. How can she think I would agree with such a thing? And to think today I felt guilty for not telling her I lived here.
“Relax. Aaron is not here, and we’ll leave before he gets home. We’ll just use the pool for a little bit.” Her bored attitude makes me simmer with anger.
“You don’t understand. I don’t want you in here. It’s a matter of respect for the person who hosts me and doesn’t want people in the house,” I shout indignantly and immediately regret it when I see the grim expression transform her face.
“Of course, because Aaron deserves respect. While I, your best friend for the last three years, even though you stole my job, don’t deserve anything, do I? Since when have you become so snobbish that you prefer powerful people to friends who have been next to you since you were nobody? Just because you’ve become famous and have a verified profile on Instagram, you think you’re better than us.” The pain that shines through her words strikes me in the chest.
I haven’t forgotten about her, only she can’t understand that I can’t do certain things anymore. Aaron is my boss, not a friend or roommate. He is the one who holds my future, and I can lose my job. The same job I stole from her.
“It’s not like that, but you’re getting me into trouble.” My voice comes out with little conviction. “Aaron wouldn’t understand.”
“Wouldn’t understand what? That we are just having fun? Or maybe we’re not up to his majesty Aaron Steel and his faithful kiss-ass Dakota. Are we too gross for your standards?”
Yes, that’s precisely why. Aaron and his tailored pants, ties with the perfect knot, and million-dollar paintings would not understand. They are disrespectful kids infesting his pool, stepping on the white marble of his living room with muddy shoes, and draining his reserve of fine spirits by drinking straight from the bottles. The contrast between Aaron’s class and the vulgarity of the people here is so jarring it makes my skin crawl, and for the first time in my life, I feel embarrassed because of the friendships I have chosen. But I can’t tell her this because she’s my only friend in the viper den that is Hollywood.
“No! Aaron would not understand because he is an old dude who doesn’t know how to have fun. Have you seen him? He looks like a mummy inside those tailored clothes. It’s a miracle he doesn’t sleep in a sarcophagus.” Every word that comes from my lips disgusts me because I don’t mean them, but the smile that returns on my friend’s lips makes me feel better.
“Serena, are you coming? Apparently, Dakota has forgotten how to have fun.” Roland’s voice makes me turn toward him.
I am surprised to see him here, and, above all, I am surprised not to find his usual sweet smile on his lips. He seems almost disgusted by my presence, and how he looks at me makes me uncomfortable. It contrasts sharply with the shy and awkward guy who has been following me on the set like a shadow for a few months now. I watch them as they move away and join their friends in the pool, and the distress growing inside me makes me tremble. How the hell do I get rid of them? Do I make a scene? Considering they are already drunk, I don’t know how much I will be able to make myself heard.
I approach the pool, terrified of what I might find there, and when I find myself in front of reality, I realize that it is much worse than what I had feared. Bottles of beer are scattered on the patio and concrete around the pool. One of the deck chairs is turned upside down, and the pillows are partly soaked in the water. One of the umbrellas lies on the blue bottom of the pool, but the worst thing is that one of the guys has lowered his pants and is urinating in the water. Here, in front of everyone, while the people who are swimming scream and avoid his trajectory.
Only ten minutes have passed. The knot that tightens my throat is so big that, although I would like to shout at everyone to get out of here and go home, nothing comes out of my lips. I remain petrified, staring at the horror unfolding before my eyes without being able to do anything. A powerful voice behind me, however, attracts everyone’s attention.
I turn just in time to see the fury behind the calm mask that is Aaron himself. I follow his slow pace as he approaches the pool and observes the disaster that has become his home. I feel so small I’m sure I could disappear between the cracks of the wood on the patio. Or at least that’s what I hope because if I thought I saw Aaron furious the night I moved here or when he fired the pool guy, I was very wrong.
“Everyone out. And I advise you to run fast because I have already called the police.” His tone is calm, but no one is breathing.
