Chapter Three
Elly
The next morning, when I woke up, I lay in bed longer than I actually had time to. I was trying to convince myself that last night had been a dream and I had not gone to a sleazy bar and had practically anonymous sex in a filthy bathroom with Tristan Rogers. It was no use. I knew that it hadn’t been a dream. I’d gone to that bar with no more plan than to see him in person and hear him sing, but when he’d kissed me…everything I ever felt for him, even though it was all a million years ago, came rushing back. I lost myself in the fact that Tristan Rogers wanted me. I wasn’t a girl who gave it up easily, I wasn’t a slut. But that morning, I sure as hell woke up feeling like one.
Looking at the time and realizing I didn’t have all day to lie in bed and worry about it, I sighed and reluctantly forced myself up. As I rose from the bed, I caught sight of the framed photograph on my nightstand. His beautiful face was smiling as always, but I felt like there was a hint of accusation in his eyes. I knew it was my own guilt and anxiety talking, but I kissed my fingers and pressed it to the glass over his lips anyways and said, “I’m sorry.”
I made coffee and then headed for the shower. Today was kind of a big day for me. I should have stayed home last night and made sure I got plenty of rest and got up on time. I couldn’t be even a minute late if I wanted to make a good impression, and I did. This internship was really important to me and my career. I’d just finished up my film school classes in June. I was one summer class and a fall semester away from a BA in film and video production. After that, I was still planning on going to school for my master’s. I received financial aid, but a master’s degree was expensive, and what they gave me wasn’t going to cut it for another two years.
I was looking for a job when I saw the advertisement for the paid internship on a job board at the University. It said that Fresh Voices, the wildly popular reality show that made superstars out of everyday people, was looking for a production intern. A job like that would be a dream come true for me. The experience would be invaluable, and it could open up so many more doors. I applied, nervously went for the first interview, and then the second. After the third interview, I started thinking that maybe they weren’t even going to fill the position, just interview me to death. After the fourth interview, they finally offered me the job. Today was the first big meeting with the production supervisors, and even the actual producer was supposed to make an appearance. His name was Jake Gilley, and he was one of the biggest producers of pop music in the U.S. and the U.K.
I laid out the new suit I’d bought just for this occasion. I hadn’t gotten my first paycheck yet, so I didn’t have a lot of money. I’d found this suit on a Nordstrom’s Rack in Hollywood—less than a hundred dollars for the whole thing. It was a pretty, plum colored skirt suit with a collarless jacket that nipped in at the waist and had a pleated peplum that flounced over the hips. The skirt was A-line and ended just above the knees. Luckily, I had a nice pair of pumps in the same shade that I’d bought for my cousin’s wedding a few years back. They were hard to match, so I’d only worn them a few times and they were like brand new.
After my shower, I dressed in my outfit and straightened my hair so that it laid long and draped over my shoulders. I applied a minimal amount of make-up and threw on a few pieces of jewelry. I was satisfied as I looked in the mirror, feeling that I looked like a young Hollywood professional. As I gazed at myself, my mind wandered back to the night before. I hoped that no one in the business would ever find out that I screwed a washed up singer in the bathroom of a seedy bar.
It was one night, he and I were the only ones there, and he was so wasted I doubted if he’d remember me even if I walked up to him on the street. I needed to stop obsessing over it and get to work.
Our studio was in Burbank and I lived in West Hollywood. They’re only about ten miles apart, but in L.A. travel time, that means twenty minutes on a good day and an hour to an hour and a half on a bad one. I left an hour before I needed to be there, hoping that today was the former.
It was a good traffic day and I made it to the studio in time to run in Starbucks and grab myself a latte and still get to the meeting room with twenty minutes to spare. A couple of the other interns, Molly and Keith, were already there, so I sat next to them. Molly complimented my suit and then she said, “I’m so frickin’ excited about meeting Jake Gilly I can hardly stand it.”
I smiled and said, “Me too. On top of being ridiculously rich and famous, he’s pretty damned good–looking.”
“Yeah, you think he needs a mistress?” she asked.
“I’m sure he’s got them lined up,” I told her. “Either that, or he’s gay.”
“Hell, I’d jump the fence for Jake Gilley,” Keith said. We all laughed just as the rest of the production company was coming through the door.
“It’s nice to see my interns so happy,” Clint, the production supervisor, said.
“We’re thrilled to be here, sir,” Keith told him. Molly and I only nodded. I didn’t know about her, but I was still a little intimidated by Clint. He’d been nothing but nice, but he was a perfectionist, I was always so worried that I’d screw something up when he was around.
“Good to hear,” he said.
After everyone took their places at the table, Clint’s assistant passed out the agenda. The show would start in L.A. and then move across the country towards the East Coast for six weeks straight. Then, once all of the contestants were chosen, it would move back to L.A. again. None of us interns would be traveling with the crew. Clint had hired us only to help with production of the L.A. shows, so after the first round in L.A., I’d have about six weeks off and then I’d work for another eight weeks when they got back. When I’d told my mother this, she had worried and asked me why I hadn’t just looked for a permanent job to begin with. Then I told her first how good being a part of the Fresh Voices crew was going to look on my resume, and second, how much they were paying me. That satisfied her.
Clint talked about production issues, and, at the end of his spiel he said, “Before we begin shooting, I will need you all to sign a document that goes over all of the rules and regulations for the contest. I’ll let you read most of it for yourselves, but I’d like to make mention of a few of the really important items. First, you cannot be related to any of the contestants. If one of your relatives becomes a contestant, then you are to let us know right away so that you can be excused from production. You can’t have any close personal relationships with any of the contestants: no BFF’s, no old classmates, bosses, neighbors, lovers. Most importantly, you cannot start a new relationship with any of the contestants. No dating, no sexual encounters, nothing. If this happens and it’s discovered, you will be relieved of your duties here. The press watches this closely after the scandal we had last year when it was discovered one of the judges and a finalist were sleeping together. I’m sure you’ve all heard the details of that. If you haven’t, find it online and read up on it. He was a talented young man, but he was disqualified. She was a famous pop-singer, but she was fired and the press dragged her name through the mud for months afterwards. You don’t want to be in that position, nor do I want you to put this production company in that position. Are there any questions?”
There were mumbled “No’s” and head shakes all around. Clint moved on and after listening to him talk for over an hour, his assistant whispered something in his ear and he said, “I know a lot of you are looking forward to meeting Mr. Gilley. I just received word that he’s in the building. He should be here—”
Before he finished his sentence, the door was thrown open and Jake Gilley, in his drop-dead gorgeous glory, walked in. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and black jeans and boots. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing off his buff arms with plump veins running through them. He had dark blonde hair that was spiked up and a five-o-clock shadow that gave him a sexy, just-rolled-out-of-bed look.
He shook Clint and a few of the other crew’s hands, then he smiled at the rest of us. His teeth were, of course, perfectly white and perfectly even. “Well, well, so this is my production crew?” he said in a super sexy English accent as he looked around and took in each one of our faces. When he stopped on mine, I felt like his dark-eyed gaze could see right through me. It was a strange sensation and it took me a few seconds to shake it off after he’d moved on.
Molly leaned in and said, “Dear Lord, we’re in the presence of a God.” I stifled a laugh. She was right, though, it was as if Adonis had just walked into the room. He gave us a welcome speech and then some spiel about the history of his company. I’m sure it was all very interesting, but if he wanted us to pay attention to what he said, he shouldn’t say it in such a sexy voice or look so damn good while he did it.
After his talk, he opened up the meeting for questions. Some of the questions people asked were legitimate, and some of them seemed like they were only desperate attempts at being able to talk to him. I couldn’t think of a question that wasn’t going to put me in the latter category, so I kept quiet.
When the meeting broke up, Jake stood at the door and shook hands with each member of the crew as they introduced themselves to him. When it was my turn, I had almost as may butterflies in my stomach as I had when I met Tristan the previous night. I smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Elly Rios. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gilley.”
He smiled broadly and said, “You didn’t say anything during the meeting, Elly. You didn’t have any questions for me?”
“Not so far,” I told him, wondering the same thing Molly had now that he was this close—Did he need a mistress?
Still holding my hand that he’d taken when I held it out for him to shake he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He tucked it into the hand he was holding and said, “My private number is on there. Call me if you think of anything.”
I’ll be damned...Jake Gilley had just hit on me!